Dear High School Basketball Hall of Fame,
Yesterday, while meeting in my Tuesday night dodge ball league, I heard the dismaying news that a teenage werewolf was being considered to enter the sacred hall. As the head coach of the Indians – Canton, Indiana’s most tenacious freshman boys basketball team – trust me when I tell you that I know high school basketball. And as a former high school basketball player myself (center, team MVP my senior year), and a person, I can also tell quite plainly that Scott Howard/Teen Wolf is not a human. He is a werewolf.
Good sirs, I am a Christian and a firm believer in acceptance of all people, but, as demonstrated by the string of six consecutive backflips he pulled off while recklessly surfing on the roof of Styles’ WolfMobile, Mr. Wolf clearly is no such thing. His vertical leap and wolfish agility alone put him at a considerable athletic advantage. Not to mention the competitive psychological edge he unfairly gains by going up for jump balls with glowing red eyes, fangs, and a body covered in sweat-matted fur (his headband is not enough!). What if he’s contagious? You think I want my son, Toby, spending the rest of his life chasing Frisbees?
As Americans, it is our duty to draw the line somewhere, and somewhere things have gotten
terribly out of hand. Just yesterday I was talking to Old Man Wilson, who owns a liquor store
the town over, and he said Mr. Howard came in the night before the big kegger and wanted
to be served alcohol, even though he was clearly underage. As a law-abiding citizen, Old
Man Wilson refused him service, only to have Mr. Howard/Mr. Wolf let loose a menacing werewolf growl and demand a keg of beer. Old Man Wilson is a veteran, and that wolf bastard is lucky he caught him off-guard that day. Otherwise, I assure you, that animal would’ve
been sent to the taxidermist right then and there.
If that wasn’t enough, my wife has spent the last ten years raising a brood of prized peahens.
And last night, two of them went missing! I may not have proof that Mr. Wolf burrowed un-
der the fence in my backyard and callously drank the blood of two innocent hens beneath
the light of a full moon, but I have my suspicions! All over town, I’ve heard horrible stories
about this monster breakdancing, fornicating with the prom queen, and thinking he’s really
somethin’ else wearing sunglasses indoors. Quite frankly, I am just plain sick of the whole
mess. I haven’t been this riled up since the day my Indians scalped the Avon Warthogs and
took home the conference trophy. Regretfully, I must warn you, if there is no decency left in
this great country, and a teenage werewolf is inducted into the High School Basketball Hall
of Fame, it will put a stain on the memory of the best four years of my life playing high school
ball. It will also put a stain on the hall itself – to such an extent, in fact, that I would request
any nominations I may have personally received over the years for induction be immediately
doused with gasoline and set ablaze.
This situation, gentlemen, is a very slippery slope, and I for one would rather die than know
that maybe someday, even if I’m dead, my picture might be seen in the same building as that of a no-good, red-eyed, binge-drinking, chicken-stealing, werewolf! If we let him in, we have lost a battle of all things holy. What’s next – Magilla Gorilla on the district court?
I thank you for your time and consideration, and pray that you will not lead high school basketball down a path of disgrace and ungodly ruin.
Sincerely,
Whitey Beigeface
Head Coach
Canton Indians, 9th Grade Boys
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