Dear Kansas City:
Enclosed please find $1.25. Go s***w yourselves. Seriously–what the heck? I roll into town for a preseason game and you boo me because I play well?? After I spent the latter half of my career getting the mess knocked out of me all over Arrowhead, wiping up Dick Vermeil’s tears and dealing with the fact that the best receiver your donkey’s behind of an owner ever surrounded me with was Eddie Gosh Darn Kennison??? I mean, really. Daunte Culpepper even told me he wouldn’t waste time drafting Kennison as his fourth wide receiver on his fantasy team and you expect me to rack up Super Bowls with a coach who cries and that guy to catch passes? No knock on Tony Gonz, or getting Priest Holmes and Larry Johnson (who really is a crybaby btw) but come the heck on, man.
And don’t even get me started on the fact that I’m a homeless alcoholic version of Wally Pip. Everyfreakingwhere I go I get replaced. Vermeil goes out and gets me the greatest show on turf, Martz (what an ego, huh?) to run the offense, Big Game to reel in the passes and somehow I still can’t get my job back from a motherfudging grocery bagger when I return??? And Damon Huard?? I thought that guy was the water boy…and that was before the whiplash set in.
I’m one concussion away from either certain paralyzation and brain damage, or even worse, getting replaced by Chet Lemon (where the heck do they find THESE GUYS!!). I’ve got one, maybe two years left on my body with this offensive line, and I’m blatantly just here to try and limp the Dolphins along while grooming John Beck to be a tackle dummy. Er, stud NFL quarterback.
So, seriously, lay the heck off! I didn’t take some big deal and roll to South Beach, remember? Your fantastic ownership ran me out of Kansas City with less dignity than that time Joey had to do the herpes commercial on Friends. If things had gotten any worse I would have had to sign a one year deal with the freaking Raiders, so quit with the booing guys!
Yours in JC,
Trent
