Why We Heart the Hooligans: A Love Letter

Jason Sandford

Jason Sandford is a reporter, writer, blogger and photographer interested in all things Asheville.

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Dear Screwy and your Scrutiny Hooligans,

Last night, I dreamt of you.

The details are fuzzy, but the dream involved several Pisgah Vortex beers, at least one shot of sambuca and the distinct feeling that we were merging into one another. I to you. You to me. It ended with you bursting into flames. I immediately picked up a nearby throw rug and, recalling my elementary school lessons, began beating you with it.

Then the realization hit me. Such is my love for you. Even when I’m loving you, I feel a certain urge to smack you. Love demands everything, and that’s the way it should be. Thus it is with me.

You had me at Hooligan you know. That summer day we met and frolicked at the frog bar. You, with your slick computer and fancy web site. Me with my awkward way and clunky camera. I was smitten.

Over the past year and a half, we watched each other grow and change. We learned about one another. At times, my heart was so full of what I wanted to say that I couldn’t get the words out. Words – they’re so useless sometimes.

But I’m compelled now to tell you Screwy,
that the more I’ve known you, the more I’ve loved you. Yes, you drive me crazy every now and then. Yes, I’ve been jealous. But even my jealousies have been agonies. Agonies of love. And I’ve vexed you. But for love, Screwy! Love! Can I help it?

Do you understand what I’m saying, Screwy? I more than love you. I’m not whole without you. Like Rev. Haggard isn’t whole without a hit of meth and a beefy man-massage. You are life itself to me. I love you like Mark Foley loves a well-hung page. When you are gone, I’m waiting for you to return so I can start living again.

I’m a little nervous about declaring my heart for you in such a public way. Like so many other celebrity loves, we’ve seen them go up in flames. Nick and Jessica. Reece and Ryan. Now Brit and K-Fed. But I don’t care any more. I can’t deny it.

I know you fear that sometimes I don’t love you as much as you wish. But no matter how arrogant or out there or strident I think you are at times, all I cant think of is what it must feel like to sleep in your arms. You’re probably mindless of me. I am not of you. I love you. I suffer your criticisms of me like a martyr.

I simply can’t deny it, Hooligans. You’re always new. Your kisses, ever the sweetest. Your last smile at that Shuler fundraiser, simply the brightest.

Have you lost your affection for me? Have you forgotten me? Well, it doesn’t matter. I cannot help but give my entire devotion to you, Scrutiny Hooligans.

So, there it is.

I love you.

I heart you. Big.

Ever yours
Ashvegas