New Years Resolutions – Football, Boxing, Golf
Sunday, January 3, 2010 21:54
Gairzo shares his e-mails from A-list sports celebs offering their new years resolutions.
NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS IN SPORTS
About mid-November I sent e-mails out to twenty-five or so of my favorite “sports-lebrities”… You wouldn’t believe some of the responses I received. Those rude souls who didn’t bother to answer my e-mail probably won’t mind if I, you know, make-up appropriate resolutions that make them look, you know, pretty bad.
I’ll leave it to my discerning readers to guess which of the following are real and which are just contrivances of my sick imagination.
Ben Roethlisberger: “Hi G, Whassup?… Resolution, let’s see… Bro’, I gotta do something about my taste in women. I’m checkin’ out these tabloid photos of some chicks I’ve been seeing… Seriously, am I a skank-lover, or what?… This one chick looks like Mrs. Ed’s grand-daughter.”
Urban Meyer: “Hey Gary… I resolve to get my job back… I know I’ve got a real credibility problem because I panicked when the doctor said I’d be dead in a year and got all sappy and vaginical when my kids said, “We got our daddy back.” When I went back to the doctor, he amended his diagnosis by saying, I would probably be dead within the next eighteen months. I’m thinking I could squeeze one more season in, do some yoga, buy a treadmill, and eat more broccoli. My other resolution is to be truthful, really. I’ll start now by admitting after finding out I would be spending much more time at home, I realized–I really hate my family! The wife, kids, dog, those fish looking at me with those dead eyes in my aquarium…Can’t stomach any of ‘em.
Wow, that’s a load off my chest… Hold on… My pulse rate just went down 12 BPM… Happy New Year!”
Mike Leach: “Happy New Year, Gary. I’ve already made good on one resolution by hiring a new assistant–because the last one sure as hell didn’t get me the don’t piss off Craig James memo on time–or was it the concussions are a serious matter memo? Anyway, I also resolve to take Craig James’s job–or at least make more money than him on TV. I can no longer coach football because too many of the young guys today are pussies. Besides, I’m perfect for TV; you never know what I’m gonna say. Hell, I remember I when I was in college–I forget what school–I had a concussion so bad it took me I don’t know how long to recover. Hell, I’m not sure I remember if I ever recovered… Ain’t that something? I do remember; I found release from the migraines in a dark room. I was only trying to help–what’s his name again? Abbot? Andy?”
Bill Polian: “Hey Gairzo, how are you? I resolve to win another Super Bowl ring for our great fans–oh, bullshit!!! The bastards turned on me, Gar, every Goddamned one of ‘em. Don’t they know I am a genius? We’ve won more games since I had the guts to draft Peyton than any other team. Some nagging nabobs of negativism point out the Steelers have won two, the Patriots three Super Bowls in that time. What does Bellichick know about talent… Tom Brady 6th rounder, 2nd stringer outta Michigan? C’mon, get real, nobody cares about perfection–and don’t give me that Don Shula crap! What has he ever done in this league? Ah, to hell with all of you… I AM A GENIUSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Manny Pacquaio: “Mr. Gary, this Floyd Mayweather and his Golden Boy people have made me to resolve to beat his ass whenever I see him in the ring. How dare these people and their promoter implicate that I take steroids. My way to the top has been the result of hard work. I have no idea what steroids look like, and my fear in God has kept me safe and victorious through all these years. Luckily, my fear of God is much stronger than my fear of needles, so I am able to take shots my trainers give me once a week and–uh, Mr. Gary, please delete this e-mail, my lawyer has informed me I cannot say any more–please, sir, delete this e-mail.”
Mike Tyson: “Hi Gary, I would like all of your loquacious readers to know I have recently been acquitted of the squirrellous charges involving an altercation with a paparazzi in the Los Angeles airport. Since I was, yet again, unfalsely proseletyzed for nefarious reasons, I resolve to have my agent find me several more cool movie roles like I portrayed in The Hangover where I can knock little white men out and not go to jail.”
Tiger Woods: “Hello Gary, I’m sure you understand I don’t correspond with media members except at press conferences after I’ve dominated in a major and for those mushball interviews after tournaments with that fat guy with the moustache.
Anyway, I’ve been reading your stuff, and thought your lucid brilliance is deserving of the scoop of the decade…
I, Eldrick “Tiger” Woods hereby resolve to retire from golf…
I’ve been taking advice from people stuck inside a moldy box. They were too interested in protecting my “image”–clean-living, focused, disciplined–instead of the man I really am–bad driver and an unfaithful, hypocrite sex addict.
All this time I could have been been making triple the pittance I’ve received from sponsors like Gillette, Buick, and AT&T.
Imagine me as the pitchman for…
Trojans Condoms… Put some Tiger on your crank and show her how you put it in the hole.
Patron Tequila… Get ‘em plastered, it makes the approach game a lot easier…
Gee Gary, I could even produce and distribute my own products…
Tiger Jeans… You don’t need no stinkin’ sock… Tiger Jeans make you the man you want to be–even if you aren’t.
And we’re really excited with the newest products from Tiger-Tronics…
The Bye, Bye, Birdie Phone… A great new cell phone. Just like an ordinary cell phone–except all text messages and voicemails erase themselves after 45 minutes! You give one to each woman you’re screwing and that’s your only means of communication. No more embarrassing moments on TMZ or ET, or divorce court. No more sounding like a blithering fool begging some chick to erase messages.
Our engineers are working on an even more revolutionary social networking product for the modern man. Few shallow, rich guys can stand the way bimbos drone on about how they’re not just another bimbo, aren’t interested in money, or wish you knew how special they were.
Imagine a device you could fit on a key chain to which only you could send coded, very short, text messages to your secret female. Even if it were confiscated by your nebby wife, she’ll never figure out the secret code you share with your newest love. What’s it called?
Twits for Twats.
I’m telling you, Gary, I’m gonna be so rich, I’ll make Bill Gates feel like Joe the Plumber.”
It’s going to be a great year for me… I hope it is for you too.
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
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