86300603JM021_NEW_YORK_JETS

Mark Sanchez: Wow, Shonn! We beat the Colts! In the playoffs! In their house! That was awesome!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: We beat Peyton Manning!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: And I conducted the game-winning drive after he seemed to have us beat!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: I guess you could say I’m better than Peyton Manning now, right?

Shonn Greene: Not really.

Sanchez: Well, either way, I’m completely confident we can beat the Patriots now! If I beat Peyton, then I can beat Tom Brady, right?

Shonn Greene: Maybe.

Sanchez: If we beat the Pats, that means I could be better than both Peyton AND Tom Brady, right?

Shonn Greene: Hell, no.

Sanchez: I think it’s possible.

Shonn Greene: No, it ain’t.

Sanchez: You think Coach has a plan?

Shonn Greene: Yeah, and it ain’t you being better than Tom Brady.

(door flies open)

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Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?!

Sanchez: Good, Coach.

Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. Men, let me tell you about the growler I laid down in the toilet this morning. I woke up, felt a shit coming on, sat down on the toilet with an egg and ham burrito, and did my business. And when I got up? MAGIC. There, in my very own toilet, was Bart Scott’s forearm. And it was swirling around the bowl. And it wouldn’t stop! It was like it had a very small motor attached to the back and just kept on swirling round and round. THAT SHIT NEVER GAVE UP ON THE PLAY! And I want you boys to be like that shit on Sunday. Always moving. Always circling. READY TO FUCKING KILL! Do you understand me?

Everyone: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Now, first order of business: Nicknames! Nacho, your new nickname is El Cielo!

Sanchez: The Sky, sir?

Ryan: That’s right. Because that’s where you seem to aim every goddamn pass you throw! Throw lower, son. Picture tits where the jersey numbers are. That shouldn’t be hard for you.

(burps)

Sanchez: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Next order of business: TRASH TALKING! Dalmatians! Where the fuck is Dalmatians?

Cromartie: Right here, sir. (impregnates six women at once)

Ryan: Now Dalmatians, I understand you’ve said some unkind things about our opponents on Sunday. You called Tom Brady an “asshole”?

Cromartie: Yes, sir.

Ryan: You know how I frown on that sort of thing.

(pulls entire meatball sub out of sweater vest)

Cromartie: Yes, sir.

Ryan: First off, Tom Brady is NOT an asshole. He’s a douchebag. Look at the wardrobe. That’s pure douche. Second of all, “asshole”? You can do better than that, Dalmatians! I don’t sit here cursing my balls off four hours a day just so you can lazily call someone an asshole! You need to get more creative! REALLY get under that fuckface’s skin! Call him a CUNT BOIL!

Cromartie: A cunt boil, sir?

Ryan: Yeah! A big, red, infected, dripping boil right on a girl’s cunt! All oozing and runny and shit! THAT’S WHAT I THINK OF WHEN I SEE THAT COCKSUCKER FEATHER HIS HAIR ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD!

(unbuckles belt, sticks hand down pants, smells hand)

Sanchez: What if we called him a Douche Taco?

Ryan: That’s better, El Cielo!

Cromartie: What if I say that cunt boil’s got more white babies than a house in Utah?

Ryan: Now that’s thinking about your assignment!

Shonn Greene: The only thing Tom Brady’s bitch DOESN’T make him wear is a pair of testicles.

Ryan: BAHAHAHAHA!

Sanchez: I think I saw half a roll of Charmin stuck in that dickhead’s chin cleft the other day.

Ryan: YES, YES! KEEP GOING!

Cromartie: Phil Simms gave that dipshit’s cock an All Iron Award.

Shonn Greene: TOM BRADY EATS COCKS IN HELL!

Sanchez: TOM BRADY IS A COCKPUMPER!

Cromartie: AND THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS DUMB AS A BRICK TOO!

Sanchez: FUCK TOM BRADY! AHAHAHAHAHA…

(door flies open)

Tommy: FACK YOU! FACK YOU! FACK YOU! FACK YOU! FACK YOU! How dare-ahhhh you trash ow-ah football Pedroiah? YOU FACKS HAVE GOT SOME FACKIN’ NERVE!

(flexes)

Ryan: Who the fuck are you?

Cromartie: What’s a Pedroiah?

Tommy: IT’S YOU EATING A CAWK, THAT’S WHAT IT IS! You Jets make me want to fackin’ puke! Sitting here-ah, insulting what is bahhhh none the classiest team in all of sparts! These Pats ahhh just like they-ah fans! They keep they-ah mouths shut and get shit done! THEY REFUSE TO ENGAGE IN IMMATURE-AH INSULTS! You cunts! Hey Rex, I saw a picture of your wife’s pussy online the othah day and it looked like ROADKILL!

Sanchez: You better get the fuck out of here.

Tommy: No! I refuse! I am a fightah! AND I AM FROM THE ‘TOWN! YOU DO NAWT SCAY-AH ME! I’ve been fightin’ dahkies in bahhs since before-ah your spic family jumped the wawll! Let’s face it, Jets. YOU AHHH NAWT OW-AH RIVALS! NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(demands Biohazard be played on the stereo)

Sanchez: Sure we are.

Tommy: No you ahhh nawt! Let’s take a look at the criteria fahhh what makes a great rivalry, shall we?

DOES IT ALLOW ME TO MENTION THAT I KNOW WHO BIGGIE AND ‘PAC AHHH? No check!

DOES THE RIVALRY BRING OUT THE HAHHHDEST CHEE-AHS FROM THE LEGENDARY BIRD NATION FAITHFUL, ELEVATING SPARTS TO A WHOLE NEW LEVEL WITH OW-AH COLLECTIVE GRIT? No check! We save those far Manningface only, which is why we always beat him!

(dips Ortho fertilizer)

AHHH THE TWO TEAMS EQUAL? No check! We ahhh bettah than you glass cunts! And we ahh toughah! Danny Woodhead is from North Platte, Nebraskah! That’s the Quinzee of Nebraskah!

AHHH BOTH TEAMS HISTORICALLY IMPARTANT FRANCHISES? No check! My beloved Footsawx have won FOUR-AH Supah Bowls!

Sanchez: You mean three.

Tommy: FOUR-AH! ELI WAS IN THE GRASP! NO ONE DENIES THIS! Menawhile, you facks have nevah won a Super Bowl since I began following this spart all the way back in 2001! That makes you losahs!

That’s the checklist. EVERYONE AGREES THAT IS THE UNIVERSAL CHECKLIST FAR A GREAT RIVALRY! AND YOU DO NAWT COMPAY-AHHHH!

NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

FOOTBALL ME-ETS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

Sanchez: Didn’t your team lose to the Mets in a World Series?

Tommy: You shut yar cunt! Only Bawston people can bring up THE GAME to Bawston people! EVERYONE KNOWS THIS! Oh, I remembah sitting they-ah that day when Bucknah let that bawll go. And I turned to my Dad, and I asked him (chokes up), “Dad, will things evah be the same?” And he said…

Ryan: Will someone get this piece of white trash Quincy shit out of my locker room?

Tommy: IT’S QUINZEE! The fact that you pronounced it wrong shows you just how ignorant you ahh of critical Massachusetts geography everyone should know! You ahh a nothing team! You ahh impawstahs! And yar wetback QB is fucking terrible and lucky to be here-ah! You will nevah be like Tawmmy Brady! EVAH! He’ll win more Super Bowls, bang hawttah women, make more-ah non-dahkie babies, and be revee-ahhhhed in REVEE-AH!!!

(parked black pickup truck in handicap spot)

Ryan: Men, hold him down.

Cromartie: Got it.

(holds Tommy down)

Tommy: WHAT AHH YOU DOING? YOU CAN’T HOLD DOWN A SAWX FAN FAHHH LONG! WE HAVE HAHHHHT!

Ryan: I want you to go back and deliver a message to your fucking little band of overachievers.

Tommy: That’s easy! I know Tawm Brady! We almost pahhhtied aftah Super Bowl Farty Two and I can prove it!

Ryan: Shut up. You tell your boys that Rex Ryan and his men aren’t gonna lay down so easy this time. You think you have this game in the bag. You think we’re talking shit because we’re afraid. Because we got beat good the last team we were at your little Klan rally of a stadium. But we’re not afraid of you. We’ll never be afraid of you weaselly little sacks of dogshit. EVER. The reason we like to talk shit about you is because we HATE you. We truly hate you, and we want to inflict great harm upon you. We want to hurt you, and make you bleed, and cause your families to worry about you when you’re lying there on the turf wriggling around like a little bitch. That’s why we’re talking shit, young man. It’s not a pose. It’s real evil in our hearts. It’s a real desire to do bad things to you, and to do them repeatedly. Maybe you’ll win on Sunday. Everyone says you will. Maybe so. But I promise you: We will make it fucking HURT. Badly. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

Tommy: FACK YOU! EVERYONE KNOWS MAHK WAHLBERG IS THE TOUGHEST GUY IN HAWLLYWOOD!

Ryan: Gentlemen, beat his ass.

(Everyone beats his ass.)

Tommy: NO!… FACK!… DAHKIE!… TED KENNEDY!… NANTUCKET NECTAH!… WOODHEAD!

(everyone throws Tommy out of the building)

Tommy: YOU HAVEN’T HEARD THE LAST FROM ME ABOUT HOW LITTLE WE TALK SHIT! NAWT OW-AH RIVALS!

(clap clap clapclapclap)

Ryan: Shut the door.

(Everyone shuts the door.)

Ryan: Bring it in.

(Everyone brings it in.)

Ryan: That is what you’re up against this week, men. The best team. The best coach. The best QB. And sixty thousand of the worst, the lousiest, the most obnoxious sacks of shit God ever squeezed out of his asshole. Are you ready to fucking KILL that?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: El Cielo, are you ready?

Sanchez: More ready than I’ve ever been, sir.

(wads up piece of paper, overthrows trash basket by sixty yards)

Ryan: Are you ready to match Brady blow for blow?

Sanchez: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Are you ready to tag some Brazilian ass after that?

Sanchez: Well, I…

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Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, ol’ Cielo is ready to go to the Pussyscarria and have the pink beef buffet! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN.

(everyone puts hands in)

Ryan: Men, this is it. I don’t give a fuck if we win this game and then lose the next game 72-0, so long as we win THIS fucking game. So long as we beat THIS fucking team and send their fans back to their fucking white trash row houses with their thumbs up their dicks. Do you understand?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: This is not optional. You WILL win on Sunday, because you are fucking winners. You WILL grab these fuckers by the hair and run them through a fucking steel wall. You will become masters of death. You will take your scythes and rip out their fucking hearts and hand it to them. You will see the terror in their eyes and you will justify every horrible fear they have in their minds. You cut them open and play the fiddle with their insides. Do you fucking understand me?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING KILL?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING CRUSH?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING WIN AND SCORE SOME TROPICAL PUSSY?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!!

Everyone: WIN!

Ryan: Damn, that was good. Someone go outside and give that Masshole an extra punch.

Sanchez: Can I do it?

Ryan: Why not? It’s not like your arm does us any good.