Introducing The Sportsman's Daily sideline reporter Ric “Word” Testaverde, Federal Inmate 18230-1113
by Ric "Word" Testaverde
First, a shout out to my boys over at the Daily. Taking a shot on an inmate ain’t no simple thing. I mean, anyone who been reading my shit for the past four years knows I got game. Of course if you’ve been reading my shit you’re doing time, unless you’re one of them fucked up cats that subscribe to prison rags – in which case you’re probably some fat, horny chick with a big ole ass hanging out of a thong who likes baking us them cakes that taste like burnt rubber and cotton balls. Big Sid over in Cell Block C, he sucks em down, me, I get one of them nasty ass things and I’m putting it under the pillow of some cat whose head I wanna see over a toilet bowl, puke pouring out like shit from a busted septic tank.
But I got to give the TSD dudes props – not just for giving me a shot, but hey, I’m out in three years and I’ll be looking for a steady gig. I been in five federal pens in the past eight years. The day I’m out first place I go is the Daily home office to thank the fellas and make a couple of calls. I got plans.
Anyways, a month ago we got a new 72 inch plasma with the complete satellite sports package. Donated by a former inmate who snitched big time – dude comes from a family with serious ass money. But he’s out of his mind if he thinks this ole Sony’s gonna keep him tucked in at nite. One of us gets out he ain’t gonna be an ESPN highlight. Take it to the bank, Hank.
Let me say this straight up: seventy two inches of high def is a pretty sight. About as pretty as a 18 year old farmhand sent up for sodomizing a Holstein cow. Fifty of us piled into the rec room, couldn’t fucking believe our fucking eyes -- the colors popped like an exploding fucking pumpkin. I’m watching the Colts and the Patriots, cameras right up in some dude’s grill and I’m thinking, sheet, I can tell if the cat needs to make a number one or number two. So I’m saying to myself, damn, who needs one them stupid chick sideline reporters when I can get all up close and personal on them motherfuckers and report from inside. So from here on out, I’ll be checking in with fresh dope you won’t see nowhere else. I’ll also introduce you to some of the fellas – Playa, Phat Phil, Tony T – bad ass cats that’ll be bringing some whack smack to y’all. Fact, I got Playa right here to say a coupla words. Yo, Playa, recite, bro.
“Thank you Ric. I look forward to providing insights and commentary to support Ric’s sideline reportage. As anyone who’s familiar with Rick’s copious prison oeuvre knows he is one of the most astute observers of sports writing today. Moreover, I am sure that many will find in Ric a true inspiration – anyone who knows Ric as a drug-pushing, pimping, thieving street hustler with a penchant for pistol-whipping kids and old ladies, should take heart in his astounding transformation.”
Check in and check us out. We’ll be bringing a brand new show every week. Sports from the inside. It’s the real deal, Khaleel. Be seeing ya.
Ric “Word” Testaverde, federal prison number 18230-1113, is housed at FCI Fort Dix. You can email him at email@example.com. If you’re female, Ric asks that you not send a picture or any baked goods.
The Authors of The Sportsman’s Daily