An Open Letter to Tank Johnson

“They’re tryin to make me go to rehab

I said no, no, no

Yes I been black, but when I come back

You wont know, know, know.”

--Amy Winehouse from the single “Rehab,” 2007.

An Open Letter to Tank Johnson:

Dear “Tank,”

May I call you “Tank?” I mean, a tank is a big, slow moving vehicle that helped win wars. It was a tool that helped others. It brought comfort and power to many around it. It is often heralded as being a leading cause of victory.

You understand my lack of conviction of calling you “Tank.”

I think I will just call you Mr. Johnson—we all know what a Johnson is, right?

You know, you have hurt your team this season and last season by your neglectful actions. I would not say you were the cause the Bears lost the Super Bowl, but you were a distraction. You were punished, and what did you do after telling the fans and the Bears that you would be a good boy and play nice?

You were pulled over for “driving erratically” and speeding.

Now Mr. Johnson, I was pulled over for speeding two weeks ago. Thing was, no one did a blood test on me. Do you know why, Mr. Johnson? Well, I can tell you—see, I WAS SOBER!

Mr. Johnson, I have been drunk before, oh yes indeed. I have made the mistake of imbibing much too much; but I was never arrested for it.

Now monthly I give a blood draw at the hospital, a coumaden test; but that is something different than a blood draw at the cop shop.

And when I was pulled over, I, like you Mr. Johnson, was fully cooperative. So much so, that I was given my license back. What can I say about you, sir?

Well, you are a cooperative guy.

You see, Mr. Johnson, the NFL is extremely lenient with the players. If you had just calmed down and thought of your team, your eight game suspension would be dropped to six. You could have led a chorus of naysayers to turn and say, “Wow, Tank Johnson is a class act.” Now, all we have is the quagmire that your muck has produced and you will again rely on someone to bail your butt out.

And here’s what I hope the Bears do: FIRE YOUR ASS.

No seriously, they should. For all the kids out there who think they can break laws and still play; for all the folks who pay hard-earned cash to watch the Bears; for all of the countless fans who you just pissed on; for your teammates who stood beside you when it was not easy to do so; for the friends who you have so valiantly clung to even though they were bad apples; and for all of the people—the good people—you have lied to; the BEARS SHOULD FIRE YOUR ASS.

Mr. Johnson, you continually put yourself in a position of a stupid, excuse-ridden, phony. And for what reason do you do so? I am at a loss, sir. The NFL gave you a gift and you just chucked it away.

Here is a clue, Mr. Johnson—stop being a kid in the candy store and grow up already.

Personally, I have grown tired of your antics: as tired as I was of Jim McMahon whining; or William Perry’s weight; or of Steve McMichael’s drunken tirades; or of Bryan Cox undisciplined behavior; or Lance Briggs’ ceaseless whining; or of Mike Richardson’s excuses; or of countless of others who have put their self-serving needs ahead of the team.

Now I have grown tired of seeing you don the uniform of my team.

You may never read this, Mr. Johnson, but from one fan who has supported and savored every triumph and supported and felt the slow burn of every failure of the Chicago Bears for the last 40 plus years: my advice is to quit because you do not deserve to wear the team colors.