Tom Coughlin Doesn't Like Getting Directions from That Dadgum Siri on His Phone

Tom Coughlin is the NFL equivalent of that older neighbor of yours who lives down the street.

He wears suspenders, waves when you drive by and is quick to complain about the Miller boy and his "hippy-dippy" friends. He's constantly fiddling in the garage, and if you come close enough he'll push 15 oil cans out of the way just to show you his collection of old bayonets.

Coughlin is a good, old-fashioned kind of guy, and according to a recent report, he'll be damned if he takes any guff off that newfangled talking phone of his.

Newsday's Tom Rock brings us what's surely the most delightful bit of NFL trivia you'll hear all week: Tom Coughlin had a frustrating showdown with his iPhone assistant Siri while driving to see his grandson.

According to Rock's report, the New York Giants coach says he recently threw down with "the lady in GPS" while trying to get directions to see his grandson's roller hockey game in Park Ridge, New Jersey.

The coach detailed his harrowing saga at the NFC coaches breakfast Wednesday. I'll let Coughlin take it from here:

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Two weeks ago I'm trying to get to a roller hockey game that my grandson is playing in, so Marc Ross [the Giants' director of college scouting] had showed me how to talk to this phone. I don't trust the lady in GPS, I don't trust her, because they don't send you the right way. Hit the button and I go "Park Ridge, New Jersey." And she comes back on, she's giving me directions. So now I figure out where I am. I hit the thing and I said, "Thank you very much, I know exactly where I am now." And she comes back and says, "You don't have to thank me." I swear to God that's what she said. And then I couldn't get her to shut up. Every turn. "Take a right here." I know where I am. I know where I am. I'm a block away from my house and she's telling me where to go. I said, "I know where I'm going."

"

Now, I don't know exactly how the NFC coaches breakfast is set up (it's part of the NFL's Annual Meeting in Phoenix), but I like to picture Coughlin and company sitting around a campfire as sunrise begins to peek over the desert mountains.

Ross D. Franklin/Associated Press

I see Coughlin sitting on a log, gesticulating with his hands as he explains how he gave this smooth-talking, mechanical ne'er-do-well a good talking-to. The other coaches nod in appreciation, and Chip Kelly adds another rasher of bacon to the beans simmering over the open flames.

Or, perhaps more realistically, Coughlin's speech took place in a nice, air-conditioned banquet hall, and he's just adorably good at sounding old-fashioned when waxing on new technology.

Either way, please—enjoy Coughlin while you can. He could retire at any minute, and the league will be poorer for it without his snappish, perpetually windburned presence on the sidelines.

Dan is on Twitter. He remembers the days when ladies in GPS would let a man roam free.