Style Points

In the wake of a recent civil suit filed against Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger accusing him of rape, the NFL’s ginger-haired and iron-fisted commissioner Roger Goodell has vowed to look into the matter further. We at Style Points have just received from a secret, spying source (we’ll call him B. Belichick) a copy the of the private letter that Goodell has drafted and plans to send to Mr. Roethlisberger  shortly. Printed below in its entirety, we hope this provides you with a sordid look into the underbelly of the league’s disciplinary process.

Dear Mr. Roethlisberger,

Woo boy, am I excited about this. I’ve been itchin’ to have me a white boy for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, I love the chocolate milk, but variety is the spice of life and I like me some spice. Oh what’s that, you didn’t know? Yeah, you’re about to be my bitch. Giddy up.

I’ve been teased before by that coke-snortin’, high-jumpin’ Matt Jones or that random lineman I can’t remember who had more painkillers on him than Michael Jackson’s doctor. They were just a fleetin’ fancy though, gone as quick as they came. You, I’m settin’ my sights on a long-term relationship with you. We gonna get to know each other mighty well pretty soon my boy, if you know what I mean. You ever see Shawshank Redemption? Well just consider me as the Warden and Boggs wrapped up into one package. You’re gonna like it here.

You must be surprised by my manner, but you really shouldn’t be. Sure, I like to put on airs as an uptight, tight-sphinctered golden boy of morals and virtue, but when it comes down to it I’m just a hard-assed pipe-hittin’ authoritarian with a mean streak and a penchant for violent, disciplinary sex. You remember Pacman Jones? Boy lordy did I wear his ass out. Much like the unfortunate victim of his nightclub shooting, he ain’t ever gonna walk right again. You think your front end hurt after you crashed your hog into that old lady’s wagon? Ain’t gonna be nothin’ compared to how your back end is gonna hurt after I crash my hog into your wagon, boy.

You know I take the image of my league very seriously, and I just cannot abide by my Super Bowl winning quarterback being accused of rape in a public forum (as this letter demonstrates, rape should only be discussed privately. And with the lights turned low, and Rammstein playing on my stereo, sittin’ in a slowly meltin’ pool of hot wax. Mm hmm.) Now, you may be sweatin’ bullets right now and wonderin’ what about due process, so let me tell you this: you ain’t got no due process. This ain’t the First Court of Appeals, this is Big Roger’s house (you ain’t the only big man ’round these parts, sweetcheeks) and I dole out my own justice. Why I had Mike Vick screamin’ for mercy before he even entered a plea. Tank Johnson’s asshole now itches by reflex every time he sees a redhead, and if you don’t think I take pride in that then you don’t know me at all.

So, before I dish out any public discipline for this incident, let’s start with a few private things you’re gonna have to do:

1) Keep growin’ out them curls, because the Commish likes something to get his fingers in. I still miss the feel of Gene Upshaw’s fuzzy head under my freckled digits as I “negotiated” with the Player’s union (God bless his acquiescent soul).

2) Shave whatever that thing is that you’ve been callin’ a goatee. I don’t allow facial hair in my house, it makes you look like you’re hidin’ something. You hidin’ something, Ben? You better not be, cause I’m gonna find it. You’re gonna wonder how you ever got along before without 3x a day full body cavity searches. So remove that muskrat’s taint off your chin and learn to say “Yes Sir, Commissioner, Sir” with a baby-faced smile on. Hot damn my pleated slacks just shrunk two sizes just thinkin’ about it.

3) Work on your pocket presence. And no, I don’t mean scramblin’ your oversized country-fed ass right and left and to and fro before hurlin’ a pigskin down the field – I mean holdin’ onto MY pocket. You better get used to it, cause you’re gonna be doin’ quite a lot of it. You’re gonna sit when you pee, ask permission to leave my sights, and most importantly, keep your grip on my out-turned pocket 24/7. I’m going to trail you behind me like a shit stain behind a movin’ turd. We clear, boy?

Well, I guess that about sums it up for now. Why don’t you mosey on over to my office at about 5:30 tomorrow morning, and we’ll start gettin’ to know each other a little better. I’d tell you to bring some KY jelly but sugar, let’s not have false pretenses – I’m gonna ride you raw like a Baltimore hamburger. You’ll think twice before goin’ and sullyin’ the good name of my league again, Benji.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I hear Chad Ochocinco plans on Twitterin’ during games this season, so I’ve got to go deal with that. Now where in the hell did I put that ball gag…

Yours in pain,

Commissioner Roger Goodell

Goodell “Will Look Into” Roethlisberger Allegations [Pro Football Talk]