Dearest Chris,
If you would be so sweet, so kind, so generous, as to allow my poor, humble city the honor of putting your simple, yet elegant name, in small letters below the nape of your neck on a jersey of a royal blue and flaming orange, I cannot express the levels we would go to to show you our gratitude. We will forever love Amare, the one free agent of the summer of 2010 who didn't spurn us, who truly believed the Garden could be great again. We will always love Carmelo, with his Brooklyn-Puerto Rican origins and as a symbol that once more, New York was such a desirable location that an athlete would do anything to come and play under the name of our once beleaguered franchise. But you? You are a different breed entirely. You represent all the aspects of basketball that has long been held dear in my small, humble city. The brilliance in your distribution of the ball. Your grit and determination on defense. Your fiery will to dominate and succeed by any means necessary. Even your diminutive stature next to the giants that wear the majority of the Leagues uniforms would endear you to us. That one man, only 6 foot in stature, constantly takes the ball, with the utmost care and brilliance in his handle, through the masses and to the hoop, only to dish it out to the open man for the most efficient shot, will make the city yours forever. We love point guards in the Big Apple. We love ferocity. We love tenacity. We will love you. More than Steve Harvey loves you. More than the great city of New Orleans loves you. In the words of one of our great poets:
"Give me the splendid silent sun
with all his beams full-dazzling,
Give me juicy autumnal fruit ripe and red from the orchard,
Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows,
Give me..."
Unfortunately, Mr. Whitman's editor did some aggressive editing and decided it would be better to end the line with "...". But speaking for every New Yorker who has great love for the Knickerbockers, I'd like the poem redacted to end with "Give me Chris Emmanuel Paul."
Yours truly,
David Lukashok
If you would be so sweet, so kind, so generous, as to allow my poor, humble city the honor of putting your simple, yet elegant name, in small letters below the nape of your neck on a jersey of a royal blue and flaming orange, I cannot express the levels we would go to to show you our gratitude. We will forever love Amare, the one free agent of the summer of 2010 who didn't spurn us, who truly believed the Garden could be great again. We will always love Carmelo, with his Brooklyn-Puerto Rican origins and as a symbol that once more, New York was such a desirable location that an athlete would do anything to come and play under the name of our once beleaguered franchise. But you? You are a different breed entirely. You represent all the aspects of basketball that has long been held dear in my small, humble city. The brilliance in your distribution of the ball. Your grit and determination on defense. Your fiery will to dominate and succeed by any means necessary. Even your diminutive stature next to the giants that wear the majority of the Leagues uniforms would endear you to us. That one man, only 6 foot in stature, constantly takes the ball, with the utmost care and brilliance in his handle, through the masses and to the hoop, only to dish it out to the open man for the most efficient shot, will make the city yours forever. We love point guards in the Big Apple. We love ferocity. We love tenacity. We will love you. More than Steve Harvey loves you. More than the great city of New Orleans loves you. In the words of one of our great poets:
"Give me the splendid silent sun
with all his beams full-dazzling,
Give me juicy autumnal fruit ripe and red from the orchard,
Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows,
Give me..."
Unfortunately, Mr. Whitman's editor did some aggressive editing and decided it would be better to end the line with "...". But speaking for every New Yorker who has great love for the Knickerbockers, I'd like the poem redacted to end with "Give me Chris Emmanuel Paul."
Yours truly,
David Lukashok
Now, just two days later this comes out:
I've had inside information from my Chris Paul spies for years now and thanks to my sources, I have a full transcript of his phone call to his agent, Leon Rose:
*Phone Dialing*
LR: CP3, my man. What's going on dude? You get that gift basket I sent you?
CP: Yeah, it was great, you know I love me some New 52.
LR: So what can I do for you Chris?
CP: I know that we've talked trade options before, and I know I've usually been hesitant to let down the great people of New Orleans, but this ownership situation is pathetic, my teammates are castoffs and I stumbled across something online that made it apparent to me that I only have one option. I need to play for the New York Knicks, Leon. As soon as possible.
LR: Woah, Chris. This is a huge deal. You sure about this?
CP: I am.
LR: What changed your mind?
CP: Well, you know how I constantly Google myself, looking for feedback from my fans?
LP: Duh.
CP: Right, so I stumbled across this kid's Facebook page, and he wrote this long, touching, at times inappropriately homoerotic, open letter to me, begging me to come play for the Knicks. At first I just laughed it off. Then it got me thinking. He swore New York would love me even more than Steve Harvey (go to the 1:23 mark) did! And the more I think about it, NYC is the best destination for me. Running the high pick and roll with STAT, finding Mello down low in transition, establishing myself as the greatest Knick of all time. It's too much to pass up.
LR: OK, Chris. I'll make it happen.
CP: Thanks, boo.
*End of Call*
Knicks Fans, thank me whenever.
