Son, we live in a world that has sports, and those sports have to be cancelled by men with germs. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for the playoffs, and you curse the interviews. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know -- that my actions, while stupid, probably saved lives; and my infection, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.
You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want my hands on those microphones -- you need my hands on those microphones.
We use words like "social distancing," "flattening the curve," "karma." We use these words as the backbone of a few minutes spent cancelling something. You use them as a punch line.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very cancellations that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it.
I would rather that you just said "thank you" and went on your way.