So everyone and their mom has written their own “What Kane’s apology might look like” things. A poster over at Second City Hockey had his version, The Hockey Chronicles did their version, and Stay Classy had a pretty good one. Now, I guess I’ll have a crack at it. (Does anyone say that any more? “Have a crack at it?”)
My oldest and dearest new friend Jan,
I would like to extend my utmost gratitude to you for being a bitch. It was very much appreciated. The court hearings, mugshot, and public humiliation were just a few things that I was really looking forward to after my Blackhawks and I were so rudely kicked out of the Stanley Cup Finals by the Red Wings. You really helped fill the void in my summer with your heinous felony charges pressed against me. And for that, I am truly grateful.
You, James, and me are the only ones that will ever know what occured the night of the infamous “incident.” Your accounts of the story were the polar opposite of what happened, and I am very upset that such a dear friend would lie to the public. In case you have forgotten, I will help you to recount what really happened on the morn of August sixth.
It was a chilly five o’clock in the morning. James and I were waiting for a cab in the new windbreakers my mom bought us. We had been waiting for quite a while after an all night book club (this month’s book was “Great Expectations”; the conversation was so invigorating that we didn’t notice it was nearing five o’clock). That’s when you arrived. You were gracious to us as we got into your cab, and the ride from Chippewa Street to Eastwood place began pleasantly as you talked to us about your journey from Poland. Finally, we arrived at our destination. That’s when you went insane.
Our fare was $13.80, and James handed you fifteen. You became irate with us saying that that’s no way to treat a man who is driving you somewhere at five o’clock in the morning. You began to shout, “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you?!” Although we were getting nervous, we answered politely with a no. You exclaimed, “I am a famous surgeon! How do you not know who I am? I innovated many operating techniques for many diseases! Read a fucking book!” We said that we were sorry that we didn’t know who you were, but you didn’t care.
You said, “I know who YOU are! YOU’RE Patrick Kane! You have plenty of money to tip a cab driver/surgeon!” Then, you proceeded in stealing my money and began to punch James and me in the stomach and sensitive areas. Once you got what you wanted, you started to self inflict pain upon yourself by punching yourself in the face. You said, “I’m going to be more famous than you after I tell the media MY story!” You not only wanted my money, but you wanted my fame, too. You were trying to steal my thunder.
Now, at the conclusion of all of these misconceptions, I feel horrible for you. You just wanted a little of the lime light that I have captured. You are just a desperate, old man who wanted a little attention. Now, I have been, and will continue to be, ridiculed across the NHL.
Thank you very much for the month of hell you put me through.
My never ending thoughts and prayers are with you. I hope that you can recover from this egotistical mindset you have and admit that you have a problem.
Your dear friend,
(P.S I hope you appreciated this letter. I recieved some help from my good friend Joe Finley.)