Dear Mr. Bosh,As a fan of the Toronto Raptors organization, due primarily to geographic factors, I take umbrage with your comments in today’s edition of the Toronto Star. With your impending free agency in the summer of 2010 looming overhead like a dark thundercloud in Raptorland, you had the gall to insinuate that you will not resign with the club.
Not only that, but you intimated that you belong in the same conversation as the jewels of next year’s free agent crop, Dwayne Wade and King James. Uh. No. Let me paint you a picture. As the owner of a robust three digit SAT score, I feel qualified to make the following analogy:
Your basketball ability is to D-Wade and LeBron’s as street meat is to filet mignon.
You are a perfectly serviceable second banana. There is no way you should ever be counted on to lead a team. Sure you’ll get your 20 and 10 a night, but no one is buying tickets because Chris Bosh is in town.
Say what you will about Vince Carter (he’s a huge pussy), the greatest villain in franchise history, but when he decided to make an effort the guy could flat out play and will a team to victory. Carter was the catalyst behind every playoff series victory in team history. How many playoff series have you won Christopher?
I have the answer right here. It also doubles as the number of women who have been able to climax during a sexual episode with me. Zero. Nada. Zilch (Although I did get a moan one time; I think I was just lying on her hair).
Why the decision was made to build the foundation of the Raptors around a 215lb ninny like you is beyond me. When negotiating your current contract I assume that Bryan Colangelo’s designer shirt was too tight around the collar, cutting off the blood flow to his finely coiffed head (the dude has fashion sense; he looks like a European douche, but still).
You have such little self-awareness that you have no idea how big of a joke you’ve become. First of all, you actually look like a dinosaur; I wouldn’t be surprised if you were discovered to be the Missing Link. After making a big block or dunk, you prance and preen around the court with your jaw jutted out defiantly, trying to look like a badass. In reality, it looks like you’re constipated.
Your personality is not like a professional athlete’s; in fact, it more closely resembles a pimply faced teenager who spends hours playing World of Warcraft. In interviews, you never talk about basketball or your love for the game. It’s all about Facebook, Twitter, I-Phones, social networks and other entertainment mediums.
God forbid you focus on becoming a better basketball player. Do you think LeBron and Kobe spend their offseason making gay comedy videos and jerking off to Bill Gates’ Twitter posts? No, they spend hours in the gym and on the court making themselves better players. What a novel idea. Improving your talents at a sport in which you get paid millions of dollars to play.
There are rumours that you’re trying to bulk up this season by hitting the weight room. You’ve tried this before, but gave up because working out is “really difficult.” There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don’t want to address them for fear of giving myself a brain aneurysm.
Newsflash dickwad. Attaining a body like LeBron, Dwight Howard or Tewks takes a tremendous amount of blood, sweat and determination. Something a mincing dandy like you sorely lacks.
Now I know that you are quite adept at surfing the net, so there’s a small chance you may read this article. Fine. Go for it. Send me a nasty email (listed in my profile). I’m not scared of someone who outweighs me by 20 pounds but is almost a foot taller than me.
Meet me at the gym; I’ll be the guy lifting a ton of iron in a cloud of chalk dust. I’ll come find you at the pool doing water aerobics with the geriatrics.
GFY Chris Bosh.
Love,
Tewks
Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.
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