Love. Fronted. -Kevin
This isn't going to be easy so I'll get to the point. You have to forget running around a bit, and accept that you have a job to do. I know, I know. It was a great laugh to execute the other FRAAB: so care free, so oblivious. And, between just us two, you're always going to be The Sprint Champion. That Usain Bolt guy--rubbish in comparison.
And I know being a top (top!) lad capable of cheeky banter was as valued as 100 meter times in the last regime, but times have changed. The other guys, us at the pub grimly holding onto sobriety, the kids my god, Kyle, the kids: we rely on you. When you smash a pass directly into an opponent, fill your shorts in lieu of sending in a cross or forget that fullbacks have to defend altogether, all we see is lost potential--and it's killing us to see you do this to yourself. I want to love you, Kyle, but you make it so hard!
But there is good news. There is a place where you can find help. It's called King's Landing. This small, impossibly handsome Portuguese man will teach you all that there is to know about where you should be--at all times. I know other guys from your neck of the woods like Ashley, Frank, and John all think being an uncoachable wanker is the way to be, but they're wrong, Kyle. Dammit, they're wrong.
I am no sage, Kyle. I don't have all the answers or we never would've arrived here. Just do it for yourself as much as you do it for us. We're here, but not forever.
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