You Aren't Worth One to 2,000 Pennies More

Dear Chris Cooley,

 

I was disappointed when I heard that you were cut from the Redskins in the pre-season, but I got over it pretty quickly.  No one wants to see fan favorites go, but watching Sir Robert Griffin the Third and Fred Davis together made everyone forget who you were until poor Davis got hurt.  Instantly, Washington was like, "Where's old Whatshisface?  Cooley! Cooley!  COOOOOOOOOLEY!"  I started Googling you and found a quote about how you thought that the Redskins might re-sign you if something happened to Davis: “If Fred gets hurt or something like that, I think I’d be the guy they sign. I think that.”  I read on to see if you qualified that statement with a "Hopefully he stays fine!" or a "not that I want that to happen," but you didn't.  Kinda mean, Chris.  It makes me feel like you spent the first month of the season watching the games, clutching your little Fred Davis voodoo doll and waiting for the opportune moment to tear his Achilles' tendon and get your position back.  SHADY.

 

Redskins fans love making mascots out of favorite players, though, so everyone was happy to have you back, but you haven't really done anything.  I feel like I got excited for nothing and that's disappointing.  I felt a little better today when I read that you wanted a case of beer after every game to be added to your contract this time around.  That's incredibly stupid.  I'm not even going to roll my eyes at Danny Snyder for not letting it slide when someone could easily sue him and the Redskins organization when you inevitably realize that your career is over, drink all of one of those said cases, get in your much too expensive car and mow down a bunch of fans because why should they live when you can no longer be a gridiron hero?  Also, it's funny that the Redskins were desperate for a tight end but still didn't add, "And $20 for Mr. Cooley to buy a case of some shitty ass Miller Light," to your contract.  You are worth exactly what they are paying you and not one to 2,000 pennies more.

 

Now that Flying Dog is going to supply you with some of their beer, here's who you should share some of it with:

 

Sir Robert Griffin the Third: If I have to tell you why this guy deserves beer, love songs, and papal blessings, you must be comatose in a room that isn't within ten miles of a TV or a radio.  There is no excuse for anyone who doesn't sing this guy's accolades every day.

 

AMMO!  Alfred Morris, affectionately called "Ammo" in my house (Redskins Friend/Housemate coined it) reminds me of Clinton Portis on the field back when he was young and not accident-prone, but this guy doesn't have an ego!  It's amazing!  His car is even shittier than mine!  Give that guy a beer.

 

Santana Moss.  Did you SEE that catch on Sunday?  Just...wow.

 

Kai Forbath, the kicker.  I know, I know.  I hate kickers, but he hasn't screwed up yet.  Give him half a beer because he's not great at kick returns--maybe the incentive of some frothy goodness will give him the motivation that he needs.

 

Phristopher Polumbus--this guy has an awesome name.  Every time that I see the back of his jersey, I laugh at him.  And every time that he gets a false start penalty called on him because he's an idiot, I get to say, "PHRISTOPHER!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"  Say it aloud.  Once you do, you'll forget forever that his real first name is...um...ah...starts with a T?  Oh, forget it.  He should just get his name legally changed.  (Side note: the more that we call him "Phristopher" the more that it sounds like a real name to us.  Redskins Fiance is pulling for us to name a futue child Phristopher, but his last name isn't Polumbus or Pooley, so I will have to veto that.)

 

In the future, if I hear that you're actually on the field for a play, I want to hear that you do something spectacular and noteworthy--especially now that you're getting your beer.

 

Happy Thanksgiving and Good Luck on Thursday,

 

Karen