I’ve been biding my time with getting back into coaching. Thought I had that Carolina job lined up until John Fox went and decided to be fucking Coach of the Year all of a sudden. But I got the bug now, can’t wait for the right gig to fall into my hands, so it looks like I’ll have to settle for a shitload of money instead. You might call it compromising your principles. And I might call you a bowel-slurping fuckstain. You try and see how long you can put up with listening to Shannon Sharpe for six hours each Sunday and not contemplate a career change.
These shitty teams are gonna have to pay throw their nose, their ass, and maybe a few quickly fashioned stomas to get my services. Running all football operations and getting a minority cut of the ownership isn’t going to cut it. I have specific demands of each of my suitors and they will be followed to the fucking letter. Unless you WANT Marty Schottenheimer running your team, then by all means, be a complete fuckwit.
Cleveland: Pressure’s on you assholes to sweeten the pot. You already got one thing going against you and that’s the six million yinzers going up my ass the second I take this job. Which means we need to be talking, I don’t know, $20 million a year. Plus you get LeBron to give my daughters some basketball phenom children. And if that fucker splits for New York, the deal’s off.
Washington: Looks like you’re in a big rush to can that hip-hip-hooray ebullient motherfucker. Okay. No goddamn Saturday talk shows with George Michael, Michael Wilbon and David Dupree. If I so much have to see John Riggins and Sonny Jurgensen at any point in my tenure I’ll sell the team jet to some dealer in Barry Farm. I know the Danny better keep me well stocked in chiclet teeth too.
Cincinnati: Mike Brown wouldn’t pony up enough to money to hire Tom Donahoe’s discarded anal beads.
Detroit: I do enjoy a challenge. Why else would I have kept Kordell Stewart around four years longer than any other sane person would have? But I also enjoy mountainous stacks of gold bullion, which is what it would take for me to take on this trainwreck. Get ready for a swift campaign for me to change the team name to The Buses.
Kansas City: Yeah fucking right. I’d sooner work for the Sam Zell than Carl Peterson.
San Francisco: Singletary’s set the bar high for wacky high jinks, and frankly I don’t know if I’m equal to that task. If I tried showing my ass to Greg Lloyd, I’d probably still be trying to remove bits of cleat from my lower digestive tract. However, if you want to turn over control of the team to some guy who looks like he should be submitting pictures of himself posing with Erin Andrews to Deadspin, I’d be willing to give your team another look.
There you go. Get your shit in line and I’ll try to make my decision process as protracted and media saturated as possible.