To Jerry Stone:
You may not know who I am, nor may you even care who is writing this letter to/article about you, but at least know this: in years gone by, I was a proud student of the school whose trust you betrayed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing.
So Jerry, I ask you this question (and I hope you are reading this somewhere in juvenile hall because it's the biggest one you will be asking yourself for as long as you live):
Why would you, a running back with so much potential to progress as a player, a student, and a person, do something as brain-dead as this?
I just read the news on the Press-Telegram. They could have highlighted you as a player to watch this season in the Moore League, one of the most respected prep leagues in the country.
Instead, the whole of South Bay—and the world—found you shooting rounds in Compton, a city plagued by gang warfare. Warfare that you chose to put above anything else.
Now thankfully, no one was hurt, but you got taken away in handcuffs. Your coach, Thadd MacNeal, kicked you off his football team. You've been expelled from your woul...
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