An open letter to Chad Pennington

Hey asshole,

I hear you're thinking about playing this week against the Ravens. What the hell? Can't you take a fucking hint? When you limped off the field on Sunday, I was the guy yelling "Pennington's a pussy!" I didn't think I was being all that subtle, and the stadium full of cheering sure as hell should have got the message through.

So consider this a more direct message: Dude, we hate you and don't want you playing quarterback for our team. We hate you because...well because What's-his-face Not Pennington is awesome. Do you ever see him underthrowing a fifteen-yard route because of a pussy willow arm? No! You don't! Because he's not playing. And the only way he can play is if your fragile ass is getting splinters.

You know what? Fuck it. Play on Sunday. I can't wait until Ray Lewis rips your god damn head off. I'm flying down to Baltimore, getting a ticket to the game, and cheering when you forget to slide and Ed Reed plants you Trent Green style. I'll raise my beer in celebration when they bring out the stretcher. I'll hug a stranger when you check into a hospital. And if you suffer a career-ending injury, God willing, I will host a pig roast and buy that $5,000 bottle of champagne I've been eyeing for the past decade.

Maybe then you'll finally get the message. Jesus, go back to Sesame Street you ass-clown.