Dear Nick Green,
I'm so sorry and I would like to take this space on my blog to offer a formal, heartfelt apology to you for certain libelous and sophomoric remarks I made in post dated May 17, 2009, titled "Nick Green the Dick Machine." In fact, I'd like to address my offenses individually and beg your forgiveness.
1. You are NOT, as I said in the title of the post, a "dick machine." The reason I called you a "dick machine" was largely because of the rhymes with your name ("Nick" and "dick"/"Green" and "machine"). It was immature and completely meaningless. I mean, what is a "dick machine"? I've seen some contraptions on X-rated websites that might fit that bill, but they are certainly not you, Nick. I'm sorry.
2. You are NOT responsible for the Bruins and The Celtics losing in their respective rounds of the playoffs, thus ending their seasons. I know that now.
3. I do NOT believe you are a "clandestine operative" working for the Yankee organization to infiltrate the Boston Red Sox. I still think David Wells was, but I don't believe you're currently on the Yankee payroll. Sorry about that.
4. You NOT "a stinking bag of dogshit on the doorstep of fortune." Again, I was going for the alliterative effects. Whether you know it or not, Nick, I've been known to try my hand at poetry every now and then, but Robert Frost, I am not.
Now, you might be saying to yourself, "Isn't it strange that this imaginary sportswriter's letter coincides with my walk-off bomb against Atlanta on Father's Day." First, I don't know whether or not you're a father (I have two kids), but if you are, Happy Father's Day, Nicky. Do you mind if I call you "Nicky"? If you're not a father yourself, I'd like to wish your father, Mr. Green, I presume, a felicitous day full of peace and relaxation. Hell, he must be having a great fucking Father's Day, watching his boy play the role of "Hero of New England." He must be proud, and I'm proud of you, too.
Again, I am profoundly sorry and embarrassed for the egregious and flatly erroneous comments I made in my prior idiotic post. I was trying to be funny, and I was definitely, undoubtedly, NOT funny. In fact, I'm never funny, Nick. I'm just trying to compensate, rather overcompensate, for some deep-seeded personal insecurities and anxieties. I have issues, Nick. Some serious issues. It's best to pay no attention to me whatsoever.
In closing, well-done today, Nicky...I mean, Nick...I mean, Mr. Green (that includes your father, who, as I said, I hope has had a wonderful Father's Day). It looks like you're starting to really settle into your spot at shortstop, thus keeping that uber-douche Lugo in his rightful place collecting ass-splinters on the bench.
I love you, Nicky, in a platonic, manly way; although your Roman-esque good looks makes it very easy for me to understand how someone of the female persuasion would find you stunningly attractive.
Again, great job today, Nick.
Nate Graziano
I'm so sorry and I would like to take this space on my blog to offer a formal, heartfelt apology to you for certain libelous and sophomoric remarks I made in post dated May 17, 2009, titled "Nick Green the Dick Machine." In fact, I'd like to address my offenses individually and beg your forgiveness.
1. You are NOT, as I said in the title of the post, a "dick machine." The reason I called you a "dick machine" was largely because of the rhymes with your name ("Nick" and "dick"/"Green" and "machine"). It was immature and completely meaningless. I mean, what is a "dick machine"? I've seen some contraptions on X-rated websites that might fit that bill, but they are certainly not you, Nick. I'm sorry.
2. You are NOT responsible for the Bruins and The Celtics losing in their respective rounds of the playoffs, thus ending their seasons. I know that now.
3. I do NOT believe you are a "clandestine operative" working for the Yankee organization to infiltrate the Boston Red Sox. I still think David Wells was, but I don't believe you're currently on the Yankee payroll. Sorry about that.
4. You NOT "a stinking bag of dogshit on the doorstep of fortune." Again, I was going for the alliterative effects. Whether you know it or not, Nick, I've been known to try my hand at poetry every now and then, but Robert Frost, I am not.
Now, you might be saying to yourself, "Isn't it strange that this imaginary sportswriter's letter coincides with my walk-off bomb against Atlanta on Father's Day." First, I don't know whether or not you're a father (I have two kids), but if you are, Happy Father's Day, Nicky. Do you mind if I call you "Nicky"? If you're not a father yourself, I'd like to wish your father, Mr. Green, I presume, a felicitous day full of peace and relaxation. Hell, he must be having a great fucking Father's Day, watching his boy play the role of "Hero of New England." He must be proud, and I'm proud of you, too.
Again, I am profoundly sorry and embarrassed for the egregious and flatly erroneous comments I made in my prior idiotic post. I was trying to be funny, and I was definitely, undoubtedly, NOT funny. In fact, I'm never funny, Nick. I'm just trying to compensate, rather overcompensate, for some deep-seeded personal insecurities and anxieties. I have issues, Nick. Some serious issues. It's best to pay no attention to me whatsoever.
In closing, well-done today, Nicky...I mean, Nick...I mean, Mr. Green (that includes your father, who, as I said, I hope has had a wonderful Father's Day). It looks like you're starting to really settle into your spot at shortstop, thus keeping that uber-douche Lugo in his rightful place collecting ass-splinters on the bench.
I love you, Nicky, in a platonic, manly way; although your Roman-esque good looks makes it very easy for me to understand how someone of the female persuasion would find you stunningly attractive.
Again, great job today, Nick.
Nate Graziano
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