I hope that this letter finds you in good spirits. I know both of our new teams are struggling at the moment, but what’s life without a little adversity?
I know you don’t consider me a friend, and I certainly feel the same way, so you may wonder why this letter arrived in your mailbox. The truth is, I’m sorry.
My antics during last years playoffs were childish, immature, puerile; you could probably come up with even more fitting adjectives. When I blew into your ear, I didn’t just want to get into your head.
I wanted to get into your heart.
You’re the best ever, you know? And standing right there, I was afraid that you just saw me as another obstacle laying in your path on your way to a championship, not as another living, breathing human. I idolized you, I still do, and it was killing me that you might not even grant me the basic dignity of acknowledging my humanity. So that’s why I did what I did, and I’m sorry.
See you on the court, man.
Staring down at the letter he had just written, Lance shook his head. It still didn’t sound right; after five attempts, he still could not strike the right balance between sappiness and seriousness. Crumpling up the paper and throwing it into his fireplace, Lance sighed and put his head in his hands.