Bryan McCabe Is My Father

Dear Bryan McCabe,

I'm super glad to hear that you're staying in Toronto against the wishes of your team, your city, the media, local hair stylists and the Ontario chapter of MENSA.  Stay strong! 

What makes me so happy about you sticking around to score countless more overtime goals (in the other team's net next time hopefully, but I can see how that's an easy mistake to make what with both nets looking so similar), the reason I'm writing to you today, is that I am in fact your son.

If you haven't at this point deleted my e-mail and called your agent desperately seeking a trade to a non-extradition team in south Florida, let me assure you that I am not after any back child-support or missed Christmas presents or New York Islanders memorabilia (it must have effing ROCKED being a captain in the NHL!).  All I want is to hang out together.  All the time.  At your house.  At my house.  In the dressing room.  You can give me a mohawk and I can help you read your contract.  I can learn the can-opener from you and you can dictate hate mail to Damian Cox for me to type up.  Oh it will be just wonderful!  What better reason to stay in Toronto than to hang out wiith ME! 

Or you could, you know, leave... sure, everyone else in Toronto would be so excited, but think of how sad I'd be.  Yes, you'd be off the hook, you'd still be making good money, you'd actually be PLAYING in the NHL instead of being paid not to skate, you'd have a chance to remake your career in a place where you're not booed every time you hit the ice, but I'd be devastated!

So please, Dad, endure the boos and the scorn of the city, become a league-wide laughing-stock for a team that dislikes you so much they're considering paying you your full, massive, ginormous salary and still don't want to even see you in uniform, let alone on the power play.  Do it for me.  Your son and only remaining Toronto fan.

Sincerely,
WM