A Brutally Honest Players’ Tribune Goodbye Letter.

Abandoning a franchise used to mean something.

In the good ol’ days of NBA Free Agency, players would pack up their lockers, insult their former teams, and be on their merry ways for greener pastures, leaving a flaming tire-fire in their rear-view mirrors. The exit would suck, but at least fans could rally around their collective hatred for their fallen idols.

But then something terrible happened — PR people got involved.

And so, instead of quotes questioning the Canadian education system, or bemoaning the Canadian tax rates, or whining about how hard it is to get League Pass in Canada (you may sense a theme here), players now leave town in an even shittier way —with heart-wrenching, soul-barring, ghost-written Players’ Tribune Essays.

The sketchiness of this practice came to light when Gordon Hayward’s camp leaked that his decision was ‘so close’ that Hayward and his ghostwriter actually penned three different letters, one for each of the prospective franchises he was considering signing with. To me, a revelation like this screams ‘overzealous damage control’ more than ‘man struggling to leave behind the only professional franchise he’s ever known’.

And don’t get me wrong. A platform like the Players’ Tribune — which gives players the chance to speak directly to the fans — has its value. Athletes can be honest, open, and confident that their words won’t be taken out of context. But instead of handing the publishing power to athletes, The Tribune has instead given it to someone who definitely shouldn’t have it: sleazy publicists.

And so, if players are going to insist on writing these kind of exit pieces, they can at least use this platform to give fans what they desperately crave: honest answers to why they’re leaving. With that in mind, we’ve gone ahead and ghost-written a letter that better summarizes what a star free agent feels when they skip town. PG-13, feel free to use this in about 361 days from now.

Dear Small/Mid-Market Franchise,

Thank you for raising and caring for me in the years before I could get paid full market value for my services.

The fans in (Milwaukee/Utah/Minnesota/Charlotte/Indiana) were about what you would expect of people paying to be in a stadium to see live basketball — no worse and definitely no better. It truly pains me to leave behind the only franchise I’ve ever known, even if I was only stuck with said franchise thanks to an antiquated draft system that rewards mediocrity by handing incompetent organizations shiny new toys that they’ll no doubt tarnish or squander. And while our partnership only led to a measly two playoff appearances, we can both take solace in the fact that it took seven whole years before I started carving out the number of days until my impending free agency in the hardwood, like an imprisoned convict. So there’s that!

And sure, I may have toyed with you right until the very last minute, negating any chance you had to replace me with a free agent or agents that would have ensured your continued competitiveness — that’s my bad. But I hope that the gaping hole I’ve left will help everyone grow stronger, as only that strength will carry you through what I assume will be another devastating chapter in your never-ending rebuild.

And besides, let’s be honest — no professional athlete in their right mind would have willingly chosen to play in your city, even with its ample parking space and limitless Mall of America kiosks.

I know that today may hurt. But believe me when I say that I can’t wait until a few months from now, when I return to what I assume will be a standing ovation / tear-inducing highlight reel that I’ve most definitely earned, considering my agent was nice enough to hire someone to ghostwrite this letter, and put the feelings that I communicated to him through a series of texted emojis into longer form content. Thanks Grahame, you da bomb.

And while it’s definitely too soon to talk about this, I hope you can find it in your hearts to hold out on giving my number to any other player, until the time in the future where you can sit down, and rationally assess my contributions to your franchise. You might hate me now, but I’m pretty sure that the beaches of Miami/lights of New York/star-fucking of Los Angeles will never be able to fill the place I have in my heart for you.

So maybe down the line, after winning a few rings and marrying a second generation Kardashian, I’ll sign a one-day contract with you, as a nice little homecoming/retirement story. We can hang my number in the rafters, I’ll pose for a few SnapHoloChats with the least frightening-looking members of your ownership group, and maybe even fire off a few souvenirs from the t-shirt cannon. We’ll make a whole afternoon of it! So let’s not say or do anything too hasty, like burn my jersey, or vandalize my in-season house before I can get full-market value for it.

Thank you again for all of the treasured memories, and allowing me the freedom to accumulate enough Youtube highlights to pad my resume, and cash in on a massive contract elsewhere.

Whenever I fly over Milwaukee/Utah/Minnesota/Indiana/Charlotte, I’ll make sure to remind my assistant to remind me to think of all of you.

Please forward all my mail to Miami/Los Angeles/Boston.

Your Former Star,

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