Once upon a midday eerie, while I witnessed, meek and leary,

Over a possible curious outcome never considered before-

While I nodded, Harbaugh yapping, suddenly there came my clapping,

As of Wolf Command calmly wrapping, wrapping up quarter four.

“Tis all I wanted,” I muttered, “wrapping up quarter four-

WC crushing Baltimore.”

Gilly, baby, they’re all broken or sick

Talkin Heinke, Allen, Fitzpatrick

Wolf Command can commission you today

That gives you time to get ready to play

48 hours is good enough right?

Get you to Philly to give em’ a fight

OK look, Gil, I’ll give it to you straight

We’ll take anyone, it’s a little late

Plague helped us out already once before

So here’s a good chance to make it one more

Whaddya say, you think you’ll come on down?

Leave Foxborough and that Belichick clown?

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” Garrett replied then hung up the phone.

“Well, he’s a real dumb fuck.” Coach conceded with feigned hesitation. “He’s a real dumb fuck and we fucked up.”

“He is a dumb fuck.” DC sternly agreed. “But, he’s a first round pick.”

Coach slammed the conference table in anger. “So?” He screamed. “His draft spot is gonna unfuck his dumb fucking dumbness? The first round gonna teach him how to play? Maybe that’s yall’s fuckin’ job!” He glared at his DC and defensive coaches.

“We’ll work on him.” DC assured. “He’ll put it together. We’re gonna make this work.”

“We can’t play him because the defense is EVEN FUCKING WORSE with him on the field.” Coach piled on.

“He’s not all that bad. Super fuckin’ quick. Strong as an ox. He’s really… uh.. really..” Linebackers Coach sheepishly butted in without consideration. He sighed and looked down at his feet. “Dumb. He’s a real dumb fuck.”

Coach had enough. “OK, everybody out!” He shouted, pointing at the door. “Get the fuck out. I have work to do.” The assistants and coordinators shuffled out of the meeting room. Coach slammed the door behind them and kicked the table. He slumped into his chair and closed his eyes. He felt a sadness for the young linebacker, certainly a dumb fuck, whose failure was assured as soon as the commissioner spoke his name at the podium. For in his heart, Coach knew the dumb fucks weren’t just on the field, but on the sidelines and in the front office as well. They were in the locker room and the conference room. They were scouting college games and arranging trades with much wiser peers. Wolf Command was staffed with many dumb fucks and the thing about dumb fucks is they only ever get dumber.

The Hopper was floppin’ and enough’s enough. Replacing him was an easy fix to an already broken season. A season that needed saving because saving it was a step in the right direction. Last season resulted in success. Making the playoffs. This season must equal that at the very least. So many good players with their best years obviously directly in front of them. So many just a game or two from really breaking out. That’s why we need to chopper The Hopper. That’s why we were happy when Coach signed Kicker.

Tom Bentleg.

Vern Bedshitter.

Karl Kantkik.

Scott Warwound.

The free agent pool was teeming with kickers Wolf Command had high grades on. But, Kicker was the one Coach had his eye on. No pro experience like the other guys, but showed some promise in college. It sounded good. This could be the easy fix. That’s why we didn’t panic when Kicker’s first attempt was blocked. The Hopper might have missed that one anyway. We wanted the change. One tremendously bad kick isn’t going to make us wish otherwise. This season can still be saved. And the WC doesn’t even have to win out to have a good shot at the playoffs. That’s why we weren’t dejected when Kicker registered his second blocked kick. Yeah, he blew it and this game is lost, but Wolf Command isn’t out of the running. Coach will certainly own up to the mistake and sign another free agent the team had graded high. But, he probably won’t ever admit that his family was held hostage. No, he’s too proud to make excuses. Or maybe he’s scared of violent retribution for speaking about it. And, sure, there might not be actual proof that his loved ones were kidnapped, but we knew something was going on and that’s why we didn’t abandon the Wolf Command as Kicker was playing in a second game getting yet another kick blocked. Something was clearly wrong here. Coach was significantly compromised. By what? A serious hostage/ransom situation is really the only reasonable explanation.

The blazing horizon reflected brightly off the burgundy lenses of Coach’s Command-issued sunglasses. His golden cape flowed violently in the hot wind as he raised his fist in defiance of the end of the world. Fractured earth cracked and burned whilst floating upward and turning to ash. A roaring, eternal thunder rang through what was left of the air. Molten sulfur poured into Coach’s mouth.

“COACH!”

Coach nearly choked on his steaming coffee. “What do you want?” He barked at his defensive coordinator who leaned, out of breath, through the office door.

“Trainer’s being arrested!” The DC whined. “FBI and DEA, taking him away now. Look!” He pointed to the window.

Coach peered out the window and quickly spotted his head trainer being led, handcuffed, by several officials to a black SUV.

“There’s gonna be players that get caught up in this.” DC conceded with concern. “This is gonna be bad. Real bad.”

“Huh. Maybe.” Coach muttered, still gazing out the window. “Maybe not.” He watched as Trainer was placed in the back of the vehicle. “Or maybe everyone will just forget about this.”

Coach dismissed his DC with a swipe of the hand. Once alone, he took a sip of coffee and watched the SUV drive away. He put his hand in his pocket and looked at the floor.

An old wizard, a spunky young lady, and some guy walk into a bar…

…after spending all day in the QBs’ room studying the offense for the upcoming season. The old wizard broke the ice. “I’m… not sure they know anything about offense. Or maybe they think we’re idiots. Or maybe they think those receivers are actually good.”

“Hey, we’ve got that scary dude, he’s pretty damn good.” The spunky young lady countered.

“Yeah, we got a scary fella.” The old wizard tipped his beer toward the spunky young lady. “Yeah, we got a scary fella. I don’t think we got two or three scary fellas.”

“We have that quick cat. I played with him for Coach when we were down south. He’s versatile. He’s a good two.” The guy suggested with a shrug.

“By ‘cat’, you mean ‘pussy’, right?” The old wizard asked, frowning and annoyed. “I’d love to take your word for it, but how long does a groin take? Christ, when I was his age, I broke ribs and bruised both of my fuckin’ lungs in the first preseason game and was BACK FOR THE THIRD PRESEASON GAME! He’s been dragging this groin for how many months?” The old wizard was communicating with a mixture of shouting and hissing at this point. He slammed his beer on the table.

“Well, what about the back? He had a great rookie year. Probably gonna be even better this year” The guy pushed back, intent on gaining persuasive ground. “He runs routes too.”

“Can’t hold onto the ball.” The old wizard replied, rubbing his eyes. He continued with a newfound calmness, “just you watch, he’s not gonna last. But, I don’t really care. I’m just here for the money. Just one season, then it’s someone else’s team. And I doubt it’s one of you next in line. Why are you here?” He nodded toward the guy.

The guy smugly answered. “I know the offense.”

“Oh, you know the offense. My fuckin’ third grader knows the offense. Every team we’re gonna play knows this fuckin’ offense. Whoop-de-fuckin-doo, you know the offense. Who doesn’t know the offense? Why are YOU here?” The old wizard turned his attention to the spunky young lady. He raised his eyebrows and backed up a dump truck of condescension. “Beeeeeeee honest!”

The spunky young lady opened his mouth to speak and quickly thought better of it. He looked around the table, to the old wizard, to the guy, and collected his thoughts. He sighed. “Because of the plague.” The spunky young lady conceded.

“Because. Of. The. Plague.” The old wizard repeated cruelly.

“Yeah, but I made the most of it. That’s why I’m still here.” The spunky young lady shot back with that trademark spunk. “But, I still want to play. I want to start. I want to win.”

“That winning shit’s for chumps, kid. Last year when I was kickin’ it with the fish, those motherfuckers actually wanted to lose. I mean, not the guys, sure, we played to win. But the owner TOLD the coach to lose. The owner bought a huge stake in some gambling operation and that’s why he told coach to lose. Or maybe it was just to get a high pick. Shit, maybe Coach just said that for motivation, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter, I knew I was out after the season. Get that money. Get that money. But, fuck that winning. You aren’t gonna see much of that here. Just ask this guy, he knows the offense!” The old wizard pointed finger guns at the guy. “Fuck that winning.”