Hire me, Jeffrey Lurie

Pictured: me, age 10, drafting some passing plays.

There is, truthfully, only one job I’ve ever wanted — to be the head coach of the Philadelphia Eagles.

When I was six or seven, the Eagles were very bad. (The exact age is not important; they were very bad both of those years.) So I sent a letter to Ray Rhodes, the head coach, with a couple of plays written out that I thought he should try in a game. The letter was most likely written in crayon.

You may laugh at this story. However, Ray Rhodes never used the plays I sent him, and not long after that he got fired. So I think that, in fact, I had the last laugh there.

Now, despite the obvious football acumen I displayed at age six or seven, I have not yet been made the Eagles head coach. The position has only been open twice since I sent that letter. The first time, in 1999, they hired Andy Reid. As I was seven years old at the time I can’t fault the Eagles for passing over me.

The second time, in 2013, they hired Chip Kelly. I was in college and had my sights set on becoming the head coach of the Columbia Lions, so it didn’t seem like a great time to throw my hat in the ring.

But now, three years later, Kelly is gone. The position is open again. And this time the Eagles have to hire me, because I have a foolproof plan to turn the Eagles into Super Bowl champions.

Now, I am going to publicly reveal my plan. I realize that this will make it possible for my “competitors” to steal my plan and present it to the Eagles before I do. However, this is a risk I am willing to take, because I know that I alone could actually successfully execute the required steps. (Megalomania is, in my opinion, one of the most important traits for a successful football coach.)


  1. Construct a rocket.
  2. Using said rocket, fire the following Eagles players into the Sun: Kiko Alonso, Riley Cooper, Byron Maxwell, Mark Sanchez, Sam Bradford.
    1. I have no idea whether disposing of these players via Sun-rocket will help or hurt the salary cap, but I don’t really care. What matters is sending a message.
    2. I will try to lure LeSean McCoy onto the rocket too, just on general principle.
  3. Get some good free agents.
  4. Use the first pick in the draft to acquire QB Jared Goff from the University of California.
  5. Use the remaining draft picks to acquire guys who are really, really good at football.
    1. Possibly use some sort of telekinesis to prevent other teams from drafting the players I want?
  6. Cut Donnie Jones, the punter. I like Jones, hence why he’s not going on the Sun-rocket. But I don’t like punting. My team will never punt.

Training Camp

  1. Hold practice the maximum number of times allowed. Gotta make sure those players know the plays.
  2. Wait, I should probably have some plays written down.
  3. Write down a bunch of really good plays.
  4. In order to avoid comparisons to Chip Kelly, I will instruct my players to play as slowly as they possibly can.
  5. I will also instruct my players to actually try on defense. As this is a completely foreign concept to the current Eagles, this will presumably take the majority of training camp.


  1. Hire random Eagles season ticket holders to fill in for my guys in the preseason. This has three benefits: the actual players won’t get hurt, lots of Eagles fans will achieve their life-long dreams, and opposing players will be cowering in fear.
  2. If this specific cunning plan is not allowed, I will intentionally lose every game. It is important to keep expectations as low as possible, so as to quell any potential uprising among the fan base.


  1. Win 10 to 13 football games.
  2. Spend all non-football time buttering up the local media. If you don’t talk to them enough, they will attempt to stir up the local populace to burn you in effigy.
    1. Have a list of prepared pithy sound-bites for press conferences.
  3. Make the playoffs.
  4. Win in the wild card round (if necessary).
  5. Win in the divisional round.
  6. Win in the conference championship.
  7. Win the Super Bowl.

After the season

  1. Go to parade.
  2. Never buy a drink for myself in Philadelphia again.

Now, you might observe correctly that I have no experience being a head football coach. Or a football coach. Or a football player. Or, for that matter, winning anything in Madden without turning the difficulty setting to “Ridiculously Easy.” But I did come in third place in my fantasy football league this year. Seems like that’s plenty of qualifications.

And I’m willing to admit that this plan might be missing a few things. For example, nowhere did I explain how I intend to dress on the sidelines. (I’m thinking sunglasses and a green pullover, but I’m open to refinement on this point.) Overall, though, I think it’s a very solid plan.

In conclusion, Mr. Lurie, there is a popular saying that I am quite fond of. “Shoot for the moon, but remember that if you miss, you will be floating off into the inky blackness of space with no hope of survival or rescue.” I think it applies to this situation.

I look forward to leading the Philadelphia Eagles to their first Super Bowl victory, hoisting the Vince Lombardi trophy in front of millions of screaming fans — or failing spectacularly in the attempt.