Fantasies, and my Wife.

So this is going to be the start of a "exciting" and "funny" new series of posts I'm going to be writing called "Letters for my Wife" in which, I will be writing letters to my wife explaining, well, me.  This can't bite me in the ass down the road.

Also, I'll try not to forget that I want to make this a series so you all won't be all like "It's been six years since you wrote a letter to your wife".  I'll just start --

"My Dearest Anne,

It's the end of August, schools are reopening, beaches are emptying, and for some terrible reason skirt/sundress season is ending, but there is some good news!

Fall is right around the corner!  Leaves changing, the kids are going back to school, the temperature is going down, Oktoberfest beers are coming out out, and football is right around the corner.

But that's not why I'm writing this to you, let's take a ride on the "way back machine".

Do you remember when we met two years ago?  The first time you came over and noticed the scent of "strong mahogany and cheap plastic painted gold" in my bed?  And how you thought is was cute that all my friends and I used to watch football games together every Sunday?  And when our first son was born, we named him Steven Jackson because you thought when I yelled "God damnit!  It's Steven Jackson or nothing!"?

Well, it's time I come clean.  I'm addicted to fantasy football and I have been for years.  The smell in my bed was the 1615 League Championship Trophy, also known as "The Blerta".  After I won Her, she slept next to me in my bed each night.  Were there mornings where I woke up with cuts and bruises from sleeping with a four foot tall trophy?  Yes, that's bound to happen when you're intimate with a trophy, but they were worth it one hundred percent of the time.

And as far as all my friends coming over to watch games, they're all in the League as well.  We spend the week coming up with new ways to insult each other and put each other down and on Sunday we get together to enjoy each others agony and keep each others jubilation in check.  Cuz we love each other dearly.

Oh, and you might want me to go back to the naming of our son thing.  I was on the phone at the time with my buddy Anthony, and we were debating a trade.  He was trying to trade rape me by giving me the Redskins defense, Vernon Davis, and some Cubans for Calvin "Megatron" Johnson. I told him that if he swapped the Redskins defense out of the trade for Steven Jackson, we'd have a deal.  He was trying to stiff me and was all like "I won't budge blah, blah, emotions."  We were in the middle of that conversation when Steven was being born...you probably look really mad at me right now, but just remember -- it's Anthony's fault.  We can make him move out.

It feels really good to get this off my chest, Anne.  It was something I had buried deep down inside, and  now it's something I feel as though we can share.

I just have two last things to say, first is I love you, second is would you start Matt Forte against the Pack or Michael Turner against the Panthers?

Love, SamWow

--The Voice of Awesome"