SUPER BOWL MEDIA DAY.
(Saints players are being interviewed by dozens of members of the media. A small cluster of reporters is gathered around Puntmaster Flex, Thomas Morstead.)
TOMMY: Wow, I didn't really expect to get this much attention from you guys.
STINK: Thomas, you've played an important role in the team's success, and you've done so with very little fanfare. Your kickoffs have often pinned opponents deep in their own territory or you've gotten the touchback uncontested. Your punts allow Coach Payton some safety in saying, "let's put the defense out there and see what it can do."
TOMMY: Okay, so what's your question?
STINK: I didn't really have a question. I just wanted to state something very obvious so I'd come off as knowledgeable about the game.
TOMMY: Oh. Well, does anyone have a question...?
REPORTER: Yes, Thomas! When did you really decide to become a punter?
TOMMY: (rubs 3 o'clock shadow on his chin) Hmmmm....
Date: September 1997
Place: The rolling plains of Pearland, Texas
EXT. Country House -- Day
(Three kids are tossing a football around down the driveway, about 20 yards away from a ranch-style home. One of the kids catches the pass thrown to him, turns around, and punts the ball high into the air...and it sails into a skylight on the home. The other two kids scatter at the sound of the broken glass. The kid who punted the ball stands still, hanging his head. A man, the boy's father, comes running out the house.)
DAD: You kicked the ball again, didn't you?!? DIDN'T YOU?!?
BOY: Yes, but...
(The dad wallops the boy upside his head.)
DAD: We don't kick balls in this house, unless it's for fighting purposes, you got that?!?
BOY: (meekly) Yes, sir.
DAD: My kids will THROW the goddamn ball! And they'll throw it as hard as I damn well tell them to!! You understand me, Tommy?!?
TOMMY: (nearly sobbing) But I wanna be a PUNTER, dad!!
DAD: Punter?!? I didn't raise no goddamn punter!!! Your mother! She's been coddling you too damn much!! She's entertaining these flights of pussy-dom in my house! I swear, if it were up to me, I'd have torn up that subscription to Cat Fancy when it first came in!! The fuck kinda kid reads a cat magazine anyway?!? A fucking mealy-mouthed punter, that's what!!
TOMMY: But I want to be a punter, dad...
DAD: You'll do no such thing! I'm raising a big, strong free safety! The kinda guy who'll knock mother fuckers on their sorry asses, force fumbles and score all sorts of pussy!! You wanna score all sorts of pussy, dontcha, Tommy?
TOMMY: Dad, I'm 11.
DAD: Fuck difference does THAT make?!? You're a MORSTEAD!!
TOMMY: But dad, I really admire what Ray Guy did in the NFL...
DAD: Ray Guy? You mean Ray GAY!!!! (laughs uncontrollably for 20 seconds.) See what I did there, Tommy? (elbows son in the shoulder repeatedly.) Huh? You see?!? I made fun of his last name and called him "gay" cause he's a fucking punter!!! You want people to make fun of you?!?
TOMMY: No, but I'll be really good. Really, REALLY good at punting. Why, I could prolly get a scholarship to a Big 12 school or something...
DAD: You'll do no such thing!!! You're going to SMU and majoring in theology to become a methodist minister!!! And you're gonna be grateful for it, too!!
TOMMY: But...but...can I have my ball back?
(Dad pulls something from under his shirt.)
DAD: Oh, no, I'm not having you break another skylight. You wanna kick something again? You try kicking THIS....
DAD: You'll forget all about this punting business after your foot breaks a few times....We eat dinner in twenty minutes. Gravy and biscuits.
TOMMY: Yes, sir.
(When his dad walks in the house, Tommy turns and punts the medicine ball clear across the front lawn.)
FADE TO: Present Day
TOMMY: Well, uh, my dad was a very big influence for me....
(Ed. note: I wanted to include a link for a story really digging into Morstead's background. His parents both played soccer and he played it too. Nice stuff.)