Dear Sean Payton, We're On a Break....

This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write. (Total lie. I wrote one to Jim Haslett about 5 years ago.) I know it seems odd that I would open up to you in this way, so cold, distant, and impersonal. But if I saw you face to face, I don't think I could get through this (without spitting on you.)

After last year's Bears game, I knew one thing was for certain: Fred Thomas is a goner. Then came the draft, where I noticed we didn't go for a defensive player in the first round. But no worries, I know my Pay Pay (cuz that's what I call you when we're alone) won't let me down. Then came training camp, preseason, and the roster cuts. Low and behold, Fred Thomas was just like NKOTB: Hanging Tough.

But I overlooked that. I thought, maybe he sees something in Thomas that I can't see (perhaps a computer chip which programs him to not make a play on the ball.) I knew that no matter what, I had to stick with my coach and trust his gut. (Even if his decisions left me puking up my own guts)

Then came 0-3, which made me grow concerned for our game plan (and contemplate swallowing a bottle of antifreeze.) Not going for it on fourth and 1 in the Colts game...Going for it on fourth down versus the Titans with some crazy ass pass play instead of running it up the gut...Not utilizing Deuce before he got hurt...Not calling for the big plays down the field. (Shall I go on?)

Even with all that, I still had faith you'd come through for me when it mattered most. After watching Olindo Mare miss two field goals (when we only needed one to win the game), I knew that you knew that it was time to kick O-crapo to the curb. After all, he's 3 for 7 on the season. When I read about you auditioning other kickers (as crappy as they might be in their own special ways), I figured, "at least we're on the same page."

Then, my good friend Mother Hen sent me this headline from WWL's website "For now, Payton sticking with Mare against Seattle". Imagine my shock, horror, and disgust. I thought you knew me. I thought I knew you. But it turns out, I don't know who you are or the man (Haslett) you're becoming.

I want to believe you're the same Pay-Pay fans high-fived at the Dome, the same Pay Pay we lined up for to greet when the Saints arrived home from their NFC Championship loss, the same man who guided us to an ass kicking victory against Dallas in 2006. I need to know that that man is inside you (and not spending too much time inside some Gold Club Stripper).

I don't want to fight with you. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want to trust you, but you just keep giving me reasons not to. Believe me Pay Pay, I don't want to lose (hurt) you. I can only pray that this Sunday night, we'll find our way back to each other (or else).

Love (Watch out for) Always,
Nola Chick