And so, with the close of the year, I suppose it's time for my final open letter of the 2009 - 10 season.
Dear Chicago Bears Football Club, Incorporated,
Allow me to elaborate.
You -- all of you, from the players to the coaching staff to Lovie Smith's fluffer who probably brings him appletinis before the game -- are a complete embarrassment to the game of American football. That you finished 7-9 in a year when you nearly got Jay Cutler and Matt Forte killed on the field, unleashed a complete horror of a defense and showcased the most hilariously retarded offense in human history is obscene.
Dear Jerry Angelo,
Get fucked and die. Seriously. It was a moronic decision to hire you in the first place, given that you were just a figurehead in Tampa Bay while Rich McKay ran the program, and you've proven that to be true time and again. You demand no accountability from anyone and are content to give huge-money contracts to broken-down shitbricks like Orlando Pace, and then wonder why the offensive line couldn't stop a fucking tabby cat. Jesus Christ. Let my army be the rocks and the trees and the shitty offensive line that you assembled, you incompetent fuck. At least Charlemagne probably had five assholes in front of him who knew how to block. If anything, just tell Ron Turner to go get fucked. Please.
Dear Lovie Smith,
I've always been a cautious supporter of you, but after you somehow found a way to burn two consecutive timeouts in the process of challenging a Greg Olsen drop that was clearly not a catch, in the process costing you the Green Bay game, I became firmly convinced that you have thoroughly lost the plot. You're clueless out there on the sideline and you have no concept of how the challenge system works. You managed to find a new defensive coordinator who was somehow worse than Bob Babich: Yourself! I honestly don't know what the fuck you were thinking. You don't have the personnel to run the Tampa 2, and you certainly don't have the coaching ability to run it. I am so sick of your nonplussed face wandering the sidelines while the other team rams a cattleprod up the team's collective ass, and you just don't care.
You had Devin Aromashodu riding the bench for thirteen weeks this season, despite Cutler and even Ron fucking Turner telling you to get him on the field. I understand ignoring Turner, because I'm convinced he gargles Drano every morning and then smashes a cake into his face because he doesn't know any better, but if your star quarterback is begging -- pleading -- you to give the kid some playing time because he has no one else to throw to, try listening. Oh, wait, you're too invested in turning functional retard Devin Hester into a full-time receiver, despite every indication that he's completely incapable of doing so.
You hire friends as your coaching staff and then let them sit around on the sideline and jerk off while the team's getting hammered. You let Ron Turner keep his job, despite all the evidence proving that he is fucked and he is fucking this team. You just don't care anymore.
Go to hell, you asshole. Oh, and tell Turner to get fucked.
Dear Ron Turner,
I've written everything I can possibly say about you. There is nothing good about who you are or what you do. I truly believe you spawned from the loins of Satan himself. Get fucked.
Dear Devin Hester,
You could be amazing. Learn how to stop running backwards, you idiot. Hopefully the team reverts you to full-time returner and part-time receiver, because the other way around is clearly too much for you to handle.
Dear Jay Cutler,
You're pretty awesome. You can stay. Hopefully you'll be able to hang in the pocket for more than half a second next year.
Dear Matt Forte,
I know it's not your fault, buddy. You did the best you could with five worthless assholes in front of you. Chin up. We'll get 'em next year.
Dear Gaines Adams,
Dear Ted Phillips,
Do the right thing and clean house before Virginia McCaskey's crusty old ass dies and Michael returns to run the team even further into the ground. This is an offseason in which Mike Shanahan and Bill Cowher are available, but you're content to let that sad-sack piece of shit Jerry Angelo run the show. Fuck you. Fuck you so hard. He traded his last remaining first-day pick for Gaines Adams. Let that sink into your head. Gaines fucking Adams is the reason the team doesn't pick until the second day of the draft. To hell with the millions you still owe Angelo and Smith. Quit trying to be cute, can both their asses and hire someone with a shred of football-related intelligence. Shit, I'll take a pair of drunken hobos at this point. I hear Joe Cullen's available.
Dear Virginia McCaskey,
For the love of God, before you kick the bucket, hire someone to put a bullet in your son's head. Please. A lonely city begs you.
Submitted with respect and kindness,
P.S.: Turner? Get fucked.
Dear Chicago Bears Football Club, Incorporated,
Allow me to elaborate.
You -- all of you, from the players to the coaching staff to Lovie Smith's fluffer who probably brings him appletinis before the game -- are a complete embarrassment to the game of American football. That you finished 7-9 in a year when you nearly got Jay Cutler and Matt Forte killed on the field, unleashed a complete horror of a defense and showcased the most hilariously retarded offense in human history is obscene.
Dear Jerry Angelo,
Get fucked and die. Seriously. It was a moronic decision to hire you in the first place, given that you were just a figurehead in Tampa Bay while Rich McKay ran the program, and you've proven that to be true time and again. You demand no accountability from anyone and are content to give huge-money contracts to broken-down shitbricks like Orlando Pace, and then wonder why the offensive line couldn't stop a fucking tabby cat. Jesus Christ. Let my army be the rocks and the trees and the shitty offensive line that you assembled, you incompetent fuck. At least Charlemagne probably had five assholes in front of him who knew how to block. If anything, just tell Ron Turner to go get fucked. Please.
Dear Lovie Smith,
I've always been a cautious supporter of you, but after you somehow found a way to burn two consecutive timeouts in the process of challenging a Greg Olsen drop that was clearly not a catch, in the process costing you the Green Bay game, I became firmly convinced that you have thoroughly lost the plot. You're clueless out there on the sideline and you have no concept of how the challenge system works. You managed to find a new defensive coordinator who was somehow worse than Bob Babich: Yourself! I honestly don't know what the fuck you were thinking. You don't have the personnel to run the Tampa 2, and you certainly don't have the coaching ability to run it. I am so sick of your nonplussed face wandering the sidelines while the other team rams a cattleprod up the team's collective ass, and you just don't care.
You had Devin Aromashodu riding the bench for thirteen weeks this season, despite Cutler and even Ron fucking Turner telling you to get him on the field. I understand ignoring Turner, because I'm convinced he gargles Drano every morning and then smashes a cake into his face because he doesn't know any better, but if your star quarterback is begging -- pleading -- you to give the kid some playing time because he has no one else to throw to, try listening. Oh, wait, you're too invested in turning functional retard Devin Hester into a full-time receiver, despite every indication that he's completely incapable of doing so.
You hire friends as your coaching staff and then let them sit around on the sideline and jerk off while the team's getting hammered. You let Ron Turner keep his job, despite all the evidence proving that he is fucked and he is fucking this team. You just don't care anymore.
Go to hell, you asshole. Oh, and tell Turner to get fucked.
Dear Ron Turner,
I've written everything I can possibly say about you. There is nothing good about who you are or what you do. I truly believe you spawned from the loins of Satan himself. Get fucked.
Dear Devin Hester,
You could be amazing. Learn how to stop running backwards, you idiot. Hopefully the team reverts you to full-time returner and part-time receiver, because the other way around is clearly too much for you to handle.
Dear Jay Cutler,
You're pretty awesome. You can stay. Hopefully you'll be able to hang in the pocket for more than half a second next year.
Dear Matt Forte,
I know it's not your fault, buddy. You did the best you could with five worthless assholes in front of you. Chin up. We'll get 'em next year.
Dear Gaines Adams,
Dear Ted Phillips,
Do the right thing and clean house before Virginia McCaskey's crusty old ass dies and Michael returns to run the team even further into the ground. This is an offseason in which Mike Shanahan and Bill Cowher are available, but you're content to let that sad-sack piece of shit Jerry Angelo run the show. Fuck you. Fuck you so hard. He traded his last remaining first-day pick for Gaines Adams. Let that sink into your head. Gaines fucking Adams is the reason the team doesn't pick until the second day of the draft. To hell with the millions you still owe Angelo and Smith. Quit trying to be cute, can both their asses and hire someone with a shred of football-related intelligence. Shit, I'll take a pair of drunken hobos at this point. I hear Joe Cullen's available.
Dear Virginia McCaskey,
For the love of God, before you kick the bucket, hire someone to put a bullet in your son's head. Please. A lonely city begs you.
Submitted with respect and kindness,
P.S.: Turner? Get fucked.
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