Garrett: This is just grand. The wide open blue skies over Mobile, scouting draft prospects with my finest assistant coach, Bill Callahan. If Muffin only knew how wondrous and special this event was, she might even break out her best Lilly dress and join us to watch these fine young men grow into the football gods of tomorrow. She could bring a picnic basket of brie and dried apricots, a dry pinot grigio. What do you think, Cally, wouldn’t that be swell?
Callahan: I think that sounds fantastic. Learned a lot about wine while I was out in Oakland, so yeah. Pinot sounds good. You know what else would be good? A chardonnay. We should go with that instead. Why not call up Muffin and tell her there has been a change in plan and we’re going to have French chardonnay.
Garrett: Yeah, maybe you’re right.
[Gets out Blackberry. Texts, “MUFFS, CALLY SAYS CHARDONNAY BETTER. FRENCH. GO TO THE EXPENSIVE WINE SHOP ON MAIN.]
Callahan: [Looking over Garrett’s shoulder] She doesn’t need to go to the special wine shop. Whole Foods is fine.
Garrett: Okay, whatever you say.
[Texts “MUFFS: WHOLE FOODS FINE ACCORDING TO CALLY.”]
Callahan: Well don’t be a jerk, Garrett. Tell Muffin we love her and thank her for making the stop.
[Garrett, typing furiously into Blackberry “MUFFS: YOU’RE THE BEST. CALLY AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH FOR MAKING THIS SENIOR BOWL EVEN MORE SPECIAL.”]
/SENIOR BOWL FLIES OPEN
Jerry: 8-8 for two goddamn years in a row. If I wanted that type of mediocrity I would have stuck with tubbo Wade. You see how happy that fat fuck was all season in Houston? Probably ate twenty-three Twinkies after the Texans lost to New England. Princeton Ginger, you’re no longer calling the plays for Big D. Cally, you’re now in charge of game calling.
Garrett: What?! But Jerrah, I am the head coach.
Jerry: AND DON’T YOU REMIND ME, PRINCETON. You were supposed to come at us with about 43,000 different looks for my boy Romo and all you’ve done is let this team backslide into the abyss. Why didn’t you tell your GM about that RGIII model that was up for grabs? I HAVE THE FINEST STADIUM IN ALL OF THE LAND THAT WOULDN’T HAVE FUCKED UP HIS KNEED LIKE THAT HORSE RING SNYDER KEEPS UP IN WASHINGTON.
Garrett: But you just said Romo was your boy…
Jerry: I KNOW WHAT I SAID, AND IF WANTED RG III YOU SCOUT RG III. Why are we even here looking at players if you don’t even know what you’re doing, Princeton?
Garrett: Well, um, John? John are you here?
Garrett: John? Where did you go, old chap? Your brother needs you now more than ever.
Garrett: Ha? John? Ha? HA?!?
Jerry: That’s right. Your brother has abandoned you. Left for the Tampa Bay Bucaneers like a coward, just like the rest of you gingers.
[Silence broken by the sound of a lone Wolfman Rob Ryan howling in the distance.]
Garrett: [shivers] But Jerrah, sir, just today old Cally here was accused to throwing the Raiders Super Bowl in 2003. Surely you can’t put a man like that in charge of the play call.
Callahan: [Furiously texting with Muffin about white wine and what she thought of 50 Shades of Grey on Garrett’s Blackberry.]
Jerry: I OWN THIS TEAM, I RUN THIS TEAM AND BY GOD YOU SMUG PIECE OF IVY LEAGUE FIRE FRECKLE ASS IF I WANT TO NAME SOMEONE WHO WILL RUN THE PLAYS I WANT DURING THE GAME, I WILL.
[Wolfman Rob howls, sad and alone in the forest outside of Mobile as the reality sets into Garrett’s bones.]
Callahan: [Still texting, right hand now suspiciously rooting around in his left pocket.] Whatever you say, Jerry. Triple-reverse pistol to Witten sounds great to me.
Jerry: See? Cally here knows greatness when he sees it. Just look at how he’s taking orders and giving some great wine advice to Muffin. Bet she would love a nice pop of French champagne right now.
Garrett: [Grabs Blackberry out of Callahan’s one free hand.] Fine. FINE. I’ll play ball. I’ll let Cally run the show on game day, I’m a Princeton man and a Princeton man knows how to cow-tow to his boss so he still gets paid by the big man, Jerrah. It worked for my classmates at Goldman Sachs, it will work for me. But I will not let you fill my Muffin’s head with talk of French wine anymore.
[Garret storms off in a cloud of orange melanoma.]
Jerry: Sorry about that, Cally. Rather undignified for a Princeton man.
Callahan: Whatever. Just here until Houston Nutt or Nick Saban finally give in to your bribes and go mano-a-mano with your brand of crazy, Double JJ.
Jerry: WOOO DOGGY THE DOUBLE JJ IS CRAZY ENOUGH TO GO MANO-A-MANO-A-MANO-MANO WITH ALL FOUR OF YOU, AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT.