Dear Greg Oden's Neck Beard,
It hasn't been two weeks since the day you hung thick and proud under the Herculean jaw of northwestern hope, but your absence in the time herein has left an uncomfortable void in many a man's life. As an admittedly judgmental basketball fan myself, I was never quite sure whether to love or hate your homage to America's 16th president, but the unbridled combination of patriotism and ferocity is one that strikes a particular cord in me.
While other forms of facial decor toe the lines of intense and intolerable, your silent curtain symbolized the grown-ass man on which you grew; a bushel of tenacity eclipsed only by the demeanor of a grizzled face. But now - like the man with whom you shared your Abraham title - you are gone, remembered solely for your monumental impact on American history.
Nobody knows exactly what prompted your appearance over these past few months (though a betting man might suggest it be the product of a bored 20-year-old with newfound hormones), but your departure will no doubt reverberate through the basketball community. In the meantime, the sullen giant with whom you wreaked mid-November havoc continues to quietly pursue uncontested development in Portland.
