Editor & publisher of www.ringsideboxingshow.com

            What a surprise, huh? Bet you didn’t expect to receive a letter today from every other boxing fan in the world.

            We just wanted you to know that we saw you on TV, grinning like a drunken hillbilly (sorry – too personal?), talking on your cell phone to some other moron while you waved into the television camera.

            To be perfectly honest, we weren’t really trying to watch you. The rest of us tuned in to watch a fight between two of the best boxers in the world – guys who had worked endlessly in hot, smelly gyms to hone their skills and condition themselves for that very night. It was meant to be their showcase, their hard-earned moment in the spotlight.

            Instead, our undivided attention was drawn toward you, a buffoon (dare I say “douchebag?”) who used one of the best seats in the arena to tell the whole world the following things about yourself:

·        You didn’t get the love you craved from your parents. That made you so insecure that you now have a pathetic, narcissistic need to insist that millions of boxing fans divert their attention from a world-class fight and, instead, focus on you – a brainless sloth whose only right to be anywhere near those two athletes was purchased on a MasterCard.

·        You are so profoundly stupid that you don’t realize, or don’t care, what an annoyance you are to the people sitting around you – particularly the big, mean-looking guy directly behind you who forked over a whole bunch of his hard-earned cash to pay for his seat.

·        The person on the other end of your phone connection sincerely doesn’t give a crap that you’re making a jackass of yourself on worldwide television, and probably would prefer to hang up and watch the fight, himself.

So, basically, what we’re strongly suggesting is that you make yourself a promise, here and now: Vow never to wave into a TV camera again.

In fact, let’s make it a new rule. From this point forward, if you are seen waving to us on TV while talking on your cellphone to somebody who, sadly, is mindless enough to be your friend, you will be subject to the following consequences:

1)  You will be seized immediately by several enormous security guards, and dragged to a dark room in the bowels of the arena, where dull gardening tools will be used to snip every finger off your hands. Those fingers will then be jammed, one by one, into nostrils and other appropriate orifices on your body.

 2) You will be transported, all expenses paid, to Freddy Roach’s Wild Card Gym in Hollywood, where you will suspended from the ceiling by your remaining thumbs, alongside the heavy bags. Then, your naked ribcage will be ruthlessly pummeled by Manny Pacquiao, Amir Khan and the Klitschko brothers, until your internal organs spill grotesquely onto the filthy floor and devoured by rats and maggots.

3) What remains of your bloody and battered corpse will be transported to a cryogenics lab in Scottsdale, Arizona, where it will be stored for an undetermined length of time next to Ted Williams’ frozen head. You will remain there until the technology exists to bring you back to life -- at which time you will be reanimated, then beaten to death again, this time by Ted Williams, himself, using a 38-ounce Louisville Slugger.

Fair enough? Are we all on the same page now? Cool.

Wave bye-bye and don’t ever let us notice your ugly face on TV again. You bother us.