September 12, 2003  
Volume 97, Issue 9  

Front Page >> Sports > Letters from the edge

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SPORTS

Letters from the edge

Bell Tolls
By Jordan Bell

Gazette Staff

In lieu of e-mail, letter writing sent through the age-old process of mailing has all but disappeared. In homage to pigeons and mail people (equality my friends), we at The Gazette's sports department decided each week we would send a letter to a worthy recipient.

Dear Donovan McNabb,
I can forgive you for hawking inferior, diarrhea-inducing soup (ie. Chunky Soup, "the soup that eats like a dead raccoon carcass").
I can even forgive you for being a 26-year-old who still breast feeds (everyone needs a sugar momma).

But I can't forgive you for your performance during prime time on Monday Night Football against Jon 'Chucky' Gruden and the reigning Super Bowl champion Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

I waited the entire summer, through a Major League Basebore schedule, an Ontario-wide blackout (of which left me questioning my dependence on MSN Messenger and Petite Danon yogurt cups) and sweaty balls, just to witness Mr. McNabb, the Eagles saviour, embarrass the Bucs with his fleet feet and pinpoint precision.

And what was I left with? Warren Sapp standing on the field, arms outstretched and Gruden smiling like a frosh after losing their virginity on O-Week.

The Gazette offered you our backing when we chose your Eagles as the strongest team in the NFC. We looked past your transgressions, including losing to the Bucs the last 3,469 years.

Instead of wooing us, you went out and threw for a paltry 148 yards and forgot to listen to Stifler's lacrosse coach in American Pie when he said, "If you've gotta score, you score." Tampa Bay 17 Philadelphia 0. Even I've scored more than that, although I'm not sure if a photo dark room rendezvous with The Gazette's inflatable woman counts.

I understand it's early in the season and you're still trying to erase the rust from your Hawaiian vacation, but the Bucs were the Western Mustangs' version of the Queen's Golden Gaels. They smacked you around like Whitney Houston, yet you still ceased to show them a little crack and a washed-up rapper ain't gonna get you down.

Next: the New England Patriots. If I wasn't so busy writing a letter to you, I would be carpet bombing Tom Brady's house. Hopefully, the sight of Brady's hoes on the sidelines will force your defense to buck up.

2003-04 was supposed to be the year for the "City of Brotherly Love." I ask you, Where is the love?"

 

 

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