God, firing you hurts me so much. It hurts me to the very core. Now, I am a man who has done a great deal of hurting in life. For instance, this morning my daughter made my eggs runny. I strongly dislike my eggs runny. She knew this, yet she flagrantly undercooked them anyway. This hurt me very deeply, Jim. So, when I say that firing you hurt even more than that, you can only imagine my level of anguish.
Sure, you'll find a new job. Maybe you'll do some broadcasting. Or maybe you'll even hang out with that kid you ditched a couple decades back. But where will I go? What will I do? How will The Bri recover from this sort of thing? The Bri doesn't really know, Jim. God, I think that's the first time I've ever said that. Wow, that hurts. Now firing you has hurt me doubly. I can barely finish my chocolate croissant, the hurt is so bold and intrusive.
Even faxing you this termination letter has pained me greatly. When I asked Kitty, my assistant, to send it to you, she said she had to go and pick up my new set of long irons. And so, I had to do it myself. And that hurt me. Hurt my very soul. Then, when I went to dial your number on the fax, it said it didn't recognize the number. Then I realized I had forgotten to dial one. I don't get it. You don't have to dial one using a cell phone. But you have to do it when faxing? That's fucked up. You see the whole cycle of self-doubt this causes? There's no doubt for you, Jimbalaya. You're off the hook. But the demons stay with me, Jim. They haunt my dreams as I sleep on my 500-thread Egyptian cotton sheets.
And what of the offense now, Jim? I don't know how I'm going to cope without you. With you here, I had someone to pass blame to. But who do I do that with now? Neuheisel? That guy's a dicklicker. He can't even play a fucking E chord. "Different kind of coach" my ass. I need you here, Jim. And yet I have to think of my family, and the new bumper pool table I just placed on order. I have to think of those things first. You see the whole conflict this creates in my mind? It's so difficult and complex, not unlike my 12-year tutoring program for Kyle Boller. No one truly gets it, and that hurts The Bri right here, Jimkata. Right in the bloodpumper.
It almost hurts as much as the time I went jogging without taping my nipples and experienced some light chafing. Or the time Guadalupe, our nanny, requested consecutive days off. Or the time my children started watching "Spy Kids 2" while I was still fixing my sandwich. Those things all hurt me, Jim. And now, you too have added another chapter to my suffering.
I hope you can live with that. I hope one day you'll understand the mark you left on me by not making me look like a better coach. But perhaps time is what's needed here. Perhaps years, even. My wounds run deep, Jim. I hope you can sympathize. After all, you'll get to coach the Raiders next year! But I'll still be here. Alone. Abandoned. With no one to make sure my straw hat looks good. I hope you're happy.
2000 Super Bowl Champion and Noted Motivational Speaker Brian Billick, Esquire