What gives, man? I bleed green and gold, you know. The Pack is my team. From the time I saw my first game at Milwaukee County Stadium, to that year you won the Super Bowl ("a Brett and a Brooks and an Edgar and a Reggie, and Jones, and a Leroy and a Newsome and a Dorsey, hey Packerena, hutt, hutt"), and I laughed hysetrically when that girl in high school called you "FAHV-RAY." 
It was I who drank a shot of tequila every time you scored during your victory over the Bears on New Years 2007 and pleaded that you wouldn't not retire until you went out with a winning season. And then, last year, you were flawless. You broke records. You tearfully retired. I was depressed. I grieved. For the first time since I was a teen *4 wouldn't be QB when the season started. But, I dealt with it. I moved on, knowing that you had played your heart out. I was ready for summer camp. I was ready for pre-season. And then this. Oh, Brett. Why do you have to do this to me? Why did you have to be like Mike? I can't handle it, and I hope you realize that I'm not the only one. I don't know whether or not to be thrilled to see you play or angry because you're messing with the future of my team.
I might have to become a Redskins fan in protest...or....root for the Bears. That's right, I'll root for the Bears in protest. Okay, maybe I won't go that far. I mean I'm a cheesehead. But, I might not go to a bar to watch the games. I'll, I'll just listen to them on the radio so I won't have to watch you, who broke my heart! A pox, a pox on you, who I'd learn to live without. A pox on you somewhere other than your throwing arm, because we really need to beat the Bears this year. So, since you insist on playing, get it together and play well. Because I don't want to have to have you be dead to me. Or root for the Bears.
Bitterly,
Lola
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