Dear Santa:
It�s been a while since I�ve written and we both know why.� Let�s face it; maybe I haven�t been naughty but, for the most part, I haven�t been all that nice either.� Besides, I understand you�ve got better things to do; compared to most, I live like a god and, as we both know, there�s plenty of want around this rock.�
But please, you�ve just got to help me now.� I�m not asking much; I don�t want all the cars and I don�t want all the women either.� I�ll try and get rich on my own.� What I do want is this: a little hope, a glimmer that somewhere down the line, my Pittsburgh Steelers might get a chance for that 5th ring.�
That�s not so much to ask, even if I don�t deserve it.� Maybe there�s someone who does though; some fan somewhere that has led a good life even while rooting for the Black and Gold.�� Do it for that guy; I won�t be offended but please Santa just do it.� Get William Laird Cowher outta here.�
Look, I know the train already has left the station for any Gruden type deal; sure, there was a hot torrent of cash flowing one way or the other between Oakland and Tampa last year but, really, who cares since it all comes out of the same pot?� The money doesn�t signify; I�d have taken the players and I�d have taken my chances with some other coach.
But that�s all over.� Now, you�ve just gotta find the Laird another manse; somewhere, anywhere.� Nebraska, Atlanta, DC, I really don�t care.� Personally, I�ve got nothing against the man; he can stay employed, his family can keep fed, just not here.� Team-X gets a celebrity coach and, maybe, goes on from there.� The Steelers get a chance to re-make themselves and, maybe, someday, could contend again.� This works for everyone; win, win, which is straight up your alley, right?�
I understand that the mess this season might not be entirely Cowher�s fault.� Maybe, it�s the players; maybe they all got soft, maybe they all got old.� Tempus fugit, but the Steelers� secondary does not.� That�s the beauty; my plan works either way.� If it�s the Coach, well, there�ll be a new sheriff in town.� If it�s the players, well, rumor has it, that Mr. Bill had the wheel there too.��
I know this could be a problem for the Rooney family.� They�ve got a sense of loyalty and they don�t like any fuss, which definitely is a different deal than out in Oakland where Gruden and Davis were done with one another.�� Possibly, you hesitate to cross that clan; sure, we all owe the Irish for saving our so-called civilization and, to some, the Emerald Isle is now, as it always has been, God�s own turf�
� but none of that can be your concern.� Civilization must mean nothing to you Claus; after all, man, your whole show is just a means of coercion; you know: be good kid, get exactly the crap you crave.� So, you�re a tool Nick and as for He-Whose-Name-Must-Not-Be-Spoken, well, aside from the fact that you�re basically a pagan idol, I think we all understand that the Big Guy just is not so such jolly.
Screw with me on this and you�ll be jolly no more too.� Look at that postmark pal, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania; you think I don�t have a taste for venison?� You�re slow and old; you fly low.� That�s USA, which is U Sure can get Arms, you hideous tub of goo.� I�m about 20 minutes, anytime and anywhere, from a shoulder launcher and a crate of RPG.� I�ve got a meat locker and all my friends do too.� Mess up and well, your boyz Blitzen and the rest will end their days gutted and hung out to cure.� Fat freak down, that�s what I�m talking about.� You feeling me yet, you fur-fringed, red-ass mutant?
You�ve been warned,
Phantom