Do you realize that we can’t see you? All of the antics you pull, hats you hold up, or gang signs you flash; we can’t see them, nor do we want to see them, or you for that matter.
You don’t seem to understand this. You insist on throwing up your index finger in the “Number One” formation to root your team onto victory. Have you ever wandered why the starting pitcher or inside linebacker never holds up a picture of you, chanting “He’s number one!”? Maybe it’s because they, much like me, don’t care.
You are nothing but a blur in the background while the “4-Letter” is broadcasting Sports Center live from
Your time could be better spent at the bar throwing back $10 Miller Lites while looking over at the hot girl who’s making eyes at you. Never mind that she’s a prostitute who will probably leave you with an empty wallet and a scorching case of herpes, she’s wearing your team’s jersey. Go for it slugger!
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