On this Valentine’s Day, I’m writing an open letter to my prospective date. He’s a tall, confident, young man who means a lot to me. He’s given me hope when I had none left. He makes each day a little bet better for me. And most of all, his drive and visible improvement with each day pushes me to improve myself.
Of course I’m talking to you, Anthony.
Hey there. My name’s Karl. I’m a 22-year-old from LaPlace. I’m really into writing, football, basketball, soccer, beer, chicken and being emotionally unavailable. I’m requesting you be my valentine because I love you. Not romantically or anything, but like in a totally normal, friendly way. I just think we should hang out and play Xbox and maybe eat some Dippin’ Dots together. Do you like Dippin’ Dots? I remember when I was eight and I would go to the mall with my mom, she would buy me Dippin’ Dots and I would just be fucking PSYCHED. But seriously, Anthony, you should be my true best friend and we can do a lot of fun stuff together.
I know it gets lonely out there with the long road trips, the every day grind of a professional athlete. I can relate cause right now I’m going out there in the streets in the every day grind of a delivery biker. No days off, I know how it goes. I’ve been cleaning up my pedaling fundamentals so I can really wreck house and get accolades next year. We even have more in common, AD. I too left college after one year. Sure, it was cause I transferred (FROM NYU JUST AN FYI #ELITISM), but it’s just another shared history. We’re basically the same person, except my arms don’t extend across the entire English Channel.
But similar backstories and the promise of true friendship aren’t the only reason we should hang out and play Madden 25. We have a history, Anthony. We shared a moment. It was the most real thing I’ve ever experienced aside from when I crossed over my friend in 7th grade and made him fall. February 3, 2014. I’m sure you remember it just as fondly as I do. We (I’m basically a member of the Pelicans at this point) were up 12 on those god damn old, creaky Spurs going into halftime. My knights in shining armor (that’s you guys just so you know) were walking back into the tunnel. I yelled “GOOD JOB ANTHONY KEEP IT UP!” And then you looked up and saw me. And I saw you. Two men, four eyes locked, three eyebrows. We made eye contact and I imagine that’s what dunking a basketball feels like. It changed my outlook on life. Before I thought I was a worthless post-grad with a vendetta against my liver; afterward I thought that I was the most special person in the world and I could write my way into the hearts of America and even the world (SHOUTOUT TO THOSE READERS IN AUSTRALIA AND GREAT BRITAIN WHO READ MY LAST POST ABOUT BARKLEY. HOLLA @CHA BOI).
After those fucking geriatrics came back in the fourth quarter and beat my beloved Pelicans, you stiffed me. I was right there by the edge of the tunnel with my hand extended, but you were so mad you didn’t want to slap hands. That’s okay though cause I was also pissed off about the loss and I can respect that. It just hurts because I’ve been hurt before. There was this…this guy. He was here for seven years, but then he skipped town. He really meant a lot to us and was special. But he left me like all those times I got drunk and yelled stuff at the TV meant nothing to him. I understand that it wasn’t working out, though. Better yet, if he doesn’t demand that fucking trade and start Lob City then we don’t get the first pick, and I wouldn’t know you. I guess you can say from that immense hurt came a new joy, and you are that joy.
Okay, this is getting long. Just know that we should hang out sometime. I’ll even buy beer for you since you can’t do that yourself. I know you want to focus on basketball but beer tastes good and it’s fun to drink and relax sometimes. But I can help you with basketball too! I love playing it and I think we would do well together. Just putting it out there, but I get called “Rubio” when I play. It’s because I look like him and I like to do cool passes and I too cannot pass for shit. But we could play together and then run a sweet pick and roll and then I’ll lob it and then you’ll DUNK ON SOME POOR FUCKER’S HEAD LIKE HE WAS BIG BABY’S COUSIN. And that’ll be every play for about 3 hours straight. Just think about it and hit me back. My twitter is @myroommatekarl and we’ll be in touch because I tweet at you 50 times every Pelicans game.