January 15, 2012
Dear George Foreman,
I recognize that your grill was just one that you endorsed. In no way did you invent it or go around saying, “Yeah...heavyweight-schmeavyweight! Check out this grill, not my belt!” I get that. But, for all of your accomplishments in the ring, George, for all of your winnings including the title twice with more than 20 years in between wins, and your gold medal, and your hardest punch of all time (thank you, Wikipedia), all of it... I have to say, your grill is one prized possession in this momma's kitchen.
Since this kitchen resides indoors as the arctic winter that is Michigan has finally turned on its machine, your grill is the only one I'll be firing up anytime soon. Do you realize, George, what you have done in saving my sanity? Your grill might be used just to cook, but that's not all. It preserved peace in this house. I promise.
I'm sure you've seen some blood hungry monsters in the ring. I'm sure they have come at you with the intention to hurt crimson red in their eyes, but you have never been in a home of a child on heavy steroids. These aren't like your piddly steroids some of your competitors may have used to beef up. Oh, no. I'm talking the real stuff. The stuff built into a child's cancer regimen. It's a week's worth of insane cravings and whining and stiff muscles and temper tantrums. My little fighter has his eyes constantly on his cancer, wanting to knock it out for good. We still have a few rounds left, but this fight is HIS. We are confident competitors...I'm sure you understand.
In the meantime, I have plugged in your coveted grill more times than I can count this week. I have grilled more than 25 chicken drumsticks. All organic meat, and skinned by yours truly, I have been a chicken cooking fool. I feel as though Gideon, my meat devourer, has had a drumstick permanently in his paw all week long. He even put on a performance to “Hungry Eyes” while tearing into a drumstick and using it as a microphone while doing so...but now I'm going off on a tangent. I do that, George.
In closing, so that I don't get into every detail of every occurrence of the week, I must just say simply: THANK YOU. Maybe you can talk your people into creating a golden grill in honor of childhood cancer with the proceeds going to CureSearch. I think that would be a winning decision, but that's just me. I'd buy another one. I could probably cook more chicken with two, anyway.
So, best to you, George! When you said, “It's so good, I put my name on it!” you weren't kidding.