Robert Wood Johnson IV
New York Jets
Hofstra University
Hempstead, N.Y. 11550

Dear Woodman (if I may be so bold):

I couldn't help but notice you need a head coach. You may never have heard of me, and Tags probably didn't bring my name up in conversation, but I think I am just the man you are looking for. Hey, if Wade "I Wish The Midget Wouldn't Play So Well" Phillips can get a vote of confidence, I think I, Louie the Iceball, deserve a shot.

I love the Tuna, don't get me wrong. If Big Bill decides to return to the sideline, I will gladly remove myself from the picture -- even if he insists on putting Francesa on the Motorola. But if you're thinking of naming another wussy who's going to run away at the first sign of pressure, or worse yet, an ex-New York football Giant like Mo Carthon, well, cast your eyes this way.

What are my qualifications? Granted, they're not found in any NFL register. But ever since I was a little kid, when I figured out that I could use my red electronic halfback who veered to the right on end-arounds, I've had a real feel for the game. You may not subscribe to the Town & Sound, but if you did, you'd know about my Pop Warner Midget teams -- two county titles in a row, and woulda had a third if not for that zebra's assault charge against me. In fact, I am writing to you after replaying the entire season on the Madden 2001 game my third wife gave me for Christmas. You will be happy to know the Jets went 19-0 with Chad Pennington at QB.

As for loyalty, nobody bleeds green like I do. The guy in full Jets regalia they had to take into police custody at the Marriott Marquis after your personnel people took Kyle Brady in 1995? That was me! I have stuck with your team through thick and thin, through Coslet and Carroll and Kotite, through Ryan, O'Brien and Browning Nagle -- whose idea was that?

I have named my Rottweilers Boozer and Boomer. I have driven from Port Chester to El Paso to see Don Maynard's birthplace, and back again, stopping only at Hess stations. And I want you to know, I only use Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo on my rapidly thinning hair. I do all this so that I can once again hear the cheers I heard in my sainted mother's womb when Randy Beverly intercepted that second pass in Super Bowl III.

Woodman, I hope you've learned your lesson, elevating Jets assistants to the head job. (Head cases is more like it -- maybe Groh can have Belichick deliver a lecture at the University of Virginia on "The Fear of Commitment.") Don't entrust the hopes and dreams of millions to any more geeks who wouldn't know Pete Lammons from Pete Gammons. The time has come for you to assert your independence, to make a bold move that speaks directly to the long-suffering fans of the Jets. And when you think about it, we are the strength of your franchise.

Surely, I can't be any worse than Joe Walton. If you make me the head coach, I will reward your initiative not only with the Lombardi, but also with the stability that has long eluded this team. (A five-year contract will be fine, with my option for a sixth.)

Attached are my vitals. If you need to reach me between the hours of 10 a.m. and 6 p.m., ask for Louie in Parts. I look forward to hearing from you.

Go Jets,

Louie Giammona
(Nice coincidence, no?)

P.S.: Should you need a reference, feel free to call Joe Benigno, the overnight man at WFAN. (Mike and the Mad Dog don't take my calls anymore.)

Steve Wulf is executive editor of ESPN The Magazine. E-mail steve.wulf@espnmag.com.