In the past week I have seen two articles by sportswriters framed as "open letters."  One was addressed to an owner, another to a coach. 

This is very unnecessary.  I'm tempted to say that it's as unnecessary as possible.  The entire sports section is already an open letter to sports people.  To athletes, owners, fans, the whole lot.  A sportswriter's principle job is to tell people how to play, coach, own teams, trade humans, behave on and off the field, cheer, boo, referee, umpire, officiate, celebrate, interview, ad nauseum.  Tiger Woods is even told how to smile (use mouth) and sign autographs (more often, please). 

Today, almost the only point of written sports journalism is commentary.  Game summary is the property of TV sports anchors, guys who wear suits to talk sports and who keep them buttoned even when sitting down.  Most act as if a mid-season Cards-Reds game were a meeting at Davos.  They analyze routine plays with intricate graphics and earnest tones more appropriate for charting the Lower Dnieper Offensive.  By the time a sportswriter gets his hands on the story, everyone who cares knows whether the game was won or lost, if the trade had been made, or that Chad Ochocinco celebrated a touchdown by taking a poo in the endzone.  (Hey, one can dream.) 

UPDATE:  The link below is dead.  I write this update a year later.  But I am not fool enough to remove this post.  Let it be known throughout the land:  I once had a story on Fart.com.  Below then is the now-dead and unlinkable post.

“Buy clicking on this link, I admit I am immature enough to read a story called ‘The Pooing’ on a website called ‘Fart.com.’”

Don't worry.  It’s narrative nonfiction, and therefore artistically respectable.

Steve Gadlin recently became the curator of Fart.com.  If you know who he is, you know that URL could not possibly be in better hands.  He created the long-running Chicago comedy shows “Don’t Spit the Water” and “Impress these Apes.”  He will also draw a cat for you… for a price.