An Open Letter to the Italian Serie A

Dear Serie A:

Look, we've never been close. In fact, we barely see each other. It'd be hard to call our relationship even platonic. And I'm going to blame you. I know it's shallow and selfish of me, but admit it, you haven't always been the prettiest thing to look at.

Is Elvis Costello a Serie A watcher? I'm not sure how else he came up with a title like "All This Useless Beauty."

Because I go way back with Italian soccer. The Azzurri are my people. Okay, they are my dad's people. But that still makes you half my people.

One of my first memories of me and you is Paulo Rossi in the 1982 World Cup. A hat trick to knock out favorites Brazil almost single handedly. Then his second half strike against West Deutschland in the final opened up a deluge at the Bernabeu from which the Alles could never Uber come.

I even died a little inside in 1994, even though I thought Roberto Baggio was a complete douche with that rat tail and deserved to sky that PK alone for sporting one of those.

And Holy Shit if you knew the spoils I had won from making wholly inappropriate bets for the 2006 Final with the two French girls I know back home in Texas.

In fact I almost feel like I owe you for the semi-final match from that Cup. You were so good to me that day. When I really needed it, you were there for me. Man, that was awesome. Just as taut as 120 minutes of football can be. You more or less played attacking football, or at least you played to win. You didn't just pay Lippi service to that idea. You had actually changed. And I felt like you changed for me.

Then to top it off with Fabio Grosso's strike, that was a thing of beauty. If I were a wuss of a man, I might have cried. Instead I got super, super drunk.

It's a little late in coming, but you know what they say about late and never. Yes, there is a large difference between International and Club soccer, but I'm willing to give the Serie A—and, yep, I'm going to use the c-word—a chance.

The only problem is that I need to be wooed. I know you've been wanting me for a while, so somebody step up and win my affection. I can't do it myself.

If I chase after Inter am I not just front-running after the prettiest girl in the class? And Milan, who looked so good last year, might have been rode too hard and put away a little wet. Plus, I'm not a Jesus freak. That just seems like a problem waiting to happen. I could maybe even see myself with Torino, Siena, or Parma. For me, your going down isn't a problem at all. You could come back up and go right back down again. I'd like that.

What I'm saying is that I'm open, but I can't be the aggressor. The ball is on your half of the pitch.

Flowers and candy will get you nowhere. A good solid blow job? That will go far. And if you're Roma, I suggest starting with Totti's wife. Ilary Blasi makes Jessica Alba look like Ann Richards.

Soon to be someone's truly,
Precious Roy