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All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl.
Two riders were approaching as the wind began to howl.
-Bob Dylan, Minnesotan
Dear Coach Frazier:
First of all, hearty congratulations on being named interim head coach of the Minnesota Vikings. I believe I speak for all Helga-horned Viking fans when I wish you the best of luck for the remainder of this difficult season and into the offseason. A decent showing during the last few games, including perhaps a signature home victory over the Bears, and maybe we can still head into the offseason feeling upbeat about the future. My sincere dream for you is that you turn the team around over the next 6 games, that this turnaround means you are named head coach in the offseason, and that you experience many years of success on the Viking sideline, culminating in a Super Bowl appearance and victory. You have a difficult job, one I could never personally perform, and I promise you that if on some January day you achieve the NFL’s ultimate success, I will be among the parka-clad gang lining the streets of Minneapolis in the coldest victory parade ever known, cheering your name until our lungs themselves are frost-bitten.
I also want to share a chart with you.
The point of this chart is that you, Coach Frazier, are a mercenary. That’s your role; I understand it. You go where the job and the league takes you. In your impressive career as a player and coach, you’ve been a Bear, an Eagle, a Bengal, a Colt, and now a Viking. This is not a complaint: I understand and respect that in your profession, your allegiance is to the team on whose sidelines you walk that week.
But I, Coach Frazier, am not a mercenary. I am and have always been a Viking. That’s my role, and I hope you understand it. When I wore a pair of purple and gold corduroy pants with a Viking patch on the pocket to kindergarten in the 1970s, I was purple. When your Bears came from behind to beat the Vikings on a Thursday night in 1984, I was purple. I was purple when Fran Tarkenton broke his leg, I was purple when Darin Nelson dropped a pass, I was purple when Gary Anderson missed a kick, I was purple for 41-donut, I was purple for twelve men on the field in the Superdome, and I will be purple when they put me in my grave.
You can think of me and my compatriots as guardians, as watchmen, and of this Web site and our social media channels as our watchtower. We mean you no harm — indeed we are your allies and supporters, here to do whatever we can to help our team succeed. As long as we feel that you are acting in the best interests of the team and communicating openly with the fan base, we will get along very well. But the perspective of a fan is that the Vikings are our team, more than they are your team, more than they are Adrian Peterson’s team, even more than they are Mr. Wilf’s team. So we want you to know that we are here, we are many, we are smart, we are passionate, and we will not suffer foolishness quietly. We are a deep, dark shade of purple. And we are watching.
Again, best of luck, and Skol!
on behalf of the firechilly.com crew,
and the vast Viking guardianship,
from the watchtower