an open letter to Mr. Ricky [Wishes-He-Were-O']Reilly

Here's the thing - I'm giving you exactly what you want: more press, even if I'm not exactly press just yet (yet, my friends, yet...).  But how can I not say something?  You just make it so easy.  First off, let's start with my respect for you.  You've made a career as an essayist.  A sports essayist, no less.  A sports essayist who doesn't actually play any sports (from what I can find on google - and no, little league doesn't count).

That's almost enough to make you my anti-hero, not because you're a really wonderful person who gives money to African kids (something I'm tempted to say you do to help your jackass image - it's okay, I'd probably do it, too if I had your PR people), but because I've always had this secret desire to be a sports commentator.

We're actually kind of similar, which gives me hope for my secret desire. 

There are a few things standing in my way of being a sports blogger/commentator/essayist/photographer/girl-on-football-field-who-is-mostly-useless.  I don't have a degree in communications.  My writing degree comes from writing about pretty things and ugly things and dead things and existential things.  You seem to have a degree, even if no one has any idea what it actually is.

Anyone who has seen me launch any sort of ball with either my hands or my feet or my head or my forearms or a pool stick can tell you that God did not give me the gift of sporty-coordination.  Plainly: I SUCK.  I love sports, and I would love to commentate, but my inexperience has always been a bit of a hindrance.  However, you didn't play sports either.  Maybe you dabbled in stuff in college, either club sports or the weekly pick-up game when you didn't have a date, but from what I can tell, your expertise in sports is from years and years of writing pretentiously about athlete's inadequacies in their personal lives. 

Writing about celebrated individual's personal lives?  I can totally do that.  I tend to pick on people like Jessica Simpson or Miley Cyrus - the overhyped, untalented, grossly paid clowns who are almost as famous as God and even He's not sure why.  Sure, it's mean.  Maybe even a little unfair.  It's not like I know what it's like to have a dad who has an unhealthy fascination with my double D's, or a dad who takes creepy photos with me, only to sell me out to Babs Walters.  I should probably give them a little more growing room.  But there again, you've proven that picking on doped up baseball players or has-been NBA stars makes for more page loads.

Obviously I'm not really a fan of you.  You're a funny writer, but definitely not as funny as David Sedaris, who at least doesn't try to write about things in which he has no experience.  It's not like you have poor syntax, or a bland voice, or even boring images that make us all snooze and force us to redirect ourselves to celebrity gossip.  Unlike President Obama, you deserve your vaguely unprecedented awards.  Ex-athletes do well in the commentating field, so your natural literary talents definitely give you an edge because for some reason we're paying attention to you and not the former pro-turned-analyst who actually knows what he's talking about.

Let's face it.  You're a bitter attention whore who more than likely was always picked last in grade school.  I get it.  I can be a bitter attention whore who likes to complain about the many, numerous problems I face, like a night without Dr. Pepper or too many movies to choose from at Redbox.  It's a hard world we live in, Mr. Reilly, especially when we're fighting to stay relevant.

You saw an open market, and you jumped up to it.  Next time might I suggest you not do it in the immediate aftermath of a heartbreaking loss for a kid who was easily the strongest player of the season?  Particularly when doing it in such a harsh way that prompts the unfortunate discovery that you actually have no credentials other than the ability to craft witty sentences (there are plenty of us out there, buddy).  Certainly not when the NCAA championship outstanding player had only 16 points in his last game of the season, and certainly not when he couldn't manage a single 3-pointer.

Amidst all of this, I thank you.  It's people like Rebecca Black who inspire the tone deaf to make youtube videos.  It's people like Nic Cage who inspire the expressionless to search for historical treasure.  It's people like you, Rick Reilly, who inspire the clueless to write sports blogs.

Oh wait, that is you.