Dear Lame-Ass Sweed ...

Sorry, Limas. Yeah, I know. You're probably wondering why it has taken me until Tuesday to address your utter incompetence. You're probably thinking, Why not let sleeping dogs lie, Bill?

Well, Lame-Ass, it's simple. I can't let them dogs get their shut-eye. I'm a blogger. I see an injustice, I have to address it!

See, what you glamorous athletes don't understand is that we working stiffs don't understand you. See, Lame-Ass, you get paid a helluva lot of money to actually do very little in life. No, I'm not gonna rant about how you get paid more in six months than teachers make in six lifetimes. We Americans love watching our sports. Advertisers love to reach Americans. They pay for the privilege. And your privileged owners pay you. In fact, your exorbitant salaries make more sense than, say, an insurance company or bank CEO. You actually earn your bonuses.

So yeah, you athletes make a lot of money and do very little. It's just that when you can't even do that, we get really pissed off. And in the grand scheme of even football, you receivers have it sooooo easy. You don't have to wrestle with another 300 lb. behemoth for three hours at a time. You don't have to get whacked by that same behemoth every time you drop back to pass. You don't have take the ball and run straight into a wall of those 300 lb. behemoths hoping that you advance 9 feet at a time. You don't even have the stress of having your entire team and fan base relying on the accuracy of your leg to win or lose a football game.

Nope. You wide receivers have it pretty simple. Unlike all these complicated defensive schemes, your very job description tells you all you have to do in any given game. Receive ... the ... friggin' ... ball!

Sure, it's complicated by having to memorize a route. Oooohhhhh ... and there are defenders. But think about it, Lame-Ass. All you really have to do is run a couple of steps and catch the ball.

As I've said, I'm a working stiff. If someone wanted to pay me $2 million to work eight months out of the year to catch a ball, I'd be the most ball-catchin'est fat fuck you've ever seen in your life! Shit, I'd catch a rifle pass with my tongue for that kinda money. Al Michaels would be gettin' all ghetto on the mic: "Hot damn! That muthafucka Bill Campbell just caught that ball with his gotdamned eyelash!!!"

But no, not you, Lame-Ass. With the game on the line, with your team trying to finally put the game out of reach, with you gliding into the end zone, wide open, and a perfect spiral pass hitting you square in the friggin' numbers! do you catch it? no? do you win the game? no!!! No, Sweed, you decide to drop the damned ball and let the Bungholes beat the Super Bowl Champion Pittsburgh Steelers.

I know, you're probably thinking I'm being unfair. And perhaps I am. After all, losing is a team effort. And the Steelers at 1-2 are looking a lot like losers right now.

After all, you're not the only one. That abysmal offensive line has more open sores than a leper colony.

(Dear Trai Essex, my brutha alum, my fellow Wildcat, please, please, please start representing the fine tradition of Northwestern football that has been gleaming with mediocrity since 1995! show these people what it means to be the perennial runners-up in the Anusol Suppository Bowl, show them the formidable team that holds the longest losing streak in Division I-A football history and the proud holders of the worst bowl loss ... oh, wait, what was that? You are ... well, then, that makes sense. Rock on, Brother Man!)

Now, where was I? Oh yeah ...

Willie Parker has been gimpy for the past couple seasons still recovering from his broken leg. Your fellow Class of '07 teammate, Rashard Mendenhall, can't figure out if he wants to play football or tiddlywinks. Santonio Holmes (as my co-worker, B., has pointed out) has decided that he'll be the Robert Horry of the NFL and only perform during the playoffs and figures it's better to cause an interception and have it run back for a touchdown than to run a proper route. Big Ben and Heath Miller need to spend some alone time in a hotel room to stop their on-again/off-again relationship. And Offensive Coordinator Bruce Arians has confused American football with its European counterpart and thinks that a 13-goal lead is most definitely a blow-out.

Yo! Bruce! They're called points, asshole! You get 3 for a field goal and 6 for a touchdown! Do the math!!! How the hell can you even imagine that a 13-point lead will hold with 45 friggin' minutes left to play?!!! There's no such thing as prevent offense (thanks for that one, D). Score some friggin' points!!!

So, no, Lame-Ass, I don't just blame you. And I don't blame the defense either. They only gave up 17 points. They did their job. Yeah, they gave up the last-minute game-winning drive. But what do you expect when the defense, because of offensive incompetence, was forced to stay on the field for the last 60 minutes of the football game.

But, unlike you, the defense won us a Super Bowl last year. What did you do last year? Oh yeah, drop a couple sure-touchdown passes. What have you done so far this year? Oh yeah, drop a sure-touchdown pass. Keep it up, loser. Mine is not the only wrath you are facing. Rumor has it Mike Tomlin can't even crack a smile after an orgasm. How can you possibly think he's happy with your sorry-ass performance? How can you possibly think you'll have a job next year--especially with your back-up having a 100-yard receiving day?

But I'll get over it. You'll be gone next year. And when I see you a year from now, I'll be doing two things: smiling grandly at your new uniform and saying, "Yes, I would like fries with that."

Punk.