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Dear Coach Carroll,

As I watched the end of last night's Super Bowl, I felt I needed to reach out to you one last time, since we won't be coaching opposite one another next year. We've had our differences, I know. You kept me from getting back to the Super Bowl and beating John Fox, the broken solar calculator with teeth. And I hung 55 on you in the Coliseum to help send you to the Emerald Bowl against Boston College. (Hey, at least you beat them. That's not a guarantee these days at USC.) But I don't want to reopen old wounds. I just want to share a story I hope you'll find inspirational going forward.

Have I ever told you about the Christmas rope?

See, on Christmas morning, Mom would bundle John and me up in coats and hats and galoshes. She'd give us each a small cup of cocoa and send us out to the driveway, where Dad was waiting. He'd put the two of us back to back, and then he'd bind us together around the waist with a thick length of rope he only used for this occasion. Then we'd wait and sip our cocoa while he ducked into the garage to bring out two presents: the thing I wanted most that year, and the thing John wanted most that year.

See, Dad didn't want to spoil us, but he believed in precision. So when I say he brought out what I wanted most, I mean exactly that - if it was a bike, it was just the color and style you wanted and already had a little license plate that said "JIMMY" on the back.

Anyways, he'd take the two presents and put mine a yard away from me and John's a yard away from him. Mom took our cocoa mugs away, and then Dad blew the whistle. And we'd start pulling, because the Christmas rope only had one rule: first one to get to his present got to keep it.

Now, you're probably thinking, why not agree ahead of time to alternate winners or ask for presents you could both enjoy? What you don't understand is that, after a couple of years, it stops being about the presents at all. You just want to see the sorrow in your brother's face as you take that damn yard from him. The Virgin Mary herself could have shown up with Baby Jesus and asked nicely for a yard and I'd still tell her to put on the rope and earn it.

Was this a cruel way for a father to approach the holidays? Maybe. But I sure as shit wouldn't just give away my last yard on some dumbfuck slant route, you tai chi dipshit.

Merry Christmas.

Missing you already,

Coach Jim Harbaugh

P.S. At least you didn't lose to Tavita Pritchard again.