An Open Letter to Peter Crouch

Dear Peter,

It has come to my attention, through the news services, the TV and the inherent connection that unfortunately tall and gangly white guys named Peter enjoy, that you’re planning to ditch the “robot” dance until after England wins the World Cup. This is a very serious mistake.

I cannot stress enough what a blunder that would be. It is so serious in fact, that I am not going to cheapen it with the witty puns and robot jokes my mind has been spitting out and you have been reading in the media since your spinning, jerky movements first accompanied a strike by your XXL legs. I won’t call you the “Not-So-Tiny Dancer,” or say that you “celebrate like C3-PO” or ask you not to “deactivate” the robot. I am writing this letter as a fan of English football, as a man sharing your overly vertical plight and a human being with a sense of decency, and I implore you not to ditch the dancing quite yet.

I hope you sense the urgency in this writing as there is not much time to waste. You average a goal every three games in international play and you went goalless against Paraguay. You will score—math itself guarantees it—against Trinidad and Tobago or Sweden in the coming weeks.

When you do, all I ask is that you embrace your cult hero status and get down with your tall self for a few second celebration. You’ve been saying that you’ve never felt better on the pitch. You say your balance feels good, your timing is perfect and your mentally where you want to be. I’m telling you that nothing puts a skinny, storkish striker in the right frame of mind than acceptance by a few hundred thousand fans during a gross display of retro personality.

You say you want to keep things serious as you make your run toward a World Cup, but can you, with clear conscience, neglect the service you do for all the giants out there? Previously relegated to wallflower status at clubs and parties, I can “Do the Crouch” on the dance floor now and instead of laughing and pointing, all the fit women around cheer me on. Granted, I can usually only do it once before it’s old and I’m back to sitting at the bar, but you’ve given me the robot, and I don’t want to give it back.

The goals will keep coming, Crouchy and it’s up to you to keep the robot cool in the eyes of all the girls in my local hangouts. And if you’re suddenly bashful, watching these goals will make you feel better. But don’t give up on the robot because you think it’s a distraction, Rooney has that covered.

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