Dear Opponent: SMU
This work of epistolary comedy is dedicated to the KillerFrog Fan Forum Literary Review Board.
With love,
T.
DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN WRITTEN FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY; ANY ATHLETIC WISDOM OR INSIGHT OR KNOWLEDGEABILITY THEREIN, NOT DIRECTLY QUOTED BY MY COLLEAGUES, IS NOT ONLY PURELY ACCIDENTAL BUT UNFORTUNATE.
"I have come here to chew bubblegum and talk trash. And I'm all out of bubblegum."
--(Rowdy) Roddy Piper (slightly amended)
Dear Peonies,
I try as hard as I can, despite my task of unapologetic trash-talking, to be as polite as possible with most of the teams I address in these epistles. But with you, I'm willing to spare myself the burden.
Some people simply suck. Count yourselves among their number.
There are those who can compete and those who must buy people to compete with. That you are unapologetically of the latter has not prevented on your part such a shrill boast of arrogance from shattering half the windows in Tarrant County. The only trouble is, for all the gloating and promised bills and broken glass, you've not as yet managed to buy yourself a decent team in thirty years.
SMU's Preston Stone
Somehow, for some reason, you are persuaded this will change. "Insanity," so says the philosopher, "is the habit of thinking the same mistake will bring about a new result." To that end, you appear to be the wealthiest insane asylum this side of Bloomingdale.
I will begin by summarizing our supposed "rivalry"--if you want to call it that, though, if we look at the stats, with the exception of a fifteen period, it more appears a TCU revelry, as we easily lead, by ten, since we first met on the field in 1915.
And it must rankle, in the deepest way, that no matter how well you fare, whether this year, or the next, or the next, against us, we will still win the entire rivalry by at least seven, which is seven more than any bowl game you've won in a decade.
Further, let's face it, we would probably lead by a good deal more than that, but during your fifteen-year golden period, when it would appear you were unstoppable, in fact, you were simply cheating. You know it, we know it, and certainly the NCAA knew it, which is why you earned one of five death penalties since the inception of college football, and the only one in the FBS.
So well done on that score.
The more optimistic of you may believe you are simply has-beens in the matter of athletic success. I'd call it ne'er-been-well, and, as a consequence of thirty years of bottom feeding, you have, for the small sum of $200 million, bought yourself into a conference, one I've never heard of: the ACC.
I must admit, when given this assignment, I did not know if you were spending $200 million for the company of AOC's sister, or for a brand new air conditioning unit.
But, upon investigation, I can see there is, indeed, a conference with that name, the Atlantic Coast Conference, though, I'm not sure what Dallas has to do with the Atlantic Coast, except that, maybe, that's the nearest you can get to someone who's willing to associate with you, voluntarily, even for the money. Big 12? Nope. Big 10. Nada. SEC? Get out of here. Off to New York with your dainty pink-painted ass.
According to reports, to make up for foregoing media rights (and who can blame you? Who wants to watch, voluntarily, a team that has sucked for thirty years? Answer: no one.), you have gathered $200 million from some of your alumni, those relevant being worth around $15 billion. And the best part of the joke? There is still a "couple hundred million" dollar discrepancy between your team and your competitors--you know, those teams in the Atlantic Coast Conference that happen to be geographically located on the Atlantic coast.
Your leading donor says "he's not going to lose any sleep over it."
In that case, could he please send $2.56 million to Ye Olde Bull and Bush on Montgomery 76107 (please, no direct correspondence; all mail will be summarily returned)? For that small sum, I'd be happy to cease and desist from reminding you what a bunch of Pony-ass pretenders you really are.
See you in New York.
SI
P.S., When you're in Manhattan, trying to figure out the next conference to buy yourselves into, tell Ratigan I said hello.
P.P.S., Any response to this missive I will dismiss as a "Bought."
