Parcell's introductory press conference yesterday was, in a word, boring as fuck. Could've been the jet-lag, could've been the whirlwind of the first day on the job, could've been the Arby's Bacon Beef 'n Cheddar value meal he had prior to the press conference (get it? because he's fat), but Parcells was unusually passive and restrained during the whole thing. Almost meek. Not unlike my Dad, plopping himself on the couch and nodding off after he takes his annual post-X-mas meal shit. It was as if Parcells had just reflected upon himself in his innermost thoughts, moments before the mics were turned on, "Ho-leey shit! Why the fuck did I agree to come to this shitfest again?!"
But I like this Bill Parcells. I like that he didn't come in foaming at the mouth and spouting off some rah-rah bullshit that we were going to win 20 Super Bowls in the next two years (like JJ and Saban famously did when they arrived). I liked that he said he feels pressure to get this thing done. I liked that he was near rigermortis as he spoke. Because it's the silence that kills without showing any mercy. Think about it: pumas are silent hunters, as are lions waiting in the brush. Silent farts, oh I don't have to tell you about those, now, do I? (No, I'm not 12) It means the Tuna is saving it for the assault. And I, for one, am excited to see what unfolds.