Jock Itch An open letter to Brandon Marshall

Dear Brandon,

I was on your side. You wanted a new contract, and the suddenly stingy Broncos weren’t going to give it to you. You published a farewell post on your blog, and like your good buddy Jay Cutler, you were heading out of Denver because the new coach had his head up his ass.

I was on your side because I didn’t think the Broncos would be as good without you. You’re a good receiver and should get paid more than what you currently draw. The Broncos should pay you before remaining fans drop the team as if it were a new Smashing Pumpkins record.

Sure, you might be kicked out of football for a year if you so much as get a parking ticket, but Bronco fans looking for a bright spot in a tumultuous offseason will take that chance. Your new quarterback, Kyle Orton, who has never had the pleasure of throwing to someone like you, will take that chance, too. He’s probably hoping for your return like Barack Obama is hoping Sarah Palin runs for president in 2012.

And, okay, maybe your surgically repaired hip is worse than you let on. It’s one of the reasons you allegedly want out of Denver. You thought the Broncos medical staff (which is believed by some to be one of the best in the NFL) wasn’t giving you the attention your old-lady hip needed. Maybe it is in bad shape and you just don’t want them looking at it. I’m sure old man Pat Bowlen will want to know its status before he hands out any more money. If he cried when he fired Mike Shanahan, I can only imagine the tears after your hip goes boom and he just paid you a $10 million signing bonus.

But here’s where you lost me Brandon: You were pulled over for suspicion of DUI by Denver police back in October 2007, and you unleashed your feelings toward our fine city. Long before Shanny received his paid vacation, and well before new coach Josh McDaniels got his stink all over the team, you said, "I hate Denver. I hope I get traded. I hate this fucking city." That's not exactly neighborly, and it's a far cry from your grammatically awkward farewell blog post that read, “I thank the Denver fans who embraced my emotion and play on the field and showing me love every time I step outside my door.”

We all say things we don't mean when we're drunk. Maybe you were still emotional about the shooting of fellow Broncos player Darrent Williams earlier that year, and it angered you that the Denver police pulled you over instead of looking for Williams' scumbag killer that night. Or maybe it was alcohol. Either way, I agree with you: It’s absurd that a grown man can’t drive drunk when there’s an unsolved murder on the books. Priorities DPD!

The Broncos may be fucked, but they’re fucked in the head if they keep you around now. No matter how much the fans may hate the new coach and the direction he’s taken, what they hate even more is when a player takes a huge dump on the city of Denver. Hating on the city you play for is the same as hating on its fans—and, now that your feelings are all out in the open, it's going to make for some awkward Sundays. So, au revoir, fuckface. I hope you do get traded.