DREW: (on the phone) "Yeah, dear. I know it's aggravating. Well, just make something up. Tell Peter King I'm out riding with the Blue Angels or taping another Sports Science segment or something. Just say anything. Yeah. Thanks, babe. I love you, too. Bye."
(Hangs phone up.)
DREW: Now where's Coach Payton?
(Drew hears Motley Crue coming from the locker room.)
DREW: What the heck is that...?
(Drew walks in the locker room and finds Jeremy Shockey doing squats in the nude. He's only wearing his helmet -- backwards.)
SHOCKEY: (Making angry workout guy noises) Grrrrr, seven clits! Eight clits!! Nine clits!!! Ten clits!!!! Argh!! (Slams weights back on the rack and turns around.) What up, my Bro-mey!?
DREW: Son of a bitch, put some pants on, Jeremy!
SHOCKEY: Hey, dude, the Shockmeister likes to let the skin breathe when he's getting back into game shape! Besides, I gots to sweat out this Everclear, bro.
DREW: (Waving hand over face) God, is THAT what I'm smelling?
SHOCKEY: (Holds out index finger to Drew's face) Or is it THIS? Huh, you like that? Guess where I got that from?
DREW: I don't want to know. You're still getting hammered after what happened to you in Vegas?
SHOCKEY: Aw, come on, Drewster, I was dehydrated. Shit's, like, a hundred and fifty degrees outside in Vegas, dude!
DREW: Yeah, and it doesn't help when you're drinking like a damn fish out there, either!
SHOCKEY: Hey, don't be hating on the Shockmeister's ability to chase Jagerbombs and wine coolers with the best of 'em, Drew-nelious! Besides, I ain't here to talk about the past. Do you like that line? I'm gonna use it on the media later today. Nobody's EVER been clever enough to use that line before!
DREW: Uh...
SHOCKEY: And if they still push me on that, I'm gonna say, "Hey, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!" I'm a fucking genius, right?!
DREW: Does Coach Payton know you like to eat paint chips with your protein shakes?
SHOCKEY: Why? That Valspar really helps take the edge off that whey taste, ya heard?
DREW: Good God, I'm surprised nobody's even made a fake Twitter account for you yet. You know that's been going around lately, huh? I can't imagine what kinda crazy shit they'd put on your fake account, goofball...
SHOCKEY: Aw, quit being such a old lady! You're just jealous cause you know if somebody made a fake Twitter account for you it'd say something like, "9:50 a.m. -- Went to dermatologist today. Again."
DREW: Listen to me, you bleach blonde bastard! I've gotta be up early tomorrow morning to hit 18 holes of golf for some Audubon Nature Institute benefit, then I promised Big Brothers I'd take a group of kids to see 'Land of the Lost,' and then I've gotta help paint walls at some refurbished high school, then it's off to the Army Corps headquarters to go over some design specs with those stupid fucks. And that's all before my appointment at Children's Hospital to donate bone marrow at 12:15, you fuckwad! I do not need your lazy, drunken antics slowing me down this off-season!
I was THIS FUCKING CLOSE to breaking the single season passing record last season and was supposed to count on you to help get me short yardage, but you blew that for me real nice last year, didn't you?!? Shit, a couple fucking passes for eight yards a pop would've done the fucking trick, and I managed to do it all while heaving the ball to Devery "stone hands" Henderson too, you drunken shithead! I am NOT gonna let you fuck me over again this year, boy-o! I got a small window to try and do something for this town before management inevitably fucks up and signs 41-year-old Brett Favre or some such stupid shit two years from now.
SHOCKEY: Relax, Brosef. E'rything's under control, yo!
(Coach Payton walks up.)
PAYTON: Gentlemen.
DREW: Hey, Coach.
SHOCKEY: What up, O Visor'd One?
PAYTON: Ah, not much. How many twats you doin' today, Jeremy?
SHOCKEY: I'm keeping the twats low and the clits high, Coach. Just trying to slowly acclimate myself back, ya heard?
PAYTON: Sure, sure, whatever works best for now.
DREW: Wait a sec. Twats? Clits? What the hell's going on?
PAYTON: Drew, that's what Jeremy calls "sets" and "reps." You had to have heard him counting it out, didn't you?
DREW: (puts hand on forehead) You gotta be kidding me...
PAYTON: Nope. (Grabs playbook) Oh, I wanted you to go over these new plays tonight. (Hands sheets to Drew)
DREW: Sure thing. When'd you come up with these?
PAYTON: Oh, it wasn't me. My son came up with a slew of plays for us last night on his XBox 360. He's like a 'XBox Kid' or something, huh?
SHOCKEY: Oh, that's fucking funny, Coach!!!
PAYTON: Anyways, I gotta get back to the film room. See you guys later. (Coach Payton exits, stage left.)
SHOCKEY: (Wrapping up in a towel) Hey, wanna hang out later? Bang some broads?
DREW: Ah, no...I'll pass.
SHOCKEY: Suit yourself. (Shockey walks off to the showers, singing Linkin Park to himself.)
DREW: Jesus tap-dancing Christ, can this day possibly get any worse?
TOMMY: Hey Drew! Wanna come over after practice and meet my cats? I trained them to mew in unison two days ago. It's soooo cute!
DREW: Ah, fuck me...
(Ed. note: These little vignettes are inspired by the guys at KSK. Just wanted to make sure I'm covering my bases.)
