A trawl through my emails shows I wrote about a "Bring Back Fozzie" (BBF) campaign last September.
I can’t remember what prompted it.
The sports-mad person I shared my thoughts with was well aware of my affection for Fozzie, but they were not enthusiastic.
I got the impression they wanted the incumbent coach, Scott Robertson, to squirm a bit longer. Cruel.
I did nothing to get my campaign under way.
Nobody took me seriously because everybody knows I am a sporting imbecile.
I know nothing about anything involving bats, balls, bowls, rackets, skis, skateboards, clubs, sticks ... you get the idea.
Name any rule in any game, and I cannot explain it, no matter how many times people who could win Olympic gold medals for patience (not the card game) have tried to enlighten me.
On the sidelines of my offspring’s sporting endeavours, I was always the laughingstock among parents.
Unable to recognise my children, I would enthusiastically cheer on the efforts of some other bewildered kid.
Most of my children’s big moments, and there have been a few, were missed as a consequence.
Another chapter in the collective misery memoir the jaded offspring are planning about my parenting.
(Sadly, this failure to recognise my own children has continued. This month I wrongly identified someone in a Masters Games hockey game as the last born and yelled out some specific encouragement. My son was not offended. He rated the other chap as a better all-round athlete. I dread to think what the recipient of my spurious advice thought. I just hope he was too in the zone or exhausted to notice.)
I blame uniforms for much of this. If my kids had been allowed to wear mismatched socks which were like our family uniform, I would have been fine.
As soon as I learned last month Scott Robertson had "resigned" as the All Blacks’ coach I raised the possibility of my BBF campaign again.
While my confidante agreed Fozzie’s reputation was being restored by the hour, he was still tepid about my campaign.
There is much we do not know about what goes on behind closed doors in the upper echelons of rugby, or any other sport for that matter, so what exactly happened in Fozzie’s case and in Robertson’s will probably always be the subject of conjecture.
On the face of it, however, it seems Robertson, for whatever reason, lacked the sort of support Fozzie managed to muster up to avoid him being dropped before the last World Cup.
A job like this is not for the faint-hearted. It is complicated.
You have to manage complex relationships and convince everyone you are on the right track by winning all the time.
The All Blacks losing may not send the country into mourning as it might have once, but there is still little tolerance for it.
Weirdly, it is always the coach’s fault.
The coach’s highs and lows are brutally public and open to criticism from the media and anyone else, even if their sporting knowledge or prowess begins and ends with fumbling with the television remote.
Robertson must have had some inkling of that pressure, having observed what happened to his predecessor.
All the same, it must be devastating to lose the job he had pursued so hard before reaching a World Cup finish line.
It is easy to feel sorry for Robertson, whether you loved him or disapproved of the way he had been brought into the role or thought he was hopelessly out of his depth.
Losing a job you loved is always awful, particularly if you feel it is unwarranted.
For most of us when that happens, there will be no public opprobrium to deal with, but nor will there be a big payout to tide us over until we can find something else.
When I read about the Hansen/Foster approach rumours, I tried again to get my confidante on side with my campaign, pointing out their lukewarm response to the idea may have been a little hasty.
"Just when I thought the world couldn’t get any crazier," was the response.
My friend must have missed the recent Facebook post from Health Minister Simeon Brown who may have been confused about the Fozzie talk.
Mr Brown, who apparently has time on his hands after sorting out the health system, put up an image of a billboard featuring Labour and Greens members of Parliament depicted as Muppets, with Chris Hipkins as Fozzie.
The line with it said "At least with the Muppets, the only thing inflated is Fozzie’s ego, not new tax grabs".
Desperate stuff, like my campaign.
• Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
