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This is the archive for October 2006

An Open Letter to Reggie Bush

Dear Reggie Bush,

Did you have a motorcycle wreck you're not telling anyone about, or are you just a fucking retard?

I ask this question in all seriousness after watching your abysmal performance on Sunday. Now, I understand you’re playing the Ravens, so your 5 carries for 16 yards and 4 catches for 5 yards are almost excusable, but what isn’t excusable is your attempt to throw the ball through two Baltimore Ravens into the hands of a streaking wide receiver on a halfback option.

Listen, I know in college everyone sucked your dick, especially the white women. I know everyone said you could do no wrong, you’d be the best thing since ape steroids in the NFL, and that you were the greatest running back in USC history. That kind of thing can go to your head, I understand that.

But seriously, calling you and that throw you made retarded is an insult to the mentally challenged everywhere, because your average person with a mild mental disability knows in a situation in which there are two guys covering your only option to throw to, you throw the ball away. You don’t fucking play catch with two All-Pro Baltimore Ravens, especially if those two Ravens are Chris McAllister and Ray Lewis. Granted, Ray is only half as good as he thinks he is, and ¾ as good as everyone says he is, but he’s still one of the top mike linebackers in the league.

Chris McAllister, for what it’s worth, is better than everyone says he is.

Hopefully, you’ve learned your lesson. Hopefully, you haven’t taken so many shots to the head like some quarterbacks for the Pittsburgh Steelers who I shan’t name, that you can actually not only learn from this lesson, but remember what you’ve learned for longer than five minutes and still remember how to chew.

I mean, I haven’t seen you throwing any dumbassed laterals lately, so maybe there’s still hope...

Best Wishes,


PS: Hold the football with both hands. It’s not a loaf of bread, shit-for-brains. Hold it like you’d hold Matt Leinart’s bastard child.

PPS: On second thought, you’d better not hold Matt Leinart’s kid. That baby’s done nothing to me, so I don’t want to see the poor little fetus dropped on its head or worse, thrown to Ray Lewis.

An Open Letter to Sport Parents...

From a concerned sports fan/possible parent,

I'm a 25 year old Hispanic male who's in a relationship with a single mother. Of course, I'm a semi-father figure to her daughter. Every day I want her to sign up for sports, I mean every parental figure wants their child to do something in their life. However, the more I'm seeing out of sports parents, the less I want her to get into sports. As Ron, Jade, and Chris know, I'm a sports man all the way. I was raised in two sports hotbeds, the states of Texas and Tennessee.

When I was playing youth football, I didn't get enough playing time, I'll admit it. However, I was a bit undersized as a child. It was for my safety to not see a lot of time. Which I did learn a lot about the game sitting on the sidelines, and I got in a bit of time in some games. I even made some lifelong friends. Some of them view this site, and one of them has a site linked to Sports Bastards.

The point is, parents are forgetting the real point of youth sports. From youth sports, I made a lot of friends. I learned what competiton was. I even had enough of a love of sports that I carried on to middle school. I then carried that one to high school where I was lucky to start two years as a Right Offensive Tackle because I wasn't that atlethic yet I had strength. Later, I had a great head coach that believed in me and worked with me on my speed. He then put me in as the starting Mike Linebacker.

I wasn't the greatest player ever. As you see, I'm a sports writer. I'm still in sports, but not playing. I'll leave that to the pros. However, the love of the game is what keeps us going here. However, the love of the game is what makes me sick when I have to talk to you frothing from the mouth fucktarded parents.

In my opinion, most of you fucking morons need help...
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An Open Letter to Matt Leinart

Dear Mr. Leinart,

Welcome to the futility that is the Cardinals, sir. Now that you realize that your team isn't the University of Southern California that can do no wrong. You're now on the Phoenix, Arizona Cardinals that can't even do the SexyBack Option without killing their own offensive line in the process.

No cheap nicknames for the Cardinals. They suck bad enough to where I don't need to give them one. I know Paris's anorexic ass kept you up all night Sunday. She's practicing celibacy now, so only in her pooper, Matt. Maybe you had your mind on jizzing on her non-tits. Anyways, it's not everyday we get a chance to see her naked bod... Oh wait. Yes we do. Ron and I have the communal copy of 1 Night in Paris. I think Icon's got it this week, and he's mailing back to Ron next week.

It's not all of your fault. You just need a few things on your team. An offensive line. The real Edgerrin James, that crackish-looking fucker that used to talk shit while holding Peyton's balls. Uninjured wide recievers would help. Oh, and for you to stop rushing the ball to the recievers. While you guys are at it, a kicker might not be a bad idea, too.

To beat a team like the Bears you need balls, Matt. Until you grow the balls needed in the NFL like Vince Young did against the Skins, you're going to have to get used to this futility. Vince needed that ass-stomping by the Cowboys to man up. To see T.O. Riverdancing across the field while the Tardtans could only watch. Let's hope you do the same.

With Regards,

James Richard Brown

Let's See if Terrell Puts This on the Fridge: An Open Letter to T.O.

Dear Terrell Owens


For the longest amount of time, I can’t remember when and I don’t feel like looking it up, whenever professional football has been on the television, so have you. Every fucking day it is something to do with you. I honestly believe that at night when you are watching the television and you see a story about yourself you do the following: Cue up the Barry White, get the lotion out, and go off to a happy place with yourself…

It gets worse, trust me.

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