In what may be a decision I'll come to regret, I've expanded upon the junior-high dance scenario with a fictional rendition.

This is meant to make you laugh a little because, well, the whole situation is kind of absurd.

You've got a future Hall of Famer who wants a job and the franchise he used to work for with a vacancy atop its football operations. It's not like the Seahawks have forgotten about him, and if they did, he's on the radio, yet here's Holmgren in Cleveland while the Seahawks maintain radio silence as they continue on the process of selecting a new poobah of all things pigskin.

It's a situation ripe for parody so here goes:

Holmgren bats his eyelashes at Seattle. He checks his shirt for wrinkles, adjusts his collar and makes his move, sidling on up to the franchise that thankfully is not wearing its neon green togs.

Holmgren: So, what do you think? Want give it another whirl out there on the dance floor?

[Sound of crickets chirping]

Seahawks, leaning against wall, just staring at the floor, absent-mindedly rubbing a toe into the linoleum.

Seahawks: Uhhhhhh, not sure yet. I need to go through a process, evaluate my options.

Holmgren: Well, if you don't want to dance, you can just say so.

Seahawks: No, no. It's not that. We need some time to look at ourselves, you know. It's not you, it's us. We have to evaluate where we're at, and we have to take a good hard look at everything.

Holmgren: Come on, we've got a decade of history. And it wasn't all that bad last time around. Heck, that Super Bowl was awfully fantastic.

I've still got that grandfatherly touch in public statements and you know I can still bring that Old Testament anger when it's time to put the metaphorical boot to a player's hindquarters.

Seahawks: Oh, there's no doubt about that. There'll always be a special place in my heart for us. It's just hard right now because our business has been exposed so publicly.

We're going through that break-up with Timmy Ruskell and to hear your voice on the radio each week, well, it was hard.

Seahawks sniff a few times, resume staring at the floor.

Seahawks: I just need some time.

Spencer Stuart, a New York search firm with a fancy-pants pin-striped suit and slicked back hair, leans and begins whispering the names of various pretty prospective general manager candidates into the Seahawks' ear.

Seahawks: Well, you know it's just this process, Mike. We've got to take a look at ourselves, take a look at what else is out there. The 10 years we had was wonderful, but those first four years weren't all roses, you remember.

And we've been hurt. Our offensive line is ragged, a pinata gets more protection than our quarterback and we've got to take some time to make sure this is the right choice.

You know, evaluate our options.

Holmgren: Well, me too.

Holmgren wanders over to Cleveland, offers to go get some punch from the bowl. Browns nod quickly, fearful of appearing too eager but overjoyed that after being subjected to the likes of Chris Palmer, Butch Davis, Romeo Crennel and now Eric Mangini, they seem to be making time with a man who coached in three different Super Bowls.

Seahawks resume staring at their shoes, pretending not to notice Holmgren chatting up the homely franchise over in the corner.

Stay tuned because later this month, when it gets late and a slow song comes on it's going to get interesting.