Ed’s Note: I’m saving the FRQs for next week. This Richard Jefferson topic is boiling like it’s the mid-90s and I just hit three straight threes in the video game NBA Jam, i.e. writing the following letter was like shooting into the Atlantic.
I know you’re going through a lot right now. But my dude, I’m smh’ing at you at 110 miles per hour. You had the perfect opportunity to keep your mouth shut and fall back. Yet, you decided to open your faucet like you covet the idea of joining Gov. Mark Sanford on the All-American Muzzle Team. But you chose to insert your left foot in your mouth as if you’d recently purchased Marilyn Manson’s alleged flexibility.
Excuse me for being selfish for a moment. I’ve been waiting for a story like this since the real life Runaway Bride went missing in 2005. See, a part of me wants to attend a wedding — of two people I don’t know that well — where everything falls apart like it does in film and on the small screen. I know that’s wrong, but it’s true.
They say art imitates life, right? Well your saga is about as close as we’ve come to The Fresh Prince & Lisa failing to jump the broom since … well, since 2005. That said, I wish you would have kept your mouth shut, and let me have this moment.
You should have been happy knowing the actual truth, and left the rest of us to chuckle at the fodder. I didn’t want to handle the truth. I prefer the “left at the alter” story people keep relaying, although it made little sense because the word is altar.
But no. You had to alter the story, and make everything right with the people who were scolding your good name. You couldn’t let the stellar work of the people at The New York Post be great©, could you? You had to make sure we heard your side of the story as you simultaneously went all Karrine Steffans on your own fungus-infested left big toe.
Doesn’t sound too good, huh? I bet you’d rather have 84 deep-fried Twinkies. Well that’s about how brilliant it sounds when you admit that you ended your engagement a week before the wedding via e-mail because you wanted to “organize your thoughts.” You can’t clown like this. George Jefferson is not your father.
I’ll admit it. I’m good for sending elongated e-mails and letters to people who cross me in a few circumstances: 1) On this blog daily (you should read it); 2) If I can’t get you on the phone in a timely manner; 3) If I’m so enraged that every other word out of my mouth will almost sound like the acronym for French Connection U.K.
But I will never break up with someone — especially my fianceé — via e-mail. That doesn’t belong in some rulebook. It’s common sense. For your actions, even 8-year-old Riley Freeman would tell you “that’s a [female dog, buuuuuttt] move, Santa Richard Jefferson.”
I doubt Maxwell played “Pretty Wings” for the girl, then had the break up conversation with her. Somehow, you missed the mental memo.
Instead, someone advised you — or you decided yourself — that telling the world you gave her a cash parting gift (your last name isn’t Sajak) you didn’t owe her would make up for leaving her a week away from the altar ending your engagement via e-mail.
But you pulled a Sex & The City double whammy (Still, No E. Lynn). The Post made the world think Big (You) broke up with Carrie (your fianceé) a few hours away from the altar and left all your friends to kick it on your black card. All untrue, according to you. But you took it a step further and let us know that you (Berger) broke up with your fianceé (Carrie) via an electronic Post-It. Again, No E. Lynn. I watch good television.
Now, I have no problem with you catching cold feet and getting out before you did something stupid. I commend you for getting out of the relationship. But you did something questionable to end it. That’s the only real problem here. Everything else makes sense.
Now, I only have a few suggestions for you. Do not call Al Sharpton. Fire your public relations handler as soon as you finish reading this. No sane PR person would have let you say anything about the e-mail. Also, dismiss your best man. If anyone should have known better, he should have.
Finally, the next time you decide you want to get married, do me a favor: Send me an e-mail and ask me to stand behind you. I’ll coach you through it all. I’ll be your wedding-day ZenMaster for the same fee you just paid your now ex-bride-to-be/best friend. I guarantee that you will not score another wedding day DNP.
P.S. If she accepted your proposal via e-mail, you can forgive this entire letter, save the left at the altar part.
P.P.S. Jefferson explains his side of the story on Dan Patrick’s radio show.