Dear Andrew Luck,
You and I have almost exactly the same names, though we certainly don't share the same lives. I was always convinced there was a lot in your name: Luck, the coolest name possible, ready-made for an NFL gunslinger who was probably dropping long bombs for TDs straight out the womb.
Surely, had my own name, Luecke, come with two fewer "E's," confusing, uncool Germanic vowels that they are, my life would be so much better I long thought.
But now, Andrew Luck, I've seen your puberty 'stache, I understand that I'm the lucky Andrew here, man.
I stood by you through your neckbeard (you said you hated to shave because of your sensitive skin) and even your brutal 24–13 beating of my beloved Denver Broncos in this year's AFC Divisional playoff game. Now that I've seen your lil' dirt 'stache, it's clear that having the arm of a Greek god and the brain of a hall of fame football coach just isn't the only thing that matters in life.
It's not that I sport a superior mustache, it's just that I've learned how to properly crop my facial hair.
And you're not alone, unfortunately.
There are other offenders sporting strange puberty facial hair now. Channing Tatum did it at the Oscars, with a weird goatee-mustache hybrid thingy. It just doesn't look good.
But, even though you've shattered my illusions of talent and fame with one weird mustache, I must thank you, Andrew Luck. Because you've reminded me that talent, fame, money, and an amazing name aren't all that matters in this world. Sometimes, all that matters is not having crappy facial hair.
Sincerely,
Andrew Luecke
