Hey, kiddo, I know this is bad timing, given that it’s your first game off the bench following Big Eddie’s cleat incident, but something came up and I can’t make it anymore. It’s really no big deal, just a dumb work thing. You know, adult stuff. I have to get through all of these letters in time or else I’ll be in the hole a couple thousand bucks. I thought I had more time but the wheels in my head just keep spinning and I don’t know how to proceed with this. 

I know this is hard to hear, since I promised I’d come to your very first game and we made matching “Eat Shit, Eddie” t-shirts, but I really am puzzled with my work right now. My boss handed me a report and asked me to write up “my take” on it but it’s all numbers and I don’t know what any of them mean. I tried to tell him again and again that I’m a letters man and not a numbers man but he just doesn’t understand me the way Pat Sajak does.

For now, focus on playing your best and we’ll have our nightly Wheel of Fortune watch party when you get home. I can’t wait for tonight so I can give you a big Sajak, I mean Pat, (haha), on the back to celebrate your big win. I’m so fortunate to have a son like you. Now go get ‘em tiger!

P.S. Tell your sister that our plans for later might be in Jeopardy, (haha), the fifth-graders next door are talking trash and I can’t let them beat me in the final round again.

—M. Matera

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