Dear Phoenix Suns.
We’re through. I’m finished. It’s over.
As a patriotic American, I’m ashamed of your entire organization, even the Gorilla. I am sick and tired of immigrants coming over here and taking all of our good jobs. Jobs like point guard for the Phoenix Suns. Here we are, finally readying to build a giant fence to lockdown our borders, and you go allowing a Canadian to run your team. Maybe we to need to send an all-American construction crew –- I’m watching you Luis --- headed to the Great White North.
Oh, I hear what people say about this team. “It’s like watching a moving masterpiece,” according to Dan Hilton of the Bright Side of the Sun blog.
That sounds kinda queer. These Suns are too fast-moving and artsy-fartsy for me. I like my NBA like I like my women, slow afoot and packed into a pair of short-shorts. I was doing some reconnaissance work in New York City, and I caught Steve Nash’s act at Madison Square Garden. Naturally, those godless liberals went wild for his eclectic-passing, breakneck-pacing, alley-ooping, soccer-loving style of play, but why wouldn’t they give Nash a standing ovation? That oversized bleeding heart lady in their harbor lays out the red carpet for every country’s tired, poor, huddled masses. No wonder Charles, a local truck driver, hollered in my ear, “Nash is so good at making people better, I’d rather play with him than watch him.”
He’s blinded by the white.
Point guard.
I ‘spose I could overlook Nash now that he’s shorn that flower-child hair and retired his “No War, Shoot for Peace” tee-shirt, but he isn’t the end to the Suns multi-culturalism. You just had to go and build a mini-United Nations with tough guy Raja Bell from St. Croix, the “Brazilian Blur” Leandro Barbosa and the Mr.-do-it-all Boris Diaw, from France for the love of Jacques Chirac. Lance Armstrong went into France and dominated their sport, with one goddamn ball, and this is how you repay him? By letting France wipe their baguettes all over our National Basketball Association? You probably don’t even serve Freedom Fries at the arena. Traitors.
I don’t care that it’s the playoffs and the Suns attention to defense makes them a prohibitive favorite to win an NBA title, or that Nash is tearing up the league and has a shot to thwart the German and win his third consecutive MVP. I especially don’t care that the Suns consistently create living, breathing, entertaining art out in the desert.
And I certainly don’t give a rodent’s rump what Brian Lucas of The Rising Suns blog has to say about it. “The Suns are a dominant team comprised of selfless and egoless players, so the only thing that matters is a win. Nash is the maestro leading the freewheeling, high-scoring symphony that is Suns basketball. They are more than a team of professionals, they are a family and you could feel safe letting any one of them take your sister out on a date.”
Well, I for one, don’t feel safe at a Suns game anymore, what with all those foreigners running around. This spring, I’m turning my attention to the Arizona Diamondbacks.
After all, baseball is the national pastime, filled with wholesome, apple-cheeked, all-American boys.
The fence that matters in major league baseball is for home runs, not Mexicans. Exactly how our forefathers drew it up.
So Phoenix Suns I say, good riddance.
A concerned citizen,
Rufus T. Firefly, President, Minuteman Project
p.s. I would ask you to cancel my season tickets, but all my extra scratch goes straight into a pickup truck, flashlights, bottled-water, batteries and tranquilizer darts fund.
(Photos by NBA)
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