Hi, I'm fake Shonn Greene. I'm Iowa's starting tailback, as you probably know. This year has been pretty good. It's been very good. Heck, it's better than the coaches, my family, or I could have ever asked for. Setting Iowa's record for rushing yards in my first full season in the black and gold? That's pretty sweet.

I drive Oops Pow Surprise crazy because I'm impossible to make fun of. When I celebrate, it is brief, unplanned, and sincere; I'm always happy when I score touchdowns, but I worked much too hard to get back on the field to go around embarrassing myself or my family. Likewise, I never say anything stupid or selfish to the media. I give credit to my offensive line first because they deserve it more than I do. I'll let other people decide how good I am, that's not my thing, but I do know it's really easy to play tailback when nobody touches me until I'm six yards past the line and the only thing between me and the end zone is some terrified safety who's 40 pounds lighter than I am.

I think a lot of that comes from my family. They're not overly strict or anything, but they'll be the first to tell me if I'm misbehaving. I don't begrudge them for it; in fact, most people my age need a more active family when it comes to keeping egos in check.

Anyway, I love Iowa, maybe more than is logical. Most schools wouldn't get a guy to stick around town once he's ineligible. Especially not if it involves working at some furniture place for a handful of bucks per hour. It was really easy to get distracted and cynical during that year; the vast majority of people who get declared academically ineligible never come back, you know? But I stuck with it, even when I was getting fat from not working out with the team. I didn't care (okay, a little) if I didn't crack the depth chart, I just wanted to make sure I stuck to it. And now here I am.

And what a group of fans to play for. Here we are at the beach party, and I'm getting all the attention. Being a superstar isn't really part of my personality, but here we are and it is happening.  That's fine. Just let me get to the Gulf and let it all wash over me. One moment of solitude with the vastness of nature so I can contemplate the last three months and what it means for me and my family and my future. And it would be a whole lot easier to focus on my thoughts if you guys would leave your motherfucking shirts on.

Look, I lived in Iowa too. I didn't go somewhere warm, even though I could have. I prefer to think of warm winter days as a reward, rather than a normality; you live with luxury enough and it spoils you. I'm too young to get spoiled. Let me get that NFL money first.

But at the same time, unlike all of you Iowans, my skin isn't a sickly, horrific shade of pink. And I still kept my damn shirt on out here! You guys can't do the same thing for me?! Hey, I appreciate the adulation, but it would be a whole lot easier to take if it wasn't coming from a bunch of pasty men whose nipples are sizzling like some hairy pepperonis. Ain't a damn thing appetizing about that, either.

You. Look at you. How much do you weigh, old man? I'm sorry, "245"? Bullshit. I'm 230, and I don't have C-cup man cans like you. Do babies suck on those if you're holding them? Put your damn shirt back on.

And you! You have white chest hairs! Don't they have "Just For Men: Saggy Titty Edition" for that shit? C'mon, man. It's cool you bought season tickets and then flew down here from Duluth or whatever, but that doesn't give you permission to fawn over your favorite players with your giant old man nipples out. Just wear some Hawaiian shirt or whatever they hand out to dudes when they turn 50.

All right, sorry. My grandma wouldn't like me talking like this. I'll stop now. But for real, thanks for all the love, and put your fucking shirts back on.