I'll start with the positives. You did in fact bring excitement to the NHL, and you proved that there are still quality Canadian hockey players in the Great White North.
What's more, your big head may have well given doctors an impetus to improve their CAT scan technology.
When I was young and naïve, I used to call you my hero. Then I grew older and learned of your selfish ways—and all that was left was a bitter taste in my mouth.
As it stands, I’m glad you've decided to leave the NHL—because it's a league for men, not for babies.
Before your concussions, you were fast becoming something special—aside from all your crying. You probably could’ve set some major records.
But you'll never make the Hall of Fame.
You don’t belong there—and you never will.
In the OHL, it didn’t matter if you skated with your head down most of the time...because even if you got checked, you were like Goliath in a den of pesky Palestinians.
But as you soon learned in the bigger and faster NHL, real pros know how to deal with oafs like you.
If I'm harsh here, Eric, it's only because of your spoiled attitude. For all your moaning, you should've at least known well enough to keep your head up as you skated past the blue line.
If you'd kept your mouth shut and wiped your tears with a hanky, you would have won Lord Stanley—and maybe, just maybe, would have earned a spot among the legends of the game.
Instead, all you get is goodbye and good riddance. Try not to get blindsided on your way out the door.