An Open Letter to the Australian Man Who Owes Me Superbowl Tickets

Dear Older Australian Gentleman I met at a Bar,

Do you remember me?
We met at a bar in NYC right before New Years Eve. I came up to you and said you looked like a serial killer because you were by yourself, drinking alone, and texting all night on Zach Morris looking cell phone. Somehow this opening line didn't dissuade you from speaking to me. In any event, through the course of our conversation you told me the Saints were never going to make it to the superbowl. You were SO SURE that the saints were not going to make it to the superbowl that you wagered that if they made it, you were going to purchase me 2 tickets. WELL GUESS WHAT MOTHAFUCKA?? THEY DID. Now I want my scrilla.

As per our agreement, I emailed you at your weirdo email address you handed me on a folded napkin. You have not responded. This disappoints me. I thought we had a valid contract. We even said we'd cross paths at the Olympics in Rio - guess you're going to back out of that deal too, huh?

PSA: If anyone knows an Australian man named "Trevor" who has a cell phone which was likely a prop from "Back to the Future," please tell him I want my tickets, and I will call the Australian embassy if need be to get them. Regards.