When we last heard from North Carolina Tar Heels head coach Larry Fedora, he was revealing himself to be the Paul Revere of his day. The noble hero galloped through the streets of Charlotte to inform the people of the impending insurgence: The WAR ON FOOTBALL was coming, and it was coming for America, too.
A man of action, Fedora fled the Westin ballroom to enlist in the defense effort, posthaste. He worried not about what would happen to the Tar Heels in his care, for what would be the point of remaining to coach them without football to play? Besides, the team could surely skate by opponents like ECU without a coach. When he returned, they — and America — would be better for it.
The below is a sampling of his correspondence from the front lines of the war...
September 1, 2018
I write you from our outpost in the territory of California, where I was shipped out shortly after my initial remarks. It ends up a city called Berkeley is a hub for anti-football sentiment, and I intend to fight our detractors directly within these green hills.
The insurgents have enlisted Bears to aid their cause, apparently. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to fight them with just our company. I was never given a command, per se, but was able to find a gaggle of individuals playing some primitive beanbag-based game shortly after arriving here. They are my army. And while we don’t have weapons, we have faith in football. And it is with that which we will fight.
I hear a whistle in the distance, and it sounds like football. We’ve won without lifting a finger. Our might knows no equal.
My beloved Tar Heels,
Following our victory in the East Bay, I was encouraged to board a metallic bird and return to North Carolina. Regretfully, I won’t be in Chapel Hill and must support you from afar in your efforts against the Pirates of Greenville. I know it’s a road game and I’ll actually be right down the street at a local pub, but this is where you win the hearts and minds of the local people. Here, I’ll be preaching the good word of football, converting the natives to the ideals it instills in our military and democracy at large.
What? You lost. I’ve never heard of you all before. Lose my postage information. Forget I wrote you.
I see that you’ve failed to take on a loss this week, and that is for the best. I wish you the best of luck with the coming storm to hit the shores of the Carolinas. I will be in Florida, sampling the local fare of some rebel dictatorship known as Orlando. Our foes here worship at the altar of a giant mouse, who lives in a castle in the middle of a swamp. These will be difficult opponents to sway to our side, but I have much faith we can vanquish the rodent.
No one told me the food was going to be expensive near the castle. I’ve also purchased a timeshare with the money I’m paid that you are not eligible to receive. It’s fine, trust me. You’ll thank me for this later.
Dear Tar Heels,
I see you’ve returned home and tallied a victory in favor of the Pro Football Coalition. These Northern aggressors can protest all they’d like. I hear their faint cries of “yinz” from every corner of the Best Western I’m staying at two miles from campus. These creatures have evolved their own language apart from ours in order to divide this country and deface the game of football.
I won’t stand for it, nor will I stand for putting ketchup on everything in sight. These September days are weary without your powder blue helmets guiding my way. But know I’ll return again soon.
Be well and don’t allow the Pittsburghers into the living room.
Someone else’s Tar Heels but certainly not mine,
Greetings, men I’ve never met before. I’ve heard you are in poor health following a trip to the Southern portion of Florida territory. Don’t let them don the chain. Once they do, there is no chance at victory. These green-clad ruffians are not anti-football. They are pro football but not in a sense that I am. It’s a strange dynamic and one I’m not fully prepared to speak to in this form of letter-writing. You’ll have to forgive me for not expanding upon my point of view any further than these cursory generalities.
As you have, we have struggled in our battle of late. My cohorts abandoned me once I departed Berkeley and I began to tell them about how CTE is a lie. I am now in my own company until I find more to join the cause. I have faith they are out there, or else we’ve already lost. Still, I trudge on, and wander through these loud environments around me.
- Colonel Fedora
I’ve made the trek back to the Best Western in Chapel Hill on foot, so apologies for my delay in sending you these regards, men.
It appears the War on Football rages, but without borders or any fire. These are treacherous times for those fighting for Football and America all at once, but it’s a duty I am bound to. I have no idea when I’ll return at this point with our mysterious foe.
The locals I meet have no idea of the war, nor our enemy. They know who I am, as the face of the movement, of course. But are more concerned with why I am not coaching you Tar Heels. I regretfully inform them I answer to a higher power, the Athletic Department, and then make my way to the battle.
You are arguably my least favorite team I’ve served with. Please tell Mitchell Trubisky that he’ll always be Mitch to me.