Our version of Heat President Pat Riley has some words for you on this sunny championship morning. [As in this is a satire, folks]
[Full text transcribed below]
On behalf of the Miami Heat, I would like to thank the city of Miami and all of its great people for the love and support you’ve shown throughout this run. This third NBA Championship is as much yours as it is ours.
Well, it’s as much most of yours, as it is ours, anyway. Some of you are the absolute worst and need to be shamed, publicly. Specifically, those of you who left Game 6 early, I mean, what the hell? Where were you going? Have you forgotten what it is that I put together here? Have you forgotten that you have the greatest basketball player on the planet?
Five. That’s the total number of points you felt constituted an insurmountable lead Tuesday night. I mean, really, get [expletive].
And let’s pretend we lost for a second. (LOL, I know, but let’s just pretend.) Would it have killed you to stay around and clap to show some [expletive] appreciation for this totally awesome, completely mind-blowing monstrosity I’ve built in your backyard? I don’t say [expletive] about you guys showing up late, so the least you could do is stay an extra seven minutes. Jesus. Do you have any idea how many times I had to watch Michael Jordan celebrate? Grow a pair, you unbelievably spoiled ingrates.
I forgive you, though. I honestly do. Sleep well tonight knowing that your President still loves you. He just has to make sure you understand where you went wrong and that you’ll never, ever do it again. Believe me, that hurt me as much as it hurt you.
This letter isn’t just for the city of Miami, though. This letter–THIS CHAMPIONSHIP–is one ginormous eff you to the rest of the world, too.
It’s for the national media, whose unabashed hatred has been so transparent, its nipples kept popping up on TMZ. You guys were the worst, but also the best. You guys are the ones who really made this championship special. Especially you, Bill Simmons. We bottled your tears and sprayed them around the locker room in celebration last night. It was a truly magical moment. Glad you were able to be a part of it.
It’s for the city of Chicago. I sincerely hope Derrick Rose was mentally ready to watch David Stern hand us that trophy; I’d hate for him to be out another six years because of it. Take comfort in knowing that one day, you’ll be a part of that celebration again, too. It probably won’t be for another two decades or so, but one day. Maybe Derrick will be playing basketball by then.
It’s for the city of Boston. Thank you for pissing Ray Allen off so much that he joined the team you hate the most. That must have been quite the kick in the [expletive], watching him step back and drain that three in Game 6, right? I’ve masturbated to that moment. Thrice. Even patented the term “Three-beat.” You should know that.
It’s for Dan Gilbert. How’s that promise working out for ya?
It’s for everyone who, despite all of the information and data available, despite all of the visual evidence of a first NBA Championship, refused to stop saying asinine [expletive]. For three years I’ve had to listen to you knuckle-dragging mouth-breathers trade my players. For three years I’ve had to listen to buffoon after mindless buffoon hypothetically break up the team I so meticulously constructed. [Expletive] you.
I’m sad that this season has to end, but it just means that we’re one day closer to next year, one day closer to fisting your newly appointed savior–whoever it may be–right in the [expletive].
Derrick Rose? [expletive]-slapped by LeBron’s dong.
Paul George? [expletive]-slapped by LeBron’s dong.
Who’s going to be next, America? Who’s after that? We might as well get this over with now. Point me in his direction, because I promise there’s plenty of dong for everyone.
Okay, this letter’s running a bit long; it’s eight o’clock in the morning and I haven’t even seen my house yet. Micky and I are still in the VIP room at Story Nightclub, butt naked, wearing only our championship rings… but not on our fingers. Mario Chalmers is here, too. I told him that I woulnd’t trade him if he follows me around for a week humming ”Seven Nation Army.” I’m probably lying.
Congratulations again, Miami.
[Expletive] you, America.
President of the Miami Heat
Baddest Mother [Expletive] on the Planet