Dear Mavericks fans and Mr. Cuban,
I just wanted to write on behalf of Portland, and the beautiful state of Oregon, in regards to Mark Cuban reportedly being struck in the face with a wadded up piece of paper--possibly the wrapper of a "small straw"--during game 3 of the Western Conference Quarterfinals. I sincerely hope Mr. Cuban is recovering in a speedy fashion. We pride ourselves in having one of the cleanest cities in the Northwest. I also like to think our paper recycling program is one of the most efficient in the entire nation. After scouring through the Rose Garden blue prints, and finding no--I repeat NO--paper recycling station anywhere near Mr. Cuban, or his several body guards, I have come to this shocking conclusion: this event was likely no accident.
Needless to say, I am just as disgusted as ESPN, as well as any other media outlet worth half it's weight in salt. It's the type of borish behavior generally reserved for the parents of little league baseballers, not distinguished NBA fans. As such, I can only assure you great Mavericks fans, and Mr. Cuban, that Portland will have it's finest looking into this matter. We will not rest until the perpetrator (most likely a recent transplant from Southern California) is found and brought to justice.
On a personal note, I have witnessed--first hand--the effects a small wadded up piece of paper can have on a victim. My very own daughter was struck with one in her school's cafeteria. She had been standing on the table, taunting several of her adversarial contemporaries just as we teach her at home. "Don't let them get to you", we always say. "In fact, get in their face and show them who their daddy is." Of course, by "daddy" we mean who their better is. We try to keep up on the lingo as to be good parents.
Well, one of my daughter's classmates--possibly one with a bad overbite who is also flunking mathematics--decided to take matters into their own hands and launch a piece of paper at my daughter. The projectile struck her flush in the left temple, humiliating her in front of her peers. Her dignity was scarred, and she refuses to eat in the cafeteria to this day. She is mostly quiet now, and has even taken to playing exploratory jazz music, which may very well be the greatest horror of all.
So, as you can see, this tragic event targeted at Mr. Cuban also resonates with me like the sour note from an oversized brass instrument. I promise I will not rest until this punk is found and brought to justice. My warmest regards to Mr. Cuban in this difficult time.
Your new friend via bonds of shared tragedy,