Peter Forsberg sits behind his desk, somewhere in Sweden, penning a letter to all the NHL teams that were interested in his services. Use your imagination to add a crossbred Russian/Swedish accent to the text. I don't know why he would have any kind of an accent that makes him sound Russian. Cause he's not Russian. That's how my mind works, though. So deal with it.
Dear NHL Teams,
It is I, Peter Forsberg. The sweet, sexy Swede that you have wanted to add to your squad since last summer. I wanted to let you know that I am no longer interested in attempting to play in your National League of Hockey this year. You have all been very nice to me, with your complimentary blackjack and hooker parties, but I am afraid that
America still sucks my foot is still not healed enough to allow me to play in the NHL.
It is my first love that I cannot leave. My dear Sweden... With it's MODO, Elitserien and, I certainly cannot forget, ABBA. They love me here. And I love them. I'm like a god here after I won that gold medal in 1994. Did you see the celebrations? Of course you didn't because they were in Sweden. But believe me, they love me here. I don't know a lot about American culture, but I would compare myself to your Michael Jackson. Everyone loves Michael Jackson, right?
Don't worry, NHL. You'll be fine without me. Even the Flyers. OK, maybe not the Flyers, but the other 29 teams will be fine without me.