Dear Jordin Sparks,

You fail at the National Anthem. Seriously, how hard is it to count to three? It's like counting to four, but you stop one sooner. Also, there are no turns or mordents anywhere in the music. Never sing it again.

Thanks,
Rick

---

Dear Patriots coaching staff,

It's Phoenix, assholes. Take off the hoodies and go get some polo shirts. You look like a bunch of damn slobs.

Yours,
Rick

---

Dear Halftime Entertainment Selection Committee,

Here's a thought: How about next year, you get someone who's relevant to modern music to perform? This is a slippery slope you've got us on, picking groups that the prime 18-34 market liked in sixth grade. Who've you got lined up for next year? All-4-One?

Or a better thought, one I've stated previously: BRING BACK THE MARCHING BANDS.

With pride,
Rick

---

Dear Tom Petty,

Get a haircut, hippie.

Regards,
Rick

---

Dear Eli Manning,

Four years ago, when you were drafted by the San Diego Chargers and then pulled a prima-donna act and refused to play for them, I decided you were a tool and not worth my time. But today, you have redeemed yourself.

Today, you and your Giants stopped the Patriots' run toward only the second ever undefeated season in the modern NFL. You ensured that the most hated team in football today would not have bragging rights over not just the championship, but the perfect year.

Today, Eli, all is forgiven.

Sincerely,
Rick

---

Dear BeliCheat,

SUCK ON THAT.

Love,
Rick

P.S. When you return to the seventh circle of Hell tonight, give my regards to Rachael.

Labels: open letters