Yesterday, Ty Duffy wrote a letter to his younger self, after Kobe Bryant and many other athletes did so. Today, in our ongoing 8-part series, it’s Stephen Douglas’ turn to take time off critiquing Golden State’s team tipping habits, comparing Steph to Linsanity, and eating endless appetizers to write a letter to himself and improve his lot in life.
Dear 17-year old self,
How’s the lake house? I assume that’s where you receive this time traveling letter from your future self. Don’t freak out. Things are going to be great. Just pay attention to everything I say.
First thing you need to do is start a blog. I know we didn’t know what that was back then, but they will exist and you will start one. It’s basically just a place to write stuff. You’re already kind of doing that. Just do it more. And have strong opinions. Very strong opinions. Even if you don’t necessarily believe them. Say outrageous things. You love Michael Jordan, right? Think he’s the greatest ever? Call him overrated immediately. Remember the 70’s? Of course you don’t. You were born in 1982. Doesn’t matter. Say Jordan would have been an average player in the 70’s. Trust me.
I know what you’re thinking, this could rip a hole in the space time continuum. I’ve considered that and I’m willing to take the chance because you’re going to make me rich.
Now that you’ve started a sports blog, I want you to listen very carefully to the next step because this is so important. I mean, this is the absolute key to success.
Mix it with pop culture.
I know that sounds insane, but if you mix sports and pop culture that low seven-figures is going to be ours! You’ll be the one on the sports tier cable package television show with the guy who doesn’t like John Wall and the guy who loves hats. I’m – I mean we’re – going to be so rich.
Wait. Why am I still in the same apartment? Why didn’t you follow my instructions? I’ve got a blueprint here that works.
And you know what? I’m sitting here with a current picture of our family that I took this coming weekend and sent back to my current self as an attachment to an e-mail from my future self.
It’s a nice picture. Mom, Dad, your annoying little brother who you will eventually grow to tolerate through the implementation of alcohol at family gatherings. You’ll see.
That doesn’t matter now though.
Nothing is changing.
Why is nothing changing? Our clothes should be much fresher. The normal people clothes aren’t changing into rich people clothes. You didn’t listen to me, did you? You son of a —
What the what!? There’s a teenage girl starting to appear in the picture.
I have a sister? I have a sister. Why did this letter to me cause my parents to have a third child when they were in their 40’s? Ugh. Her name is Cheryl and she gets away with everything! It’s not fair.
WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THIS LETTER!?
Dammit, 17-year old self. This has been a complete waste of time. All this letter has done is cause me to split the possible inheritence three ways instead of two. And what if most of the money goes to Cheryl? They love Cheryl! You’re just a blogger! Why won’t you pioneer mixing sports and pop culture! You fool!
OK, hold on. I can fix this. I’ll just write a letter to 16-year old us to make sure he rips up this letter when it shows up. And I should probably write to our 17-year old great grandfather and tell him to kill baby Hitler. The decision will be unpopular at the time, but –
We’re all being erased from the family photo now. Sure, I briefly got excited when the Chef Curry II’s that Cheryl was wearing ironically (She really is the worst.) started to disappear but now –
Yup. There go my cargo shorts. Yes, I still wear cargo shorts. How else would we carry around all our cargo? Doesn’t matter now. They’re gone.
Telling great grandpa to kill a baby was a bad idea. In a few moments you won’t even be there to read this. Or will I disappear first?
If you still exist in 16 years this will be an interesting philosophical discussion.
Quick! I need to write a letter to our great great grandfather! This will make no sense to him, but I have to make sure he tells his son to never kill anyone.
The picture is coming back! How did that work? What time travel rules are we using? The lake house wasn’t even built until 1950. Cheryl’s gone, but now I’m wearing the Currys ironically.
Now I’m the worst?
And you still didn’t mix sports and pop culture, did you?
I can tell.
Thanks for nothing, jerk.