I am writing this letter to you in my official capacity as President of your anti-fan club to tell you I think you are a mother fucker.

That's right, Mr. Smith. I don't mince words. I'm an all out, in your face kind of guy.

You may be asking yourself, who is this Sooner? Do I know this guy? What could I have done to make anyone hate me like that? Well, the answer, Mr. Smith, is no. You don't know me; we've never met. But I know you, asshole. I saw you in the Superbowl. I know you.

See, at my office we have something called a "Superbowl pool." The way it works is a "grid" is drawn up with 100 spaces. That's ten on the vertical axis, and ten on the horizontal axis. The "grid" is passed around and everyone who wishes to may sign their name in a "grid space." Each "grid space" costs five dollars. Once all the "grid spaces" are taken there is five hundred dollars in the pot.

Now, it gets really interesting. See, after everyone signs their name in the "grid spaces" the "grid" is taken to a conference table and a representative from each of the offices on the fifth floor of my office building is dispatched to watch the "assigning of numbers." Ten "digits" from zero to nine are placed in a "hat." Each of these "digits" is chosen randomly and assigned to a "column" across the top. Then the same ten "digits" are placed back in the "hat" and they are drawn a second time, also randomly and assigned to a "row" across the side. Then the two teams "names" are placed in the "hat" and the first "name" drawn is placed on the top of the "grid" and the second "name" drawn is placed on the side.

So, Mr. Smith, can you see where this is going? Do you get it? Everyone is assigned a "digit" for both teams which is determined by following one's own name to the top of the grid and to the side of the grid.

My digits, Mr. Smith, were one and one. That's right. One for the Buccaneers and one for the raiders. One and one.

Now, a "winner" is determined by the score at the end of the "game." If the last digit of both team's scores match your randomly assigned digits, you win the five hundred dollars. It's very simple, Mr. Smith. Very simple.

Now, I watched that whole boring game and with about four minutes remaining in the last quarter your team scored bringing the score to 41 to 21 in favor of your team, Mr. Smith. I was very excited by this development. As you can see, the last "digit" in the Buccaneer's score is one, and the last "digit" in the Raider's score is one also. So if you had just left things alone I would have been five hundred dollars richer.

But, oh no, Mr. Smith. You just couldn't leave it be. You had to weigh in with your two cents, didn't ya', you bastard.

With nine seconds, nine little seconds, remaining you scooped up the ball and pranced into the end zone bringing the score to Buccaneer's 48 (with the extra point) and Raiders 21.

Do you see the problem with this, Mr. Smith? Do you see the situation you caused? Do you see it, you smacked ass?

I LOST THE OFFICE POOL BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!

This was totally unnecessary. You had, and I can't over state this, you had already won! You had even covered the spread! There was no need for you to step in and muck up the works!

God, I hate you.

So, Mr. Smith, I see it like this. You owe me five hundred dollars.

Because you earn a seven figure salary, I'm sure you're good for it. In fact, I'll even accept a personal check, if that's the method you choose for remittal.

I can be reached via this webpage. I await your speedy response.

Sincerely,
Brian McSoonersonville

Posted at 4:36 p.m.

previously on Sooner � next on Sooner

last five entries