GatorHater4life
Gator Fan
Dear Urban,
It’s the Kiff here. My boss told me that I needed to apologize for
calling you a cheater, so here's the best I can do: You are welcome.
C’mon. You have to be grateful for the tidal wave of compassion you’ve
gotten. Not only do you return an insanely talented defense, but you
also bring back the quarterback-cyborg that is Tim Tebow. Add to all
that two National Championships and your prime location in the
nation’s recruiting hotbed, and yet you’re coming off as the victim in
this situation. Crazy huh?
Have you ever been to Tennessee besides when you play us? It’s not
exactly flush with football talent. I’m plowing through scouting
reports of Jim Bobs and Bubbas. Phil didn’t exactly leave me with a
stocked fridge (and that metaphor extends both literally and
figuratively in case you were wondering).
So of course I’m going to come out guns blazing. I’ve got to get us
back on the map. I mean, you saw our QBs. Jonathan Crompton? Really?
Peyton Manning isn’t exactly walking through the locker room door.
But admit it. You like it. You need it. Do you really want to be the
guy who tries to throw down with Mark Richt? That’s like wrestling a
Tibetan Monk.
Face it, Urban, I’m the most refreshing thing since the Tim Tebow
circumcision story broke last fall. The Florida Gators and this
conference deserve a better class of antagonistic coaches, and I
intend to be that guy.
Be honest: When Phil was the coach, did you really feel challenged?
Did you feel validated as a coach for beating a guy who was more
familiar with a post-game spread than a spread offense?
I mean, I guess it was nice to beat Grandpa Spurrier now that he has
one foot in the tee box, but please don’t tell me that you feel a
sense of accomplishment for beating the ghost of Gators past.
You and I both know that you were one more National Championship away
from shoving Charlie Weis out of South Bend and fleeing the mullet-
headed mouth-breathers filling up the Swamp. With me around, though,
you’re having second thoughts. Think of the pride you’ll feel in
tangling with my dad’s proven pro-style defense. Kind of overshadows
feeling good about torching Hawaii and the Citadel's defense huh?
Sure, you have Nick Saban as a formidable opponent, but he’s out West,
and you guys may tangle once a year if all the stars align and
everything goes according to plan. I give you the guarantee of a royal
rumble every year and early on.
I know I come off a little chirpy, but you’ve got to like that I’m not
so eager to kow-tow to the wave of Olympic-caliber sprinters you’re
rolling out. Whether you like it or not, you're the Yankees now.
You're the man, the establishment. Florida is Cobra-Kai now. You're
John Kreese, and Timmy T is Jonny Lawrence. I am Daniel-San, and my
dad is Mr. Miyagi.
And you know what, Urban-Myth? You may try to sweep the leg, but I
plan on crane-kicking you and Timmy right in the face.
But that's not all, Urbie. I’m coming into your backyard. I’m going
after your recruits, and I swear to Pete Carroll that if we are
bombing you by 40 and I have all of my timeouts with less than a
minute left, I will call all three timeouts while Ed Orgeron power-
bombs Albert the Gator and the entire team gets Kiffy with it in the
end zone. I have never been more serious about anything in my life.
Anyways, I've got to run. Got a study session on SEC rules and
regulations. Nu'Keese and Marsalis send their best.
Subversively yours,
The Kiff aka Your Daddy
It’s the Kiff here. My boss told me that I needed to apologize for
calling you a cheater, so here's the best I can do: You are welcome.
C’mon. You have to be grateful for the tidal wave of compassion you’ve
gotten. Not only do you return an insanely talented defense, but you
also bring back the quarterback-cyborg that is Tim Tebow. Add to all
that two National Championships and your prime location in the
nation’s recruiting hotbed, and yet you’re coming off as the victim in
this situation. Crazy huh?
Have you ever been to Tennessee besides when you play us? It’s not
exactly flush with football talent. I’m plowing through scouting
reports of Jim Bobs and Bubbas. Phil didn’t exactly leave me with a
stocked fridge (and that metaphor extends both literally and
figuratively in case you were wondering).
So of course I’m going to come out guns blazing. I’ve got to get us
back on the map. I mean, you saw our QBs. Jonathan Crompton? Really?
Peyton Manning isn’t exactly walking through the locker room door.
But admit it. You like it. You need it. Do you really want to be the
guy who tries to throw down with Mark Richt? That’s like wrestling a
Tibetan Monk.
Face it, Urban, I’m the most refreshing thing since the Tim Tebow
circumcision story broke last fall. The Florida Gators and this
conference deserve a better class of antagonistic coaches, and I
intend to be that guy.
Be honest: When Phil was the coach, did you really feel challenged?
Did you feel validated as a coach for beating a guy who was more
familiar with a post-game spread than a spread offense?
I mean, I guess it was nice to beat Grandpa Spurrier now that he has
one foot in the tee box, but please don’t tell me that you feel a
sense of accomplishment for beating the ghost of Gators past.
You and I both know that you were one more National Championship away
from shoving Charlie Weis out of South Bend and fleeing the mullet-
headed mouth-breathers filling up the Swamp. With me around, though,
you’re having second thoughts. Think of the pride you’ll feel in
tangling with my dad’s proven pro-style defense. Kind of overshadows
feeling good about torching Hawaii and the Citadel's defense huh?
Sure, you have Nick Saban as a formidable opponent, but he’s out West,
and you guys may tangle once a year if all the stars align and
everything goes according to plan. I give you the guarantee of a royal
rumble every year and early on.
I know I come off a little chirpy, but you’ve got to like that I’m not
so eager to kow-tow to the wave of Olympic-caliber sprinters you’re
rolling out. Whether you like it or not, you're the Yankees now.
You're the man, the establishment. Florida is Cobra-Kai now. You're
John Kreese, and Timmy T is Jonny Lawrence. I am Daniel-San, and my
dad is Mr. Miyagi.
And you know what, Urban-Myth? You may try to sweep the leg, but I
plan on crane-kicking you and Timmy right in the face.
But that's not all, Urbie. I’m coming into your backyard. I’m going
after your recruits, and I swear to Pete Carroll that if we are
bombing you by 40 and I have all of my timeouts with less than a
minute left, I will call all three timeouts while Ed Orgeron power-
bombs Albert the Gator and the entire team gets Kiffy with it in the
end zone. I have never been more serious about anything in my life.
Anyways, I've got to run. Got a study session on SEC rules and
regulations. Nu'Keese and Marsalis send their best.
Subversively yours,
The Kiff aka Your Daddy