Dear My Jump Shot,

Hey, baby. It's me. Your wittle itty Walter Ray bear. It's been so long since I've seen you, baby. So damned long.

Look, I don't know why you walked out on me or where you went. Maybe you're rotting in a dumpster somewhere in Dorchester or Roxbury. Maybe you're chained in a dark basement, all wearing a leather hood and getting regular colonoscopies from some dude named Zed. I don't know. I kind of hope it's one of those two things, because I'd hate to think you left me on your own. Your brutal death and/or abduction and torture would sure make me feel a lot better about myself.

I know times have been tough. I don't stroke you as often as I did in Seattle. I know that. But Baby, times change. We aren't 19 anymore. I can't be strokin' you 20-25 times a night. But those 10-12 times, well, they're quality. Hey, it's more meaningful when you've got to cherish each one, you know?

Look. I'm gonna put it all on the line here. I need you. I need you now more than I ever have. I heard KG and Truth talking when they thought I was going through my pregame routine for the fourth time (little did they know I had already gone through it twice before they even got to the Garden). They're considering kicking me out of The Big Three. Kicking me out! Is that what you want to happen? Would that make you happy?

Don't do this to me, baby. Don't do this to us. Come back. Please.

Yours, body and soul,

Ray

P.S. I had some dude named "Buck Nasty" take this picture. As you can see, I'm wearing that sweater you got me for our 79-month anniversary.

Labels: fan submissions, jump shot, man love, Ray Allen