‘Tis the Season for Cheer, Jeers

I have been busy sending out my Christmas cards. Although they are personal, I don’t really mind your reading my messages.

Dear John Daly: Sober up.

Dear Bobby Hurley: Buckle up.

Dear Charles Barkley: Clam up.

Dear Quinn Buckner: Chin up.

Dear Vince Coleman: Grow up.

Dear Jose Canseco: Heads up.

Dear Leon Lett: Look out below you.

Dear Riddick Bowe: Look out above you.

Dear Monica Seles: Look out behind you.

Dear Arthur Ashe: We miss you.

Dear Heather Farr: We miss you.

Dear Jim Valvano: We miss you.

Dear Davey Allison: We miss you.

Dear Reggie Lewis: We miss you.

Dear Jerry Bailey: Stand tall in the saddle.

Dear Kent Desormeaux: Don’t stand in the saddle.

Dear Barry Bonds: MVP.

Dear New York Mets: LVPs.

Dear Evander Holyfield: Nice comeback.

Dear Roberto Duran: No more comebacks.

Dear Mike Piazza: The Godson, Part I.

Dear Tim Salmon: Keep slammin’.

Dear Terry Donahue: Red roses for a blue Bruin.

Dear Barry Alvarez: Took the bad out of Badger.

Dear Northwestern: Boston College?

Dear Notre Dame: Boston College?

Dear Marge Schott: Keep a leash on it.

Dear Bret Saberhagen: Bleach of promise.

Dear Michael Jordan: Things to do today: Mow lawn. Make beds. Buy shoes.

Dear Phil Jackson: Sorry, no four-peat.

Dear Marv Levy: Please, no four-peat.

Dear Pat Riley: OK, one one-peat. (Registered trademark.)

Dear John Starks: Butt out.

Dear Shaq: Jam on.

Dear Bill Laimbeer: Take out the trash.

Dear Marty McSorley: Speak softly and carry a smaller stick.

Dear Patrick Roy: Rah.

Dear Fred Couples: The tour’s top putter.

Dear Nigel Mansell: The tour’s top driver.

Dear Sam Malone: Happy hour’s over.

Dear Jennifer Capriati: Shop till you drop.

Dear Andre Agassi: Zentl?

Dear Mitch Williams: Wild Thing, I think they moved you.

Dear Tom Werner: Honor thy Padres.

Dear Atlanta Braves: America’s Bridesmaids.

Dear Lou Holtz: Read any good books lately?

Dear Reggie Jackson: Cooperman.

Dear Dennis Byrd: Good to see you back on your feet.

Dear Emmitt Smith: Take the money, run.

Dear Jim Abbott: Hitless wonder.

Dear Chris Webber: Does anybody know what time it is?

Dear Don Drysdale: Heaven’s pitcher.

Dear Roy Campanella: Heaven’s catcher.

Dear Joe Carter: It’s so, Joe.

Dear Nolan Ryan: Farewell to arm.