An Open Letter To Mario Lemeiux

Dear Mario Lemieux:

Hi! It's an honor to be writing to you. Big fan, very big fan. Always have been. I just wanted to say thanks for keeping the Penguins in Pittsburgh. That’s pretty sweet of you. I’m glad you guys could work something out. Cooperation. Yay-uh. Maybe now people will stop posting Myspace bulletins about what a "mean, mean jerk that 'Ed Randell' is!" while having no understanding of exactly why putting a casino in the Hill District is a horrible idea. I blame this on the living in the suburbs.

Anyway, Mario, enough about them. You know the Penguins were a formative part of my childhood, and continue to be important to me through my adult life. The ‘91-'92 back-to-back Stanley Cup championships were, quite honestly, probably the highlight of my youth. I used to cut out every picture of the Pens from the Post-Gazette and tape them to my bedroom walls. Geeky, I know.

“Badger” Bob Johnson was the first person I “knew” to die of cancer. I still get misty-eyed when I think about how I felt, finding out about his death. Anyway.

Mario.
Mario, Mario, Mario. You totally pulled a Katie on this one.
Allow me to explain.

When Robbo and I fight, which is hardly ever and always very mild (an incredibly welcome respite from the screaming/crying/shoving/throwing things fights with the last boyfriend), I always pull the same routine, and it works every time. It's very simple- I threaten to sleep on the couch. This is an instant turn-around in the fight. Robbo will be all, “Oh no, don’t do that!” which is exactly, of course, what I want to hear. I had no intentions of sleeping on the couch. I just wanted him to say it, and to fix whatever is going on that caused me to threaten to leave. Sound familiar?

Mario. You are me, and Dan Onorato and Ed Rendell are Robbo. You won, just as I usually win. Well played, my friend. Very well played.

Love,
Katie