Dear Christian Gaddis,

by Ryan



Hey man.

So I heard you got something in the mail yesterday, and I just wanted to give you a little bit of advice on this whole "running over the big girl from Toronto" thing.

Now you probably have a few questions about this subpoena, and I'm here to answer them for you. First of all no, it isn't asking you for a urine sample. I know it's a funny word, but you probably shouldn't have giggled when the officer asked you those questions. Second: no, it is not a coupon for Subway. I don't care how much you love chicken teriyaki, you will pay full price like the rest of us.

With that out of the way, let's get down to business. You've done a lot for us in your career, but with this you have a unique opportunity to really help the franchise. There is no easy way of saying this, so here it goes:

Take one for the team, Christian.

Yes, I know it's not "ethical" and whatnot, but I want you to take the fall on this one. Someone misplaced Frank Clark's dentures again and he's on the warpath. I want your 6'1" 300 lbs frame in his way, and I want you to block him better than you guys block Vrabel.

I know this seems suddenly personal but it's not, I swear. I just want what every good teammate wants: whatever is best for the team. You see, Mr. Gaddis, we have two hopes for this fall: Money running buckwild and "That really tall receiver" catching passes and freeing up Lee. It just so happens that both of those hopes were allegedly in the car with you, suddenly making you more expendable than Andrew Peters at pickup hockey.

Don't think of yourself as being "thrown under the bus." Instead, imagine being gently pushed into, say, a luxury SUV and coming away with a bruised hip. It would be minor damage, really, but in the long run you would save me from a lot of sleepless nights crying over what should have been.

Really, you don't want to see me cry. I'd rank myself somewhere between a levee bursting and the Bridal Veil Falls. It's intense. Sometimes I get so worked up my breathing can't catch up and I start to hyperventilate. I literally choke on my sorrows, man. Do you really want to put me through that?

So... yeah, just bite the (metaphorical!) bullet on this one and say it was you behind the wheel of the Moneymobile. Things happen, man. You get a little buzzed at the club with your boys, and eventually someone has to drive home. Who knew that hippo in the road wasn't just a side effect of the Absinthe you pre-gamed with? I mean, you run over something that large downtown and you have to assume it's a mythical creature. I would have ran away too. After you hit that thing it's only a matter of time before Bowser cuts the chain loose and it starts chomping at you.

That defense is air tight, my friend. No, no, thank you, Christian Gaddis, for making this mess go a whole lot smoother. I'll see you in a year, maybe less with good behavior.