The bright afternoon South Florida sun was as strong as advertised. Coach Allan Foster knew this all too well, Being the coach of the Miami Dolphins, he spent many hours under the grueling sun. As he squinted, he reached up and pulled down his sun visor. Coach Foster winced as thoughts of the previous day’s loss to the anemic Jets upset his stomach.
Taking his eye off the road for not more than a few seconds almost changed his life forever. He managed to notice this potential disaster as he decisively yanked the steering wheel hard to tb the left. An old woman was bending down behind her overstuffed shopping cart while she was facing the opposite direction. Coach Foster cursed several times in rapid succession as he avoided this catastrophe.
The entrance to the parking garage of the medical building was just up ahead on the right. The Coach slowed down and drove inside. He carefully drove in and out of each aisle, increasingly becoming more impatient. His astonishment intensified when it was starting to become obvious that finding a spot would be harder than he previously anticipated.
“ What the hell is going on? Is everyone in the world sick?” Foster mumbled as he repeated the tedious process of searching for a parking space.
The issue was solved very shortly after making this comment. After smiling and silently celebrating finding that elusive parking spot, he made his way to the elevators. Jamming his hands deep into his pockets, he kept dwelling on the coaching mistakes that might have cost him the game the day before.
“ Tough loss there, Coach!” a voice rang out behind him.
The Coach turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of the man’s back who had made the comment. Shaking his head, the beleaguered Coach entered the open doors of the elevator that was seemingly waiting for his arrival. As the doors closed, he was reminded by the fact that due to his high-profile coaching position he was constantly under public scrutiny as well as being instantly recognizable.
Not more than ten minutes later, he was inside the doctor’s office seated directly across from his desk. The portly doctor with the curly black hair with mustache and sideburns to match rose to his feet from behind his desk with his hands outstretched.
“ Hey Coach! Good to see you! Hey, tough loss last night,” Dr. Barry Rosenbloom said. Coach Foster accepted his hand and forced a halfhearted smile.
“ Yeah, I thought for sure we had ‘em but Mitch threw that interception. I mean, it wasn’t entirely his fault, the ball got tipped, but none of that matters at this point,” the embattled Coach explained as he hung his head.
“ Well, let’s recap the breakthrough we made last session. I think at the end we were really starting to get somewhere. I mean you were starting to open and by doing this I really think we have a shot of getting to the root cause of these issues.” The Doctor explained in an even keeled tone. “Do you still feel this way? Willing to share what really is going on in your life?” Dr. Rosenbloom asked.
“ Yes! I’m at the end of my fucking rope! I must sort all this out or I’m going to lose my mind completely!” Coach Foster exclaimed as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
“ Well, we certainly wouldn’t want anything like that to happen! The good news is that none of my patients have lost their minds, so that is a good sign. Don’t you think?” Dr.Rosenbloom asked as he leaned back into his chair.
“ Yeah that’s good,” Coach Foster answered with a look of profound indifference.
“ I’d like to think so,” the flustered therapist replied as he shuffled the papers that were strewn randomly across his desk. Coach Foster crossed his legs a few times while he anxiously waited for his therapist to initiate the session.
“ Where would you like to start? And just let me say that I think this is a very positive step you are taking by admitting everything that isn’t working in your life or going wrong.
“ Well, Let me see. There are so many things in my life that are fucked up right now.” Coach Foster briefly paused. He wiped a bead of sweat that was forming along his receding hairline while he glanced towards the air conditioner. Noticing that it was indeed on and working, although not that well, he looked at his therapist.
“ Is everything ok?” Dr. Rosenbloom asked.
“ Yeah. Ok, I will start at the top of the list of what is pissing me off. Let’s start at home. I am damn near 100 percent certain that my wife is having an affair with my star Receiver, I’m sure you know him. Kwayme Truman. Any way I looked into this matter further. With the help of a private investigator, I learned this as well as the fact that my daughter is screwing around with my punter. Now, normally I would solve this by cutting him, but he leads the league in punting and has been a bright spot for us this season,” the Coach explained.
Dr. Rosenbloom simply nodded as he wrote down some notes on his notepad. “ Did you at least confront them about this?”
“What’s the point? They are just going to deny it. Might as well act dumb and not say anything. Not let them suspect anything so they get caught. She already filed for divorce, and she thinks I have no idea what she’s been up to” the anxious Coach explained.
“ Ok, I understand. Please continue,” the doctor requested.
“ Well.,” Coach Foster squirmed again in his seat. “ I have a little gambling problem. Well, its a big gambling problem. So big in fact, that I apparently am required to come up with a pretty large lump sum that I don’t have by the end of the week. I tried to tell them that’s its not my fault and it was the ref’s fault, but they don’t give a shit. So, to make matters worse, I decided to go out and have a few drinks after last week’s loss to the Vikings. I was doing ok, drinking in moderation, which is a challenge for me, and then things went downhill. My defensive coordinator, Ted Strauss, stopped by and the next thing you know we are pounding shots. So, after a few more drinks, Ted proceeds to tell me that he is severely dyslexic and needs his wife to help him read the plays and properly decipher some other important information regarding gameplans and other shit like that. I just stared at him in disbelief. It starts to dawn on me that this might be a cause for some of our problems on defense. So, I keep drinking, probably should have gone home at that point but I have never been known for my common sense, so I kept drinking. The next thing I know this guy walks up behind me and ends up spilling a drink down my back. I tried to be polite and assess the situation but when I realized who he was, all restraint and common sense went out the window. It was the ref who, with his arsenal of shitting calls, singlehandedly cost me thousands of dollars. After a few moments of drunken reasoning, I conclude that the best way to handle this would be to punch him in the face. Which I did, A few times, mind you. The only reason I stopped was because Ted pulled me off him. I guess I just let all my frustrations get the best of me and I took it out on him. Anyway, it turns out as bad as you think and now it looks like I am about to face criminal charges on top of what will happen to me when that greedy asshole of a commissioner finds out about this. “ the Coach said.
“ You have a lot on your plate,” Dr. Rosenbloom said in a concerned tone.
“ Well yeah, but if that wasn’t enough, I have to deal with my asshole sister-in-law. She is the most toxic woman on the planet. She is such a pain in the ass that I was seriously considering not marrying my wife because of this witch,” Coach Foster exclaimed.
“ She sounds delightful,” the curious therapist commented as he continued to scribble in his notepad.
“ A blessing indeed. The problem is that somehow, a fucking mystery to me for sure, she has a job as a sideline reporter for the Miami Dolphins. So now I see her all the fucking time and my hemorrhoids have taken a beating,” the annoyed coach complained.
“ What is this woman’s name? Maybe I have heard of her,” The doctor inquired.
“Susan Lee Aronson,” Coach Foster said in a disdainful tone.
“I know who she is. Attractive woman I have to say,” the Doctor answered in a dreamy tone.
“Yeah, well that’s what everyone thinks. Until you talk to her and realize that you would much rather be watching paint dry. Now I have this bitch in my face at halftime asking me a bunch of dumbass questions that I don’t care about or have the time to answer. The woman hates sports. Yet I am required to talk to her when I am coaching for my job, and she knows it. She likes to waste my time on the field and even when I must interact with her during the holidays,” Coach Foster shook his head and stared at his watch.
“This is very unfortunate. Is there anything you can do?” the Doctor asked as he briefly put his pen down.
“Not really. Just some more bullshit that I must deal with,” Coach Foster shook his head. Looking at his watch again, he stiffened and looked up at the clock above his therapist’s desk.
“ Listen Doc, I’m about to be late for an important meeting with the other coaches. And after the shit that went down last night with the Jets I better be there on time,” Coach Foster said as he rose to his feet and extended his hand to the unassuming doctor.
“ Of course! Next week, same time?” Dr. Rosenbloom asked as he extended his hand.
Coach Foster left the office quickly and found himself in the parking garage faster than he anticipated. With a smug grin, he headed to his car and was soon on his way to exiting the parking garage.
As soon as he pulled up to the corner, he heard a familia woman’s voice calling his name. He looked over his shoulder and out his window. Slowly, he turned his head to look out his passenger side window. Sure enough, he did recognize the voice.
His wife was standing on the corner not far from where he was waiting in his car for the light to turn. Coach Foster just stared as his wife held up her middle finger at him and started to call him a string of profane names.
While he was focused on his wife’s performance, he felt a jarring jolt that forced his neck to snap back quickly, He reached up and grabbed the back of his neck as he listened to his wife laugh hysterically at him. Still holding his neck, he turned around in time to see what looked like his star receiver, Kwayme Truman behind the wheel of a jet-black hummer with a steel plated grill. A look of terror erupted across Coach Foster’s face as he watched his star player smile as he stepped on the gas. The last thing the doomed Coach could recall was the glint of the solid gold front tooth that was displayed prominently due to his massive overbite. Sounds of his wife’s laughter continued to fill the air as the Hummer smashed repeatedly into the back of Coach Foster’s car.