Hey Ron Ron,
Hope things are good with you. Same old with me. Take the Mazda to get some cereal, then I'm back on my grind.
I'm writing because I'm worried about you, my man. Well, also worried
about what you might do to me. I don't want to be hurt again.
Nah, just playing. You know I've had your back since before Auburn
Hills, and couldn't be more stoked about you joining the Lakers. Maybe
you won't replace Trevor Ariza move for spindly move, but man alive,
you're Ron Artest. And you're playing for peanuts.
It's a drag, though, that everyone's already wondering about your head.
Will you listen to Phil, fall in line, talk with your defense and not
your fists, do the right thing, be a good boy, not let down all those
new fans who hated you last year, you know, real stuff. I guess I see
where they're coming from—well, if I hadn't
really
paid attention to your career, and went on wire reports alone, I
would—since you've done some weird stuff. But above all, you play when
it matters. A lot of your failure is cosmetic.
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