Letter to Micky Arison: Send Stephen Ross Pa'l Carajo
Dear Micky Arison:
As owner of the Miami Heat, you've nurtured the evolution of a legacy that was humbly born in the late '80s, developed in the '90s, and unmistakably solidified in the new millennium. Your dedication to Miami sports revitalized a city desperate to escape the tentacles of irrelevance that had been choking away our pride and spirit. To die-hard South Florida sports fanatics like me, you, sir, are Beowulf.
But for all the glory you have brought our great city, one man has overshadowed your triumph with a shroud of anguish and torment. Time and again, he has plummeted us into an abyss of despair. This man is evil incarnate. El jodido diablo himself! He is a plague that has terrorized us with malice and ineptitude for too long, and the time has come for you, our champion, to rescue us from his despicable clutches. The man I speak of is none other than el muy malparido de Stephen me cago en su madre Ross.
Since Ross took full ownership, the Dolphins have yet to see a winning season. In fact, in the three years he's been the majority stakeholder, Stephen M. Ross has single-handedly made the Dolphins franchise look like the bleached asshole of the NFL. With each passing season, the likelihood of Ross making a terrible decision with absolutely no regard for the team's fan base has become more certain than finding a hipster coke dealer on North Miami Avenue at 6 o'clock Sunday morning.
To detail every failing in Ross's tenure as owner of the Dolphins would make this letter sound more like a suicide note, but by far his most notable fuckup has to be keeping Jeff Ireland as general manager. Despite Ireland's gross mismanagement of draft picks and reputation among players, Ross claims "he's done a great job with the draft." He's talking about the same sapingo responsible for choosing offensive tackle Jake Long over Atlanta Falcons All-Pro quarterback Matt Ryan and who wasted a second-round draft pick on Pat fucking White! Ross vehemently shows confidence in Ireland by saying things like "he's as smart as they come on the football side" even though part of Ireland's interview process is asking potential players if their mothers are putas.
Pero pa la pinga, let's forget all of that and pretend that Ross's paja mental is justified. That still doesn't take away the fact that Ireland is the herpes sore of professional football. No player (or coach, in the case of Bill Cowher) who's worth a damn wants to get anywhere near Miami because of him. Prospective Dolphins have publicly said they denied offers to meet with the team because of Ireland's presence, yet somehow Ross lo mantiene como si fuera su puta querida.
This is where you come in, pipo. Our city needs you. Ross and Ireland are the worst things to happen to this town since Hurricane Andrew. You have both the financial means and business savvy to help us escape Ross's stranglehold on the Dolphins and get rid of Ireland for good.
I'm not sure how much you know about football, but I'm confident you would fill the front office with the brightest minds in the sport, just like you did with the Heat. At the very least, I'm absolutely certain you never would have drafted Chad Henne in the second round or hired T-Pain to redo our fight song, and that alone makes you infinitely more qualified than either one of los dos comepingas eso. Y si no pa la pinga, just put El Lebroncito, El Bosh y El Guade on the field a repartir feruchos. No matter how badly they do, nothing will ever be more embarrassing than the "Orange Carpet," so who cares?
Stephen Ross is Miami's Grendel, and only you can eliminate this abomination from our city once and for all. You purchased the Heat for $33 million in 1988, and today the team is worth more than $400 million. You've led us to two championships and brought the most talented players in the world to play for our city. Because of you, Miami's economy has flourished during basketball season, and you've given its people a reason to hold their heads high — even if it's only until football season starts.
I beckon you to take an interest in the Dolphins. It would be a sound investment. Cojones, given their plummeting season ticket sales and declining net worth, I wouldn't be surprised if Ñooooo Que Barato brokered the deal for you. Moreover, though the team hasn't won a championship in nearly 40 years, Dolphins fans have proven they are fiercely loyal. They're still willing to buy jerseys and root for their team even when it's to no avail. What more can you ask from a fan base? While South Florida may have a reputation for having "bandwagon" fans in other sports, it is glaringly obvious that football is not among them. If anything, we Dolphins fans are more like a bunch of masochists who seem to have forgotten our safety word y los pingazos sin Vaselina nos tiene el culo looking 50 shades of fucked-up.
Theodore Roosevelt once said, "Believe you can, and you're halfway there." Well, I believe you can, Micky, but even though it might be tremenda paja mental mia, every year around this time, I begin hoping that perhaps maybe one day you will. La singada por culo begins at 1 p.m. this Sunday, September 9, when Houston hosts Miami. Tune in if you dare!
Pepe Billete, Miami's favorite Cuban puppet, rose to fame on a tide of YouTube videos, Spanglish tweets, and damn funny observations about life in the Magic City. Read his column every week on New Times' culture blog, Cultist — cultistmiami.com — and follow him on Twitter, @pepebillete.
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