Yeah, I bet she knows all about the Eiffel Tower

By Curtis Woodsworth
Fabulous

Oh, Matt. Tell me it's not true!

Not Paris Hilton. Not in a brown wig, you holding her dog while you two strut along the boulevard. Don't make me sad. Please return my calls.

I have been nothing but loyal to you during your career as a super southpaw stud muffin sexy boy from USC. I adored your rugged, yet engaging visage and constantly told anyone who would listen that it was you, not Reggie Bush, that was responsible for all of those wins from the Trojans.

Tee hee. Trojans.

Sorry. Focus, Curtis. Focus on the visage of Matt. Mmmm. I know that it was your brainiac response to wishnickel defenses and blitzing defender guys that helped win games. Your accurate arm that always found the open receiver man. Your calm leadership in the huddle. And your hiney.

You were supposed to be my West Coast love. Tom Brady on the East Coast, Matthew Leinart on the West. East-West. Sexy-Cute. Blonde-Brunette. Vaseline-Crisco. It was a dichotomy. I had my yin and my yang.

Oh, but now it's all spoiled. Listen, I'm not stupid. As much as I didn't want to believe it, I knew that you had probably been with a woman or two while in college. It's okay -- I even dabbled in that territory during my time at Tufts University.

And I think I could handle you dating a real woman. A real nice girl you could settle down with in the desert. How about Renee Zellweger? I think she's simply adorable. Just the cutest little thing in Hollywood. Have you seen her in Cold Mountain? She was a peach.


But not a trampy, vapid, stupid, irritating trick like Paris Hilton. She's so reptilian. Or possibly racoonish, if you go off that creepy night-vision sex tape that was released by Paramount Pictures a few years ago. She's waifish, and I'm convinced I have a better figure than she does, judging from the various oopsy-nipple-slip photos that pop up on the Internet. And don't even get me started on those upskirt pictures of her that came out, prompting many to recall the hatchet wounds that Custer suffered at Little Bighorn.

Darnit! I am just so broiled over this. Steamed, even.

Please come back, Matthew. I can't even entertain thoughts of you while knowing you are traipsing around with her. I guess I'll just go back to eagerly waiting for the ninth inning of Oakland Athletics games.

Huston, we have no problem.