Mark Sanchez's Divorce To Pete Carroll Means Changes in the Land of Plenty

You've heard it, I've heard it, we've all heard it before. "Can we still be friends" is the final cop-out in any relationship gone bad. That's why I feel compelled to thank Pete Carroll for throwing Mark Sanchez's clothes out the window in front of everyone in the neighborhood!

The amicable break-up is highly overrated. Being civilized when you really want to break it off in somebody is nothing more than bottling up a bunch of emotions that, if not unleashed on somebody, will sure enough lead to a cardiac episode.

No tip-toeing around someone's feelings here. Not a care in the world about bruising someone's fragile ego. Not even so much as a George Costanza favorite "It's not you, it's me." It was you, you no good skank!

Someone in the relationship usually comes up with a "can't we talk about this," but Pete's apparently done talking. You go, Pete! When it's time for them to go, no sense in whining about it. 

Put them bitches in the street, 'cause another one will be along soon. You don't gotta take that from no one, Pete!

How long can this go on? Someone gets abused in the relationship and they stand there and take it like Tina Turner. And while I don't see a low-speed chase with Steve Sarkisian behind the wheel in Carroll's future (he might want to watch his back, too), Pete's happy to pick up where Ike Turner left off.

Ike was pissed and Tina knew it. Pete's pissed and now Sanchez knows it, too.  If I were Sanchez, I'd refrain from dining out in the Los Angeles area.

Can the offended and disenfranchised parties continue to wish their partner the best of luck in the future, smiling on the outside while all along dying on the inside?  Hell, no. Someone's got to get pimp slapped! 

A good beat down in front of the rest of the hoes always sets 'em straight, just in case somebody else is thinking about stepping out.

Thanks for letting him know, Pete. He'll never make it without you anymore than Tina without Ike. Someone's got to tell them, "Don't let the door hit you in the ass." Youda man!

And let's face it—one good performance in a short dress and pantyhose in front of the home crowd in Flatbush, Tennesse, won't make a career. Ike was sure of that every bit as much as Pete knows one good Rose Bowl.

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