Yeah, so, I wrote this today:
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Scene: a futuristic computer room, ringed with terminals and transparent screens. A single, long-haired blogger dude stands in the midst, wearing an electric glove, wired with electrodes, and manipulating data. Suddenly the man stops, and waits. A small, coral-colored ball emerges from a tube in the ceiling, bearing a cryptic imprinted message:
Scene: an outdoor dining table behind a palatial country club. A fifty-ish man in corporate chic [DAVE BRANDON] snaps a slice of Negihama roll from the hip of a nude prostitute, prompting a giggle.
PROSTITUTE: Are you ready for me, Ralph?
DAVE BRANDON: Actually, you can just call me “Dave.”
The shadow of approaching guest [RICH RODRIGUEZ] darkens the foreground.
DAVE BRANDON: What now? Rodriguez. And what, may I ask, is it I can do for you today?
RICH RODRIGUEZ: Well as you know, our defense ain’t been ‘zacly what people expect.
DAVE BRANDON: You don’t say. And this is my problem becauzzzz? [exchanges glances with sushi-bearing prostitute]
RICH RODRIGUEZ: I’s just hopin’ maybe, if I could get a little bit-a more money--
DAVE BRANDON: More money? MORE money?
RICH RODRIGUEZ: Yeah, well, see, there’s this guy I know, Jeff Casteel—
DAVE BRANDON: I see. So you want ME to give YOU more money so you can hire “some guy you know.” [making air quotes] Great plan, southern man.
RICH RODRIGUEZ: That’s basically the gist of it. But we was top ten at West Virginia.
DAVE BRANDON: Okay. But you gotta ask me nicely. [Prostitute smiles again.]
RICH RODRIGUEZ: Say what?
DAVE BRANDON: You gotta ask me nicely. You come here, asking me for more money to spend on your spread offense and your ‘traditional’ white road uniforms. You gotta ask me nicely.
RICH RODRIGUEZ: Alright then. Pretty please, can I have money to hire Jeff Casteel?
DAVE BRANDON: Ha ha. Let me give you a little advice, so you know. In times of economic uncertainty, never, ever fuck with another man's livelihood. Go have fun, now? You know fun, time of your life? And don’t ever come back here. [Brandon and prostitute laugh diabolically}
Scene: a rural linebacker farm in the rolling Virginia hills, west of Baltimore. The aging proprietor [GREG MATTISON] stares excitedly as the beak of a new hatchling pokes through its shell. Above the incubator, a strip of masking tape says “Hybrid Space Player.” Suddenly, the barn door swings open, to reveal a lone figure [BRADY HOKE]—corpulent, with bare arms in winter.
GREG MATTISON: No, no, no, no sir. Can’t use him, don’t want him, couldn’t afford him if I did.
The figure [BRADY HOKE] approaches.
GREG MATTISON: I heard all about you and Dave Brandon. Me though, I’m retired, don’t want none of that. But you’re welcome to come in, have a beer, and play some euchre.
Scene moves to dim living room. A flickering old CRT televisions set murmurs in the background, children sleep among cookie crumbs and empty soda bottles. Two men [GREG MATTISON and BRADY HOKE] slide the coffee table against a wall.
GREG MATTISON: You sure you want to do this? I was All-American, remember?
BRADY HOKE: [slurred] I’m taking you down this time, biy-atch.
The men begin wrestling. Much furniture is smashed. Camera pans around to capture championship trophies from the Florida Gators, Baltimore Ravens, Michigan Wolverines. GREG MATTISON eventually gains the upper hand.
GREG MATTISON: You coach that team, Brady, and you’ll FAIL! You’ll fail, god dammit! Dave Brandon is no particular friend. He’d put you in the wall today if he could get Harbaugh tomorrow.
BRADY HOKE: [Out of breath] But I need this, Greg. I haven’t got anything else.
Scene: The Big House, Ann Arbor, Michigan--a roaring football stadium at night, fans waving yellow pom-poms and chanting along to piped-in techno music. Down on the field, DEVIN GARDNER confidently steps into the Michigan huddle. A voice [AL BORGES] crackles on his helmet mic.
AL BORGES: Maverick, this is Ghost Rider. Take angels 10-left-three-zero.
DEVIN GARDNER: Roger.
Looks up at teammates
DEVIN GARDNER: Angels 10-left-three-zero. Jeremy, you got him?
JEREMY GALLON: Roger.
DEVIN GARDNER: Okay—you hook’em. Jehu will clean’em and fry’em.
Players line up in a shotgun formation.
DEVIN GARDNER: Contact, 20 left at 30! Nine hundred! Nine Hundred! Set, hut!
Players begin running, pads begin popping, Gardner throws a pass to Jeremy Gallon. Gallon catches it, spins off two defenders, and scores. Crowd goes absolutely wild. Meanwhile, Jehu Chesson blocks three defenders into a pile, then stands over them.
JEHU CHESSON: “Watch the birdie!”
Snaps a Polaroid. Scene fades
Scene: Jubilant locker room. Sweaty Michigan football players gather around Head Coach BRADY HOKE, clap and sing “The Victors.”
BRADY HOKE: I’m really proud of the way this team practiced, this team executed. Enjoy this one. But we’ve still got ten more to play—
Hoke pauses momentarily, as a grinning DAVE BRANDON shuffles through the crowd
BRADY HOKE: So yeah, I want’chall enjoy this one, then we’ll be right back to work tomorrow morning.
A cheer goes up from the players, who begin turning away…
DAVE BRANDON: One more thing, well done, gentlemen. You really kicked some ass tonight.
Slight sighs are heard from the annoyed players.
DAVE BRANDON: In this big game that we play, life, it's not what you hope for, it's not what you deserve, it's what you take. I'm Dave muthaf*kin Brandon, a master of the muffin and author of the “Avoid the Noid” advertising campaign for Domino’s Pizza. No I wasn’t an All-American when I played here for Bo Schembechler. But I was able to become an All-American at business, because I learned one thing: Respect the cock! And tame the cunt! Tame it! Take it on headfirst with the skills that I will teach you at work and say no! You will not control me! No! You will not take my soul! No!
You will not win this game! Because it's a game, guys. You want to think it's not, huh? You want to think it's not? Go back to the schoolyard and you have that crush on big-titted Mary Jane. Respect the cock. You are embedding this thought. I am the one who's in charge. I am the one who says yes! No! Now! Here! Because it's universal, man. It is evolutional. It is anthropological. It is biological. It is animal. We... are... men!
Players stand in stunned silence.
Scene: Michigan LSA student SAGAR LATHIA enters the Arcade Barbershop and takes a seat in an empty barber’s chair as the door creaks shut behind him.
SAGAR LATHIA: How's it going, Luther?
LUTHER: Another day, another dollar, captain.
SAGAR LATHIA: You gotta play them as they lay.
LUTHER: What goes around comes around.
SAGAR LATHIA: Can't beat 'em, join 'em.
LUTHER: At least I got my health.
SAGAR LATHIA: Well, then you got everything... See you tomorrow, Luther.
LUTHER: Not if I see you first.
SAGAR LATHIA: Sometimes you gotta say, "what the fuck." Make your move. Luther, every now and then, saying "what the fuck?" brings freedom. Freedom brings opportunity, opportunity makes your future.
Scene: Big House for early game vs. Akron. Quiet hum from crowd as Michigan offense breaks huddle.
DEVIN GARDNER: Red 90! Red 90! Hike!
Gardner receives shotgun snap, drops back to pass. Pressure comes up middle. Gardner retreats, spins, reverses field, and is blind-sided by an Akron player. Gardner throws ball—but the wobbly duck lands right in the chest of an Akron player and is run into the end zone for a TD. Gardner lies on turf, mystified.
Scene: luxury suite above Michigan Stadium. DAVE BRANDON grabs telephone receiver and lifts to ear.
Scene: Michigan sideline. A phone rings. A team manager answers and bring the phone to BRADY HOKE.
BRADY HOKE: Consider yourself in Contempt!
GREG MATTISON: [standing beside BRADY HOKE] You don’t have to answer that question.
BRADY HOKE: I'll answer the question! [Into phone] You want answers?!
Scene cuts back to Brandon’s luxury box
DAVE BRANDON: I think I’m entitled!
Back to sideline
BRADY HOKE: You want answers?
Back to Brandon’s luxury box
DAVE BRANDON: I want the truth!
Back to sideline
BRADY HOKE: You can’t handle the truth!
Scene: a classroom in Mason Hall on University of Michigan campus. A female professor jots information on the white-board, then looks up.
PROFESSOR: Excuse me, Mr. Lathia, is there something wrong?
SAGAR LATHIA: Yes ma'am, the data on the coaching search is inaccurate.
PROFESSOR: How's that, Mr. Lathia?
SAGAR LATHIA: Well, I just happened to read Dave Brandon’s actual itinerary from “The Process,” and he never actually met with Miles. Never offered Harbaugh the job.
PROFESSOR: Where did you see this?
SAGAR LATHIA: Got it from John U. Bacon.
PROFESSOR: From who?
SAGAR LATHIA: John U. Bacon. I would introduce you to him, but then Dave Brandon would have you fired.
Scene: Road game at Penn State. White-out, fans yelling hostile obscenities. Michigan trailing on the scoreboard. Nervous-looking DEVIN GARDNER approaches the huddle.
DEVIN GARDNER: Twenty-one right Bogey on three.
JEREMY GALLON: What? Again? It hasn’t worked the first twenty-six times we’ve run it.
DEVIN GARDNER: It’s what the man said. Twenty-one right Bogey on three. Readee-break!
Michigan offense steps to line against Penn State defense, which has inserted extra defensive tackles. The wall of defensive humanity nearly blocks out the lighting.
DEVIN GARDNER: Set…hut! Hut! Ready….hut!
[DEVIN GARDNER] takes snap, retreats into backfield, shoves ball into running back’s arms. The back is promptly swallowed by several tacklers before reaching the line of scrimmage. Dispirited Michigan players walk back to the huddle.
AL BORGES: Dang-it. Okay, Maverick, let’s go Angels 10-left-three-zero.
DEVIN GARDNER: Roger that.
Gardner faces offensive teammates, gives play. Unit lines up in shotgun formation.
DEVIN GARDNER: Red 90! Red 90! Hut!
Slo-mo shot as shotgun snap approaches. DEVIN GARDNER catches snap. Heavy breaths and foot-falls. DEVIN GARDNER retreats one step, camera pans to primary read. JEREMY GALLON is open in seam.
DEVIN GARDNER: It’s no good.
Camera closes-in on [JEREMY GALLON]
JEREMY GALLON: God dammit Maverick!
Camera follows Gardner’s eyes as he moves to secondary read. DEVIN FUNCHESS is open on sideline.
DEVIN GARDNER: It’s no good!
DEVIN FUNCHESS: God dammit!
Penn State defenders arrive. Gardner slammed to turf, ball comes out. Penn State players rejoice as crowd erupts into frenzy. A crumpled Gardner sits motionless on the field.
Scene: an austere, tropical barracks. Banana rats scurry as hooded figures slip into a darkened room. Inside, a rotund figure of a snoring man [AL BORGES] heaves upon the bunk. Suddenly, the figures pull a blanket tight over the man’s chest; a pure grey bar of soap is shoved into his mouth, and the man is pummeled repeatedly with oversized macaroni noodles.
AL BORGES: Whaahhh—[choking sounds as soap enters mouth]
The beating continues for several seconds
HOODED FIGURE: Get an identity, fat man!
The figures rush out of the room as AL BORGES passes out.
Scene: anti-septic military-style interrogation room. Young lawyer [SAGAR LATHIA] in dress uniform enters the room. five hulking men, each wearing a jump-suit marked with a non-eligible number, immediately rise and salute.
SAGAR LATHIA: [timidly] At ease?
The men sit. SAGAR LATHIA sits at folding chair across the table.
SAGAR LATHIA: So, can we start with what happened?
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! What happened when, sir!?
SAGAR LATHIA: Well, I understand the five of you beat a guy with noodles—
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! It was a ‘miscommunication,’ sir!
SAGAR LATHIA: A miscommunication?
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! That’s what we call it. A ‘miscommunication,’ sir!
SAGAR LATHIA: Well, I’m just trying to understand—
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! Must protect the brand, sir!
SAGAR LATHIA: The brand?
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! Yes, sir! Must protect the brand. That’s our code, sir!
SAGAR LATHIA: Who put you up to this?
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir?
SAGAR LATHIA: You better tell me. I’m the only friend you’ve got.
TAYLOR LEWAN: Sir! I am on specific orders not to disclose that my commanding officer, Dave Brandon, instructed me to perform the miscommunication, sir!
SAGAR LATHIA: …
Scene: DEVIN GARDNER meets with BRADY HOKE on an isolated path along the Huron River.
BRADY HOKE: What I’m about to tell you is classified—could end my career. I loved coaching that Denard, even if he wasn’t a pocket-passer. You're a lot like he was. Only better... and worse. He was a natural heroic son of a bitch that one.
DEVIN GARDNER: So he did do it right.
BRADY HOKE: Yeah, he did it right... Is that why you play the way you do? Trying to prove something? Yeah, Denard did it right. We were in a rebuilding phase. There were walk-ons and freshmen like fireflies all over the roster. His ulnar nerve was hit, and he was wounded—he could have not dressed. But he stayed in it, won three games before Nebraska got him.
DEVIN GARDNER: How come I never heard that before?
BRADY HOKE: Well, that's not something the Athletic Department tells fans when a player belongs in a spread offense, isn’t ‘Manball’ enough.
DEVIN GARDNER: So you get it?
BRADY HOKE: I get it. What's on your mind?
DEVIN GARDNER: My options, sir.
BRADY HOKE: Simple. You've already acquired an undergraduate degree. You can soldier on in our pathetic offense, or you can quit. There'd be no disgrace. Last year’s offensive line was hell, it would've shook me up.
DEVIN GARDNER: So you think I should quit?
BRADY HOKE: I didn't say that. The simple fact is you feel responsible for Notre Dame and you have a confidence problem. Now I'm not gonna sit here and blow sunshine up your ass. A good quarterback is compelled to evaluate what's happened, so he can apply what he's learned. On the field there, we gotta push it. That's our job. It's your option, Devin. All yours.
DEVIN GARDNER: Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, sir, but thank you very much for your time.
BRADY HOKE: No problem. Good luck.
* * * * *
Scene: a ceiling panel slides open in a bright, institutional storage closet. Motion-detecting lasers criss-cross the room at odd angles, and alarmed panels cover the floor. A lone computer terminal sits unoccupied at a desk built into the wall. Suddenly, SAGAR LATHIA drops from the ceiling. He almost strikes the floor, but spreads-eagle inches above it. SAGAR LATHIA moves through the air to the computer terminal, pulls up a screen that says “COCA-COLA TICKET PROMOTION,” and inserts a USB drive to download the data. A lengthy status bar appears on the screen while the data is slowly copied.
Meanwhile, outside the room, DAVE BRANDON speaks with [ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER].
DAVE BRANDON: How many tickets have you sold today?
ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER: Fourteen hundred, sir.
DAVE BRANDON: Very good. How much is that?
ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER: Well, with the Coca-Cola promotion, that’s twenty-eight hundred dollars. More importantly, we can keep our streak of 100,000 fans alive.
DAVE BRANDON: Whatever. You know what I say? If it ain’t broke, break it—that’s what I say. So go ahead and break that streak.
ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER: Whatever you say, sir. Don’t want to be fired like every other person I used to work with.
DAVE BRANDON: Yeah. Hey, didn’t those skywriters give us a half-off coupon for our next purchase? I think $2,800 ought to cover it.
ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER: I think the coupon is in the storage room, sir.
DAVE BRANDON: Well don’t just sit there. Bring me skywriting coupon!
Camera returns to storage room. SAGAR LATHIA finishes downloading marketing plan data and is pulled back through ceiling, just as ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT WORKER opens the door.
Scene: Ornate banquet room at Detroit’s Downtown Athletic Club, for annual Michigan Football Bust. Team, dressed in suits, has finished its meal and is looking to podium. Camera pans room to see several players carrying or wearing medical equipment, DEVIN GARDNER in full-body cast with oxygen tank. BRADY HOKE exits podium to moderate applause, as DAVE BRANDON steps to podium.
DAVE BRANDON: And I just want to thank Brady for the wonderful job he’s done. Really, really wonderful job. But you know, 7-5 really is not Michigan Football. I mean, let’s face it: you men are shit. What? Yes: you men... are... shit. Horrible, heinous, *heinous*, terrible football players. That’s you. Fuck this bullshit. What is it that we need? We need Michigan Men! You see what I'm getting at? What’s your problem, anyway? “Mommy wouldn't let me play soccer... and Daddy, he hit me, so that's who I am, that's why I do what I do?” We will not apologize for who we are. Michigan will not apologize for what it needs. I will not apologize for what I want! And that’s why I’d like to introduce the new head coach of the Michigan Wolverines—
Just then, SAGAR LATHIA and JOHN U. BACON rush into the room
JOHN U. BACON: Stop!
DAVE BRANDON: What the hell is this?
JOHN U. BACON: Stop, this man [points to SAGAR LATHIA] has something to say.
DAVE BRANDON: I’m outta here.
GREG MATTISON: [rises from the back of the room]: You're not going anywhere, Brandon. DTs, guard the Athletic Director.
DAVE BRANDON: Am I being charged with a crime? Is that what this is? I'm being charged with a crime? This is funny. That's what this is.
SAGAR LATHIA: You brought in Special K and left the band at home. You paid pilots to skywrite “Go Blue” over an empty Spartan Stadium. You masterminded the general admission fiasco. You undermined Rich Rod and botched the hire of Brady Hoke.
DAVE BRANDON: Son, we live in a world that has college football, and college football has to be played by men wearing uniformz. Who's gonna do it? You? You, hockey boy? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for our tradition, and you curse the rawk muzak. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the loss of Michigan tradition, while tragic, probably won games. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, wins games. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me in that luxury box, you need me on in that luxury box. We use words like brand identity, brand equity, sub-brand, and brand loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent marketing something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very revenue that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a pom-pom, and wave it to piped-in techno. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.
SAGAR LATHIA: Did you order the miscommunication?
DAVE BRANDON: You’re goddamn right I did!
Audible gasp arises from the team and boosters in attendance
DAVE BRANDON: I'm gonna rip the eyes out of your head and puke into your dead skull, you messed with the wrong AD!
BRADY HOKE: I think you’re in deep shit, Brandon, I guaran-damn-tee you.
DAVE BRANDON: You have no idea how to run an athletic department. All you did was weaken The Team today, Lathia. That's all you did. You put Rose Bowl berths in danger. Sweet dreams, son.
SAGAR LATHIA: Don't call me son. I'm a Michigan student, and an officer in the LS&A student government. And you're fired, you son of a bitch.
Scene: Schembechler Hall. Square-jawed John Harbaugh stands at a podium, beside an academic-looking man [BRAD BATES] in a muted blazer. Cameras flash as BRAD BATES steps to the microphone bank.
BRAD BATES: I’d like to announce some exciting new changes for Michigan Football. We thank Brady Hoke for his distinguished service as the head coach; he’ll be staying on with the athletic department as an advisor and assistant euchre and wrestling coach. We’d like to welcome John Harbaugh, most recently of the Baltimore Ravens and the son of former Michigan assistant Jack Harbaugh, as our new head coach. And we’d like to extend our congratulations to Devin Gardner, who has made a full recovery from his injuries and was drafted 199th overall by the New England Patriots. Thank you, and Go Blue!