86300603JM021_NEW_YORK_JETS

Mark Sanchez: Hey, Shonn! The lockout’s over!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: We can play football again!

Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: What a great feeling! I thought we might miss the season, but now we’ve got a chance to finally make the Super Bowl!

Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: I bet coach is totally jazzed!

Greene: Yup.

Sanchez: Have you seen him?

Greene: Nope.

Sanchez: Jeez, I thought he’d be the first one here. Where could he be?

Greene: Beats me.

Sanchez: Say, what’s that big lump over in the corner of the room, under all those newspapers?

Greene: Beats me.

Sanchez: Maybe we should see what under it.

Greene: You go first, white boy.

Sanchez: Okay…

(vagrant newspaper pile flies open)

Ryan: (holds out knife) WHO GOES THERE?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?! I’LL CUT YOU! I’LL CUT YOU GOOD!

Sanchez: Coach?

Ryan: “Coach.” Now there’s a name no one has called me in a long, long time. I was a coach once, you know. BEFORE THE DARK TIMES. Before this land was destroyed. Oh, how I mourn. It’s as if the entire world has been swallowed up by a giant, dripping vagina. There’s no football. There’s no offseason hitting. SOME BAND CALLED OWL CITY IS POPULAR. MAN IS DYING! RUN! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN FROM THIS PLACE!

Sanchez: Coach, it’s okay.

Ryan: SHUT UP, YOU! What do you know of hope? Can’t you see that GOODNESS AND PUSSYTUBING have forsaken these lands? Every day goes by without football and I drift further and further from reality. YOU LOOK LIKE A ZEBRA TO ME! WHICH IS CRAZY!

Sanchez: Coach, it’s me, Mark.

Ryan: DON’T SPEAK TO ME! Don’t you know Big Ginger is listening? WE AREN’T MEANT TO SPEAK!

Sanchez: Coach, we can talk. It’s okay. The lockout’s over.

Ryan: What?

Sanchez: It’s over. I swear. It ended two days ago.

Ryan: Don’t lie to me, Nacho. Don’t give me hope when there is NONE.

Sanchez: I swear! You must have been here the whole time. Here…

(hands him the PR release)

Sanchez: See? It’s over. We can play football again.

Ryan: You’re not lying to me. If you’re lying to me, I swear to God you will be in a WORLD OF NUTPUNCHING.

Sanchez: No.

Ryan: SWEAR IT WITH YOUR HAND ON A TORTILLA.

Sanchez: I swear.

Ryan: (begins to choke up) Training camp?

Sanchez: Yes.

Ryan: Games?

Sanchez: All of them.

Ryan: STEAKS AND BLOWJOBS?

Sanchez: I guess so.

Ryan: (bursts into tears) Oh! Oh, Nacho! OH I’VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY! FROM NOW ON, YOUR NEW NICKNAME IS PABLO PEGASUS, BEARER OF HAPPY ENDINGS.

Sanchez: Okay.

Ryan: Excuse me for a moment.

(goes to bathroom and comes out one second later)

(door flies open)

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Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach! You cleaned up fast!

Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. This is a great day! IT’S CHRISTMAS WITH TITS ON TOP! And you’re all here! Pablo Pegasus, and Greene, and Santonio The Penis Guy!

Sanchez: Actually, he’s not here.

Ryan: What about Black Al Unser Jr.?

Sanchez: Braylon? He’s not here either. Free agents can’t practice until next week. And Braylon, like, might not even sign with us at all. We’re kind of shorthanded, actually.

Ryan: Shorthanded, eh? That’s all right. Rex Ryan doesn’t need every tool in the toolbox, believe you me. You hand me six cripples and a ham sandwich, and I will mold them into a WINNING FUCKING UNIT. You’d best reckon that. You men better be in shape, because we are going to EAT THE FUCKING WORLD this season, men. WE ARE GOING TO SMASH AND KILL AND RUIN EVERY GODDAMN THING WE SEE. THIS LEAGUE IS A PUSSY READY TO BE THRUSTED UPON. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Pablo, are you in shape for fighting and fucking?

Sanchez: Yes, sir.

Ryan: Did you work out?

Sanchez: Every day, sir.

Ryan: Did you hit the tuna wagon?

Sanchez: Well, I mean I think I may have had a few dates here and…

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Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, little Pablo found himself a new batch of juniors at the Lycee Francais! THAT’S GREAT FUCKING HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: The secret to good fucking and good football, men: THE POWER IS IN YOUR HIPS. You control your hips, you have LEVERAGE. Now, first order of business, FUCKING HITTING. Everyone get ready… FUCKING TRIPLE OKLAHOMA DRILL.

Sanchez: Actually sir, the new CBA limits our full pad practices.

Ryan: Fine, then… AROUND THE FUCKING CORNER!

Sanchez: We can’t play that either. That’s actually worse than the triple Oklahoma drill.

Ryan: The Gauntlet?

Sanchez: No.

Ryan: Circle of Death?

Sanchez: No.

Ryan: Hungry, Hungry, Death Squad?

Sanchez: Can’t do that drill either.

Ryan: GOD DAMMIT THIS WHOLE LEAGUE HAS GONE GASHY! All right, fine. We’ll scrap the full contact drills. Let’s just share some hugs. Shonn? Give Pablo there a hug.

Greene: Okay.

Ryan: But put on your pads.

Greene: Okay.

Ryan: And don’t use your arms.

Greene: Okay.

Ryan: And lower your head. For extra nuzzling.

Greene: Okay.

Ryan: And hug him REALLY FUCKING FAST.

Greene: Okay.

(hits Sanchez really hard)

Sanchez: OUCH!

Ryan: Yes, that’s it! HUG HIM! KILLLLLL HIM WITH YOUR LOVE!

Greene: Okay.

(hits Sanchez repeatedly)

Ryan: NOW BRING OUT THE HOOKERS!

Greene: We ain’t go no hookers. They cut staff payroll when we got locked out.

Ryan: Well, I will rectify that immediately.

(runs out of building with wad of hundreds)

Ryan: WE’RE BACK IN THE PUSSY BUSINESS!!!!!

Everyone: Yayyyyyyyyyy!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Men, it’s good to have you back. Truth to tell, I don’t even know how long you were gone, or how long I was asleep over in that corner…

Sanchez: Yeah, I was gonna say something about that. It smells like you pooped a lot over there.

Ryan: ALOSI WILL CLEAN IT! I sat over in that corner for God knows how long, eating canned beans and living in my own filth. I was bereft… adrift… lost. The idea of a world without football, without hitting and killing and mangled fingers and drunken fans throwing beer cups at me… It was more than I could handle. BUT MEN! Men. It’s those empty spaces in your life that end up defining you. It’s what you do with the little accidental bits of free time that separate you from the common man. At some point when I was under all those papers, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and to come up with a plan. I promised myself that if I EVER got to coach this team again, that we would be the BIGGEST BADDEST ANGRIEST BATCH OF MOTHERFUCKERS YOU HAVE EVER SEEN. I promised myself that I would turn you men into HUMAN BUZZSAWS, capable of setting the other team on fire simply by looking at them. Able to rip and shred and tear and render other men virtually unrecognizable. AND I WILL KEEP THAT FUCKING PROMISE DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO HUNT?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO TURN THE WOLF LOOSE?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO CHUG BLOOD?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: We are winning the fucking Super Bowl this year. We’re winning the Super Bowl, and then we are going out for TITS AND ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. CLEAR?!

Everyone: Yes, sir!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(all hands in)

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

Everyone: TITS!

Ryan: Oh, shit! Look at that. There was a pigeon nesting in my ass the whole time.

Sanchez: It’s good to have you back, sir.

Photoshop by Uff