I have a confession to make . . .

I fired Erik Spoelstra Sunday evening.

It was at some point during the first half where something named a Marcus Thornton hit another jump shot, and I had seen enough.

No one with a head of hair that putrid should be beating the Miami Heat, I thought to myself.

I live the life of the uber-emotional, maniacal sports fan. I live and die with every bounce and carom of a regular season basketball game.

So I fired Spo, I benched Goran Dragic, I made Justise Winslow the starting point guard, I signed Dorrell Wright, released James Ennis and locked Amar’e Stoudemire in a broom closet.

But why did I do these things? Because I live the life of the uber-emotional, maniacal sports fan. I live and die with every bounce and carom of a regular season basketball game.

It’s no way to live — in fact it’s probably taken years off of my life.  My family doesn’t like watching games with me, my friends have stopped coming over, even my dog moved out.

The patience it takes to watch Goran Dragic struggle to find his place in an offense that at times has the spacing of a Chinese subway car.

But this season may be unlike any other that I can remember. I need to have patience. The kind of patience that Coach Spoelstra had while he watched Stoudemire get abused like prescription medication Friday night in Cleveland.

The patience it takes to watch Goran Dragic struggle to find his place in an offense that at times has the spacing of a Chinese subway car.

The patience to trust that this team will fulfill the promise and potential that had many in the media predicting an Eastern Conference Finals appearance and a 70-win season.

Okay, I’m the only one who predicted that this team would challenge the regular season win record, but that’s because I have guts. Word to Pat Riley.

So when the Heat loses a Friday night game in Cleveland, I need to remember that to me, it’s a huge statement game. But to Spoelstra and his staff, it’s Game 2 of a new season with new personnel and every single minute is an opportunity to see who can be productive and which groups work well together on the floor.

I mean, this guy couldn’t guard a gated community. I wouldn’t let him babysit my kids. And I heard he was in the locker room before Sunday night’s game still trying to find Tristan Thompson on a pick and roll.

None of those groups, however, should ever feature Stoudemire. One game of that guy protecting the paint like a drunk secret service agent was enough for me to pronounce him this season’s Danny Granger.

I mean, this guy couldn’t guard a gated community. I wouldn’t let him babysit my kids. And I heard he was in the locker room before Sunday night’s game still trying to find Tristan Thompson on a pick and roll.

But that kind of irrational analysis is why I’m not a coach and why I have to trust the men that put this team together. I saw what it could look like in the second half of Sunday night’s game.

Signature Miami Heat defense, fast breaks, and the kind of depth that keeps legs fresh and injects athleticism into a lethargic offense.

I saw glimpses of what Dragic can/will be once he gets in shape and I saw the promise of Justise Winslow.

I also saw enough to keep me patient until the next game where James Ennis (more likely Mario Chalmers) dribbles the ball off his leg, and I declare the season a disaster and fire Spoelstra all over again.