Dear (Insert Your Team's Name Here) Sportsfan, ...

Dear (insert your team's name here) sports fan,

Greetings. We understand the pain you have suffered, the taunts, the humiliation, and winless games. We are brethren in pity.

We understand your (insert your team's name here) GM doesn't know how to pick solid draft choices, how to get good trades, nor does he care about your feelings.

We know how your wallet has been pinched, your closet stuffed with jerseys of players who have come and gone, and the Tiffany lamp with the (insert your team's name here) logo hasn't been turned on in years. The lights are out.

The constant routs, lackluster rivalry games and taunts by other teams' cheerleaders are too much, and you can't take it anymore. We sympathize like no other.

But all is not lost, my brothers. For there is a place in Northern California that is just perfect for you and your state of mind.

It's a tranquil, shady little valley where large oak trees protect you from anything stronger than a breeze. A babbling brook beckons you to dip your feet in it, and enjoy the beautiful gifts of nature that you have missed every Sunday.

It's a place where your favorite players eat meals with you, your team never loses, and you can spit at Matt Millen and Al Davis. A place where you can scream at the sky and you will get nods of appreciation from your comrades.

It's where sympathy and tea is served, not a plate of crow. A hot dog is 50 cents, and for a buck you can drink all the beer you want. There's no need to suffer any more imbecilic concessions stand clerks who can't get your order straight. Our Hooters girls guarantee your order quick and 100 percent correct.

Our alumni list is long and illustrious, and are here for your enjoyment. They participate in daily line-ups for the dart-throwing fest, and will happily accept slaps in the faces and kicks in their jocks. They deserve it.

Yes, even Tony Romo stopped by here last December for a spell. So did Rex Grossman. Karl Dorrell is our resident activity counselor.

It's a place for losers. For fans of loser teams, potentially losing teams, and teams that tease (insert your team's name here) fans unmercifully with hope every preseason.

The Bengals live here. So do the Browns. The Temple Owls have their own secluded compound. And Big Ten teams' fans who have been spanked by SEC teams have their own protected sanctuary.

Come. To your new home. Be amongst your own. Live in the golden days of one magical season, and forget the horrors of those losing seasons.

Make your reservations quickly. The slots are filling up fast.

My dear brothers in shame, unite, and join us. There is a special place just for you.

Welcome to hell.

We have been waiting for you.

Signed,

The Raider Nation