The Falcons regret to release the following correspondence, received just yesterday:
From the Mind of Michael
I'm done. Done with everything. Can't handle the pressure, can't handle the kids, the work, the ball... any of it.
I'm running away.
Don't try to find me. I've moved to California and bought a personalized licence plate. But you'll never find me.
Tell my wife I love her. Tell my kids that I remember seeing them that one time.
Everything's OK, we found him: