Hey, Jeff Lurie! I Am Your Next Eagles Coach!

I mean. How hard can it be?

So the Eagles are in search of a head coach, and I, along with several million other Delaware Valley-ites, am here to say: I’m your man! But unlike that obnoxious drunk at Chickie’s and Pete’s last night or the idiots still twirling their AM dials, trying to figure out what happened to Angelo Cataldi, I have actual qualifications for the job.

For one, I have experience, having coached my kids’ soccer and basketball teams. Granted, it was at the preK level, but discipline and motivation don’t vary that much across the decades, as I’m sure you know. And you won’t have to worry about drug or alcohol problems with me at the helm, considering I ruthlessly enforced a “No binkies on the playing field” rule back in the day. Believe me, anyone who can convince four-year-olds to relinquish their pacifiers in order to run out onto a wind-whipped, frigid field and be screamed at by their parents isn’t going to have players insouciantly skipping bed-check.

Though I’m an avid student of the game of football, some of its intricacies still elude me. That’s certainly no disqualification for the Eagles job, though. I’m a quick learner, and I’ll have a huge posse of offensive and defensive coaches and coordinators to walk me through it and, you know, call the plays. That Howie guy handles the draft, right? (And he never played football, either.) So I’m all covered there. The league makes up  the schedule; those big signs at the stadiums tell you what down it is and how much time is left. The players even have their names on the backs of their shirts, which is more than I can say for peewee soccer. Piece of cake!

The real meat of my job, though, is to convince really big guys to do what I tell them. I’ll have you know my teenage son is six-foot-four and 300 pounds, and I make sure he gets out of bed almost every day. My modus operandi isn’t sissy “respect,” either—it’s unadulterated fear. If you think I can’t handle a locker room full of unbridled egos, witness this: I served as Girl Scout leader for my daughter’s troop when she was in middle school—and took them on camping trips. Michael Vick’s psyche is a smooth, unrippling field of Astroturf compared to that of your average 13-year-old girl.

But here’s where I really shine when it comes to qualifications for the job of Eagles coach: talking to the press. Andy Reid never knew how to talk to the press. I do, because I am the freaking press! I know exactly what the voracious maw of the Fourth Estate demands, and I’m ready to provide it. I’ll give the best, most colorful quotes any football coach has ever come out with! I’ll be more inspirational than Bear Bryant, more eloquent than Vince Lombardi, less smarmy than Jimmy Johnson! No more Reid-esque grunts and monosyllables; once you get me started at the podium, I won’t shut up! And beyond the post-game press conferences, I’ll Twitter you to death! I’ll Facebook you to eternity! I’ll be so 24/7 accessible that the entire city will glow in the reflected light of Eagles fans’ love! (See? Pretty inspirational, huh?)

Two final but all-important points: I can wear Andy’s official team wardrobe. True, he’s got a few inches of height and a couple of pounds on me, but I know how to sew, and I can take up the pants and nip in the sweater vests and shirts. Have any of your other coaching candidates made an offer like that? And finally, our style editor, Emily Goulet, just came into my office to ask me how to pronounce Nnamdi Asomugha’s name. She could have asked any one of the dozens of men who work here, but she didn’t. She came to me. So you can be sure Nnamdi will know who I’m talking to when I fire his overpaid ass!

You have my email, Jeff. Ball’s in your court. I mean, your red zone.