I am certain your spies have placed upon your golden desk the continuous news of the unspeakable truths filling the messenger’s boat. My pen trembles at the notion of cheapened transportation and the peddling of the kings championship treasure for ill-gotten gains from yonder Ohio and too the unspeakable notion that scholarly study and steadfast stewardship of thy holy rules have drifted in Connecticut in a desire to win a game.
Oh great keeper and defender of all that is good and holy in college athletics shall we soon expect a righteous monologue of disgust from the mount of your great white steed of virtue?
Are we to understand and worship your words as they are not to simply speak of facts but to part dark clouds of disguise and to enlighten us poor lemmings to the wrongs more wrong than any other - the wrongs that have not actually happened.
Oh Master your wise and prophetic absence of lyric does send my heart to song. I do now see that in the volume of your silence you are only teaching us that an action with none who care, no matter how wrong or outside those laws you hold so dear, holds not nearly the evil effect on our society as those wounds inflicted by the imagined sword of the serpent in blue.
Wise and warm leader please accept this letter as a need for direction. We look to you to teach and lead us all into the bastion of sport for the joy of sport. Where rules are no longer needed as all follow every note of your past symphonies of how to be a man, leader, teacher, coach, and kind human being.