(note from the Editor: Occasionally we get letters from famous athletes, coaches and political figures to correct any errors we have published here at our online maganize. Recently we received one from the coach of the Patriots, Bill Belichick. As such we are publishing his letter in its unedited form).
Dear Back Seat Drivers,
Let me let you in on a little secret, I am that good. I'm the smartest man in the NFL. As soon as I off that Hawkings asshole I'll be the smartest man in the world. I can fall asleep in my office after taking one too many bong hits, wander over to the game wearing a trash bag and still out coach Marty the Party. Watching Marty try to coach is like watching Shannon Sharpe try to read the teleprompter. It's just going to end in failure. You know why I dress this way? Because I can. Eat your heart out Jack Del Rio. All the fucking fancy suits in the world won't help your team to beat mine. That's right…I am a football god. Gibbs, Parcells, Brown, Landry….morons next to me. Yeah, I'm talking to you Parcells. Without me you can't even beat Seattle. That's not even a real city. And while I'm at it, get yourself a bra, you're disgracing yourself.
I can create defenses in my sleep. I can make Tom Brady wash my car and make him love doing it. Yeah, he thought when he took a pay cut I'd help re-sign his players. Fuck no. Why'd I screw him over? Because I can. You don't need star players when you have the Billseye (when you're this good you can give yourself nicknames). I could sign a bunch of autistic monkeys and they'd still be a better defense than the shit they role out in San Diego. That's right Tomlinson. I told my players to mock your team, your friends, your coach, and your city. I then applied a tight zone coverage to your wife and banged the hell out of her. Nobody beats the Bill. Nobody.
Hear that Peyton. You can watch all the film you want. You can get a big film party together with you, Eli, Archie and any other Heimlich candidate you can dig up. You can get to the line of scrimmage and dance around like a fairy making your audibles. It won't make a fuck of difference because I own you. Any time I want I can blitz your sorry ass and make you wet yourself with fear. I just have to snap my fingers and one of my players is going to be bouncing his balls off your chin (and they won't have the common courtesy to shave them first either). Why not save whatever remaining dignity you have and go slouch over to the Losers' Corner… I'm sorry I think it's called the CBS pre-game show now. You and Marino and Esiason can count how many Super Bowl rings you have. Then you can all ask yourselves how many fewer you all combined have when compared to me. Here's a hint. It’s a lot. However if you want to take the field and be humiliated by my superior intellect again, go right ahead, it's your funeral. Just remember I am that good.
Kneel Before Zod!
--Bill Belichick
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