Dear Mr. Ross,
So I hear you're about to become the new owner of the Miami Dolphins. Hey, that's dynamite. Welcome to the family. I also hear that you intend on being a hands-off owner, one that'll focus on the business side of the team and let the football personnel do their jobs without interference. Even better. Wayne was like that. He sure as shit couldn't find a competent coach to run the team for the better part of a decade to save his life, but at least he stood out of the way. That's the way we like it. And Wayne finally got it right when he hired Bill Parcells to run the Dolphins last season. He essentially gave him the keys to the franchise and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Because Wayne understood that Mr. Parcells knows a thing or two about building good football teams. And, as you know, Mr. Parcells did a pretty bangup job turning this thing around in just his first season. Along with getting good players, Mr. Parcells also put in place a very good head coach in Tony Sparano, and a very promising General Manager in Jeff Ireland -- both his guys. It's important to remember that. But we'll get to that later.
First of all, there's the matter of this whole Mr. Parcells being allowed to
opt out of his contract thing now that you're taking over the team. One which stipulates that he can become a free agent, go wherever he pleases and still get paid in full. Of course, this makes us fans nervous because we all know Bill is not exactly
Mr. Loyalty. Yes, we know Wayne has already said
Parcells isn't going anywhere. But that doesn't mean squat. And by "squat," I mean "shit." Because everyone knows Bill Parcells goes where the money is greenest and where he is allowed to do his thing without anyone getting in his way, or without any drama, or any other kind of -- to use terms you look like you would use -- ballyhoo or tomfoolery, messing up his work. This scares us. Because, as you may or may not realize, we fans have been through a lot of shit with this team in the last ten years or so. We're a jaded, scarred, weary lot. After the collective shit-storm seasons under Dave Wannstedt, Nick Saban and Cam Cameron, we thought we'd never see a winner down here again. Ever. Some of us even contemplated giving up watching any kind of football altogether. Others encouraged our own children to root for the Patriots, since they seem to be a franchise that knows what the fuck they're doing, to avoid having our precious loved ones suffer as we have. This made us throw up in our mouths a little. It was a horrible, horrible time. And so along came Mr. Parcells, taking over at our absolute lowest point and, through his genius and sheer cockpunchitude, rebuilt our craptastic Dolphins into an 11-5, AFC East Championship winning team. We have a saying for whenever something is truly great. We call it, "the tits." Generational gap or not, I don't have to explain to you, Mr. Ross, that tits are beyond awesome. So you catch my drift when I say that this season has been "the tits." It has been a season for the ages. One that will live in the hearts of Dolphins fans forever. And one that, above all else, brought us hope. Hope, Mr. Ross. Hope. Not dread, not foreboding, not dejection. Hope.
And that's where you come in. On hope.
Because you are now the keeper of The Hope. You see, because now that Wayne has sold you the team, and Mr. Parcells is free to opt out of his contract, we fans are expecting you to do everything -- and we do mean
everything -- in your power to keep Mr. Parcells here in Miami for as long as possible. We figure you would know this with what you being a billionaire and all. We know you made all that money because you're a smart guy. But you'd be surprised how stupid your fellow billionaire football team owners can be (see: Snyder, Daniel M.). But I figure I'd give you the benefit of the doubt.
But then this report comes along that says you're chummy with Carl Peterson from your USFL days, and that Mr. Peterson
will soon be a part of the front office. I quickly dismissed this as another one of Mike Florio's ridiculous rumor mongering posts he does from time to time to keep things interesting on his site and to remain on Time magazine's list of
50 best websites (he also once stole one of my jokes, but that's neither here nor there). But then
this column comes out saying you were entertaining Mr. Peterson during the playoff game Sunday and that he
spoke about the Dolphins in terms of "we" and even wore a Dolphins lapel pin. Holy and fuck, sir. That is not the kind of thing we fans want to hear about. I don't care how friendly you are with Carl Peterson. You want to keep the good times rolling, you keep that franchise-murdering fuckstick far far away from your team. What's this "we" shit? You do realize your good buddy sank the Kansas City Chiefs, right? I mean he totally and utterly fucked that entire franchise and loyal fanbase right in their collective ear. You do realize Bill Parcells is young Marlon Brando to Carl Peterson's Keanu Reeves, yes? Please Mr. Ross, do not -- DO!! NOT!! -- allow Carl Peterson anywhere near this team. Not for any reason. I don't care if he has compromising photographs of you in leather dominatrix underwear with candle wax on your nipples performing a Cincinnati Bowtie on a 22 year old cabana boy in a hotel in St. Barts. DO NOT BRING CARL PETERSON HERE!!!! PLEASE!!! Not for any reason.
And above all else, please don't turn us into the fucking Dallas Cowboys. You like to have
stars on the sidelines? You're BFF with Jon Bon Jovi? That's fucking fantastic. You like to turn football games into a big sideshow extravaganza where mega stars and celebrities can be seen? Wonderful. But we real fans don't give flying monkey dicks about that shit. Know who else can do without all the razzle-dazzle glitter and gold spectacle bullshit? One Duane Charles Parcells, aka Bill, aka Big Tuna, aka The Cockpuncher. We want a winner, sir. Nothing less. And we can't get that if Parcells is off building the Jets or Browns into a Super Bowl contender while Carl Peterson is having a Fanta with fucking Sheryl Crow on the sidelines. Carl Peterson
acts like he knows football while Parcells is out
scouting college football players on his day off of all fucking things. See the difference here, Mr. Ross?
Oh sure, coach Sparano and Jeff Ireland might remain here if Parcells left -- but then again, they might not. Like I mentioned above, these are his guys. You may not know this, but Parcells likes to take his guys with him wherever he goes. Just ask Jerry Jones. Shit, I know if I were Ireland, I'd much rather work at a place where
I'd only answer to Parcells and not patchouli stink smelling, franchise
drowning fucktard Carl Peterson. Ireland was once a scout for Carl Peterson. Then he wasn't. Then the proverbial shit began to hit the proverbial fan in KC. Coincidence? I dunno.
Look, Mr. Ross, as a football team owner, your job is quite simple: Sign the checks and get competent football people to run the football side of things for you, and then get out of the way and take a ride on your hovercraft. You, sir, have stumbled onto a pretty neat situation here. Because that part is already done for you. No need to search for a guy to run your team. No need to explain to the season ticket holders why we're going after Mike Shanahan or Eric Mangini. The Broncos, Jets and Lions owners are all in that pickle. Not you. Nope. Everything is all set up for you, sir. No need to touch that side of the team or fuck with it in any way. So don't.
Give Bill Parcells whatever he wants. Keep him here at all cost.
And for fucksake, do not hire Carl Peterson for any reason.
That, sir, would indeed be the tits.
Thanks to the Eagles and Cardinals advancing to the NFC Championships this Sunday, the Dolphins suddenly went from the 26th overall pick to the 25th overall pick in April's draft.
