loyalty

Passengers on flight 022507, I wanted to get this particular subject off my small-B sized chest (and only that size because I'm about vente pounds overweight) yesterday when I found out about it, but my 'net connection prevented me from doing so. Marvin Harrison, Colts wide receiver, numero 88 whom I have loved since day one, asked ayer for a release from the squad, following 13 seasons. I am devastated to say the least, and not only because of the tramp stamp that I had irrevocably placed on me when I was 20 years old contains a Colts logo alongside my two otro favorite teams, the Yankees, and the Pacers, but also because I expected him, always humble and unassuming, to finish out his career with us, and yes, I say us, because I am just as important an element to the team as a fan as Peyton Manning is. I imagine this is what it feels like for a guy to be kicked in his balls. I understand that he hadn't been as prominent in his role on the field the past couple seasons as years past, and I know that he has had all that legal bullshit que paso'ing lately for him shooting or not shooting some guy outside a car wash. But honestly Marvin, this is really, really low. You are the equivalent of Reggie Miller to the Pacers and nobody had to endure him jumping ship in his final season. I felt almost compelled yesterday to burn my baby Gap sized Harrison jersey, but decided I would tuck it away instead. Even though he lacks heart in leaving the city that loved him, I don't have the corazon to incinerate the memories that I have of him fielding catches over the decades from Manning and Harbaugh and the rest. I had my first sports cry when I was ten years old, at the hands of Chris Webber's "I don't have a time-out but I'm going to call one anyway" during March Madness with Michigan, and I wasn't even a fan. And yet, as I attempt to process this, I can't squeeze out a tear, and I think it's not so much a result of a lack of care, but simply because I'm pumped dry by the pain of this 25^th year in general. But I won't kid myself, even when I think it'd be borderline impossible to open the floodgates yet again, I break down over the most trivial shit. However, I haven't the fuerte to dwell on this for another minuto. But because I have never been an individual to not recognize a person's contributions to something, to this I say—Marv, thank you for your years of greatness at the receiving position, for snagging balls that looked impossibly out of reach, running slants like none another, for making my 12 year old heart connect to you and stay that way, as it probably always will, regardless of where you sign a bigger final year contract, even though it will feel slightly bitter and annoyed. I salute you Marvin Harrison, because it's only your loyalty where I find issue, not your proficiency, never your skill.