William Clay Ford and Matt Millen: A meeting of the feeble minds

We have not heard from either William Clay Ford or Matt Millen in months. Is Millen on thin ice? Will WCF make a change? No one seems to have an answer.

Something is finally happening, though. Word is leaking out, via the NFL Network's Adam Schefter, that there have been "High level evaluation meetings" between the two, in regard to the future of both Millen and the Detroit Lions.

TWFE just happens to have a transcript of one such meeting...

William Clay Ford: //zzzzZZZZzzzz//

Matt Millen: Sir? Mr. Ford? Sir?

WCF: //WHEEZE//

MM: Uh, Mr. Ford? You awake?

WCF: //drool//

MM: Jesus H Christ, he's been into the Chivas again. I didn't want to have to do this...

WCF: //HACK//

MM: I just gave Marinelli and Martz 5 year extensions.

WCF: //WHISTLE//

MM: Guaranteed.

WCF: WHAT THE BLAZES?! JEEVES! Where in the GOD DAMN HELL is my scotch?! Now what's this about extensions?! To a communist?!

MM: That's Martz, not Marx, sir. Ahh, you're awake now sir. I need to talk to you.

WCF: Is that you Russ? Now what? Is that ass Karras giving you a hard time? Is he wrestling again? Or is he in deep with the bookies? How much is it going to cost me to bail his Greek ass out of trouble this time? Get Rozelle on the horn!

MM: Rozelle? But..

WCF: Ever since "Paper Lion," Karras has been an arrogant asshole, gone all Hollywood. Letting that socialist pinko Plimpton into training camp was the dumbest thing I ever did. Well, save for the Edsel. Why did I think that strange ass looking car would sell? Hank the Deuce, that fucking prick, has been rubbing my face in it ever since. Did I, or did I not, ask FOR MY SCOTCH?! Fucking help isn't worth a damn anymore, Russ.

MM: Yes, the help sucks, sir. But..It's me sir. Not Russ Thomas, may he rest in peace. It's Matty Millen. You know, the guy with square head and the 'stache? The GM of your Lions?

WCF: Didn't I have this discussion with some small time bogger already? I had him shot, you know. And no one manages my loins!

MM: LIONS! DETROIT LIONS!

WCF: Well why didn't you say so, Russ? Damn, I need a drink. Fuck, I'm out of Chivas. JEEEVES!

MM: Um...Yeah. Anyway sir, I wanted to talk to you about your football team. It's been a rough season, and I wanted to explain why we lost to the Vikings on Sunday, and why the Lions are 2-11.

WCF: My footballers lost to the Vikings again? What's the big deal, we've never been able to beat them damn Nordic sumbitches. I think that damn Bud Grant feeds them Lutefisk, Russ. Nasty stuff. Screw the Vikings. I thought you had something important to talk about. I'm not worried, though.

MM: Not worried?

WCF: Not at all, Russ. I have good feelings about our hiring Joe Schmidt as the head coach of my footballers. He says to expect big things from some kid named Landry, that's he's the next coming of that drunk hick, Bobby Layne. And he likes that darkie, the running back who always bugging me about a car dealership, what's his name? Barr? Farr? Carr? I gave him a dealership franchise just to shut his ass up. Wait till he finds out its on the bad side of 8 Mile! HAR!

MM: Sure, Mr. Ford. Anyway, we've had a ton of injuries. The head coach, Marinelli, has been making some rookie mistakes. We've had some bad breaks. From the outside, things look bleak. But coach Marinelli says we're "THIS CLOSE" to turning the ship around, and winning some games, sir.

WCF: Close to Marinelli? Close to a wop?! So Karras has mob ties, eh? Roselle is going to be PISSED! HAR!

MM: MARINELLI! MARINELLI!

WCF: Stop yelling Russ! I'm not deaf, you know. Don't worry, I'll order you some marinara sauce with lunch. JEEVES! If that damn scotch isn't here soon, I'm going to call J. Edgar! He owes me a favor, Russ. He likes the fellas, you know. Damn fairy. HAR!

MM: Uh, right. Anyway, the media is asking for you to make a decision as to my future with the Lions. They want you to hold me accountable for my 23-70 record.

WCF: The media wants me to talk? Balderdash! Fuck them media liberals! I can have Cronkite taken out with one phone call, Russ. One. Nobody tells a Ford what to do! NOBODY! Especially Liberals! JFK tried, look what happened to him. Get it, Russ? HAR!

MM: Got it, sir. So my job is safe? You aren't going to ask for my resignation?

WCF: You'll have a job as long as I'm around, Russ. And I don't plan on going anywhere other than to the bank. And the whorehouse! HAR! So don't worry about anything Russ, you have a job for life. Just let the footballers take care of themselves, the Lions are a license to print money. And don't ever shave the 'stache.

MM: Never, sir.

WCF: JEEVES! Scotch me, post haste! Russ, my bunions are acting up. I need a foot massage. No one gave them as well as the Fred Flintstone looking character that used to hang around here. Fontez, or some such. You'll have to do.

MM: Yes sir. I love my job, I love my job.

WCF: Not bad, Russ, not bad. Jeeves! Scot...//ZZZZ//SNORT//

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