Fred Hoiberg walked into his hotel bedroom after a disappointing loss to the Nets and immediately noticed that a letter had been left for him on the desk. Curious as to who would be using such an outmoded method of communication, he tore open the unmarked envelope and read the letter inside:
“Dear Fred,
I just wanted to write you a letter telling you how much I appreciate the chance you gave me when I played for the Bulls in the preseason.
Just kidding! I hate your guts and I wish you nothing but failure for the rest of your coaching career, a career which will probably be over soon anyway. The ironic thing is I was let go after five preseason games, and now I’m a better PG option than any of the drooling sub-intelligent “point guards” that are on your roster.
Rajon Rondo? He’s cooked. Your front office is so screwed up that you tried to shut him down and then you had to keep playing him because everybody else on your roster is somehow even worse.
Michael Carter-Williams? He’s a lot like me except he has no idea of his limitations so he is constantly sabotaging his team’s efforts to win. Sort of like you and your coaching philosophy, which is laughably unsuited for the professional ranks.
Jerian Grant? Phil Jackson reached hard with this guy and then had to get rid of him after one year. That’s how you know he sucks. As the kids say these days, “L O L”.
Cameron Payne? What a great haul for Taj Gibson and Doug McDermott. It was definitely worth trading two of the only players on your team with actual scoring talent to get him. Total steal.
Isaiah Canaan? Not even a point guard. Just a fat midget shooting guard, like a shorter version of Marcus Thornton. It is sort of funny how you don’t give him any minutes even though he might be a better option than the other guys I just listed.
Meanwhile I’m over here helping the Nets overachieve at the end of the season, AND I have the combination of length and handles that you allegedly covet, AND I’m more physically attractive than any of those guys thanks to my well-kept goatee. That Carter-Williams guy looks like a literal horse. Payne looks like his chin got punched right off his head. He has like a reverse chin. Just stating facts.
Anyway, you might want to check your hotel bed. I left a surprise there for you.
Sincerely,
-Spencer Dinwiddie
P.S. I hate you.”
Fred set the letter back down on the desk and walked to the single king bed in the room, wondering what kind of surprise Spencer was talking about. Not seeing anything on top of the bed, Fred threw back the sheets and, seeing what was there, began to scream.
The severed, bloody head of Jimmy Butler, his eyes open but unseeing, was lying on the pillow.