To the fans of (fill in team),
I am sorry, but I have changed my mind about coaching the (team nickname). I am leaving to take the job with (fill in new team), and I undoubtedly will make more promises than Hubert Humphrey and then leave for the Latvian Olympic job. Hiring me is like marrying Elizabeth Taylor.
I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Unfortunately, as we both know, I probably don't mean it.
Sort of truly,
Dear Don Meredith,
I woke up the other morning and realized what a complete and utter ass I've been to you. I have treated you rudely. I considered myself omniscient and you a lummox. I was a card-carrying blowhard, waving my foul-smelling cigar in your face and letting spill from my bulbous jowls nothing but self-righteous, egocentric pap.
Not only that, but my hair isn't real.
Dear umpire Terry Cooney,
I am so sorry if I called you a (expletive) son-of-a-(expletive) who couldn't see a strike with infrared binoculars. I did not mean to call you that.
I meant to call you a (mother of all expletives) who couldn't find the (expletive) strike zone with a court order.
I hope you can find someone to read this to you.