Miami is a really special place, Sell Outs. I’ve lived in a few places, and considered living in a few more, but nothing beats Miami. I’m NEVER leaving again.
There are a couple staples in Miami culture. We have some of the most beautiful and iconic beaches on the planet. We have some of the most beautiful women. We have the best nightlife. We have celebrities who call the 305 home. We’re the truest melting pot in America. We’re the epicenter for art and design. We’re an international business conglomerate. We’re where most can only vacation. The inventor of Amazon and future Czar of the planet hails from Palmetto Bay.
And Cocaine. We also have cocaine. Local legend Billy Corben, the creator of the ESPN 30 for 30: The U documentaries also has some documentaries called Cocaine Cowboys which I highly recommend. It talks about the history of cocaine in Miami.
There is only ONE place on earth mentioned in the Netflix series ‘Narcos’ that is not in Colombia, and it’s Miami. If you really stop and think about it, Miami is built on cocaine. It ran the streets during the 80’s and 90’s. I’ve heard from those in that time frame that it wasn’t weird to see someone casually doing cocaine out in the open. Don’t let our climate fool you, it snows in Miami.
In my post yesterday, I wrote about how Dolphins fans going from cheering “WE WANT MOORE” to “WE LOVE CUTLER” was the most Miami thing ever. Well, that lasted for all of about 4 hours. Instantly dethroned. I’m beyond impressed.
Yes the most Miami thing to ever happen is, unequivocally, Miami Dolphins offensive line coach Chris Foerster doing cocaine on video.
Not only was he doing cocaine on video, in the video, he admits that he’s doing it right before a coaches meeting, and you know what? It’s hard to blame the guy. If I had to coach the Dolphins offensive line, I’d probably be doing some blow too, because they have been atrocious.
Adam Gase held a press conference earlier today when a reporter asked him if he had ever suspected Coach “Scarface” Foerster of doing illicit drugs. His response made me laugh in my car while sitting on the Palmetto, which is basically an impossible feat considering what misery it is.
Adam Game said, “No, he was always here at 4:00am, excited and ready to work.”
Well, I doubt Coach “Pablo Escobar of the Medellin Cartel” Foerster was going through a Dunkin Donuts (please sponsor us) drive thru getting a large caramel iced coffee with a little extra sweetner to get him going in the mornings. He wasn’t drinking Folgers, Cuban coffee, or even Red Bull (seriously, all of you please sponsor us.)
No, my friends. He was doing some coke. Some snow. Some booger sugar. Some Colombian bam-bam.
I can only imagine what it was like in the Foerster household at about three o’clock in the morning.
Allow me to paint you a picture. Would you like me to? Of course you would. You’re a degenerate just like me.
The alarm goes off at 2:58am. He sets his alarm on his phone, just like most people do. Does he have the typical, run-of-the-mill, generic alarm tone? No, he most certainly does not. Chris “I Can’t Feel My Face When I’m With You” Foerster is probably waking up to ‘TNT” by ACDC. He slowly rolls over after the first chorus, and grabs his phone. There are two options: Snooze and Stop. He’d like to sleep in, but it’s football season and the day is young. He knows its time to get up.
He hits stop, and turns on his bedside lamp. He has to shield his face, but quickly gathers his bearings. He notices he has a little cotton-mouth, probably a result of the night before. He looks on his nightstand, and notices his quarter full glass of Kentucky Bourbon. He thinks about it for a moment. He even scans the room for a bottle of water or an open diet coke (Coca-Cola. We’ll get to the other kind in a moment. By the way, sponsor us) and he can’t find anything. He shrugs, picks up the glass, and downs it. He grimaces a bit, as we all would, but he finally feels able to get up and get his morning started.
He walks into his bathroom, takes a deep look into the mirror, as if peering into his own soul. Most of us have morning affirmations that we tell ourselves to motivate us for the coming day, but not the Snowman. He gazes deep into his own eyes, and wonders where did all the years go? How did he end up in Miami as an offensive line coach? He always wanted to be a head coach. He’s always wanted more, but the man in the mirror reminded him that this is as good as it is going to get.
He doesn’t even bother showering, I mean he’s going to be sweating in about 5 hours anyway, amirite? He just splashes some water on his face, brushes his teeth, and sprays on some Old Spice (you’re getting hit up for ads too. No survivors.) body spray under his arms.
He notices a scratching at his door. He knows it is Snowflake, his Jack Russell Terrier. He’s wide awake and ready to go outside and relieve himself. Begrudgingly, Foerster (I’m running out of Cocaine based nicknames) grabs the leash and lets him out.
Outside, Foerster is in nothing but a plaid bathrobe that is older from than time itself. He can afford a new one, but it’s one of the few things in his life that reminds him of better days. He doesn’t wash it, and he throws it over his tank top and boxer shorts. His slippers are starting to moisten from the morning dew, and this dog is taking its sweet time.
Finally, around 3:20am, he gets dressed in his finest aqua and orange Nike (I like Adidas more but I’ll settle for you. PS Adidas, whats good?) gear, and walks over to his kitchen. He opens up the fridge, and there is some Diet Cokes, some ham and cheese, and old milk. He grabs a Diet Coke for the road, and sits down at his dining room table.
At the center of this dining room table, is an old wooden cigar box. He opens it, but he doesn’t grab a cigar, in fact, it appears empty. There is a false bottom. What is under said false bottom? A couple of eight balls of the finest powder Colombia has to offer.
He grabs one, and opens up the bag. He licks the tip of his pinky, and gets a little bit just on the tip. He tries to rationalize that this will be all he needs to get the day going. After feeling the coke numb his jaw, he suddenly throws rationality out the window. He pours some out, grabs his Miami Dolphins ID badge, and starts forming three perfectly straight lines. With a rolled up Wendy’s receipt (its all he can find at the moment) he takes three consecutive hits in three sweeping motions. This is not his first rodeo.
He’s wired. This is the rush he looks for in life. He gets up, grabs his keys, hops into his midnight blue 1970 Chevy Nova with white racing stripes, loads his eight track Guns N’ Roses tape, and heads to the Dolphins practice facility in Davie, ready to tackle the day.
This video was an enigma. I have never been so shocked, yet not surprised at the same time. Of course, this would happen to the Dolphins. Of course this would happen to the city of Miami.
Foerster tendered his resignation early this morning.