An Open Letter from Cain Hoy

Howdy y'all!

Cain Hoy here, comin' at ya straight from the land of the free and the home of the brave. I hear that I'm causin' a bit of a ruckus over there in Merry Old England. Now I don't wanna get the Queen's britches in a bunch so I thought I'd reach out to y'all with some of that famous Southern hospitality and give all y'all the low down on what's going on with yours truly and your favorite soccer team.

Y'all may think we're different, but we're not. Y'all had humble beginnings in that orphanage askin' guys for more a that gruel before gettin' adopted into that rich as hell family. I grew up on a poor li'l dirt farm before my pappy found a whole mess a black gold in the back yard. Now y'all are snobby tea drinkers and I'm an oil tycoon living the American dream! We're practically brothers from different mothers, 'cept your mother had worse teeth. Not there's anything wrong with bad teeth, why I once had me a pet armadilla and those suckers have about the worst teeth you ever saw but I loved him just the same.

Now let's get down to bidness. Let's talk about Tottenham Hotspur Soccer Club. I know that this here team is important to all y'all. Heck, it's been around since 1882! Shoot! The Texas Longhorns ain't been playin' football that long! That's older than Jerry Jones reading the Bible in Israel. Y'all folks should be real prouda that, so what if it ain't quite older'n the Alamo. (Never Forget).

I just want y'all to know that I ain't tryin' ta come in like a bull in Old Lady Doris' china shop and wreck what y'all have.

Y'all have some mighty fine ideas! Rustlin' up the other team's fans and corralin' 'em like cattle into their own tiny corner of the stadium? That's some goshdarn genius right there. Getting excited about overspending on last minute purchases? YEEHAW now that's what I call capitalism! You wanna buy a mustache from Spain for 30 million pounds of tea?! You wanna keep your rivals from signin' that guy who hung out with the French Prince of Bel Air?! THEN CAIN HOY IS YOUR BOY! SUN'S OUT, GUNS OUT! GIMME A HIGH FIVE! WOO!

Now I know y'all might wanna be snobs and stick up your noses 'bout me and talk trash with the Queen or whatnot. But I think ya know that with a little elbow grease and good ol' American know how, we can take the Spurs to a whole 'nother level. Y'all's boots may not have straps, but I'ma pull this dang team up by 'em anyhow. I think that I'm the man to take y'all there and ya got my word I'm here to do just that. It's gonna be just like your King Harry Potter: magic.

Trust me, y'all ain't even gonna remember promotion and relegation when you're in the NFL.