Garrett: Oh, dear! Oh, dearie me! Oh, dearie my! Oh, dear heavenly crumbbums! This has been a most disappointing way to end our 16-game progression, dear brother!

Judd: Mmmm. Yes. Indeedy. Terrible way to end things. Simply dreadful. My darling wife Contessa made her famous “Interracial Roast Lamb” dish last night, and I couldn’t even bring myself to eat, I’m so sick over what happened!

Garrett: A terrible eating!

Judd: An AWFUL eating!

Garrett: A rotten eating!

Judd: A scurrilous eating!

Garrett: Such a pity.

Judd: It was not your fault, dear brother. You know this. Look at the foul detritus handed to you by your gauche owner! You’ve yet to be given the freedom to build the team in your image! A fine team! A PRINCETONIAN TEAM, free of glory boy riffraff!

Garrett: If only, dear brother. If only our immediate superior weren’t so… so… VULGAR. So crass. So Unprincetonian.

Judd: Well, you should tell him that! Be the first to stand up to that boor Jerral Jones! Let him know that all his billions won’t get him a table at the Mayflower Club!

Garrett: Maybe I will, dear brother. Maybe I will. For too long, I’ve suffered under the cruel yoke of his debasement. And that doesn’t sit well with me at all. No, the time has come to stand and fight! I’m going to do it, brother. I’m going to tell that man precisely what I think of him!

(door flies open)

Jerry: YOU FUCKING SHITHEADS!

Garrett: It was Judd’s fault.

Judd: BROTHER!

Garrett: I’m sorry, dearest Judd, but I cannot lie to our fair owner here. It is YOU who were responsible for this conflagration!

Judd: My God. The level of Karamozovian betrayal staggers the imagination!

Jerry: I’M NOT DONE YELLING AT EITHER OF YOU! I did not take Susan Skaggs back to the third row of my luxury box and raw dog her like a kennel puppy just so you could MAKE THE DOUBLE J LOOK LIKE SHIT! AH’M GONNA KILL YEWWWWW!

Garrett: Now, now, Jerral. We both said that this would take TIME.

Jerry: Yes. Time. ONE WEEK. That’s how long you git when the Double J has handed you the finest roster ever constructed! Have you seen my boy ROMO? Didn’t I tell you he was a star?

Garrett: I believe you…

Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! HE IS THE FUCKING MOONLIGHT SHINING OFF YOUR MOMMA’S SNAPPIN’ TWAT! Ware? STAR. Dez? STAR. DeMarco? STAR. Ratliff? STAR. Terence Newman? STAR.

Garrett: Newman? He’s our worst player!

Jerry: HE’S A GODDAMN STAR! What do you two Princeton faggots expect the Double J to do? Hire a real GM? I’ve been doing this job for TWENTY-TWO GODDAMN YEARS. You won’t find a front office executive with more experience rebuilding than yours truly! Why, if I hired a GM, he’d just feud with the owner, AND THAT WOULD DISTRACT EVERYONE! I WANT BLOOD!

Garrett: I think we’re on the right track, dear Jerral. You know that I, more than anyone, appreciate all that you’ve done for this team, and the reverence I have for the measure of class and dignity you’ve brought to this team and this city.

Jerry: Goddamn right! Did you see the paintings in our lobby? THAT LETS PEOPLE KNOW THE DOUBLE J CAN BUY THEIR KIDS AND MAKE SEX SLAVES OF ‘EM.

Garrett: Now that I have your ear, I think we should really sit down and evaluate who’s… responsible for this calamity. Besides Judd.

Judd: SCOUNDREL!

Garrett: I think that we both know that the roster was expertly assembled, but that certain people failed to execute along the way, am I right? I think I know of whom we speak…

(door flies open)

Wolfman Rob: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Ugh. Oh. Oh Christ, my back! When you eat out a Chinese hooker for 40 straight hours, you don’t really think about the consequences, you know?

Jerry: YOUR DEFENSE WAS SHIT! ABRAM ELAM IS BLEEDING PUSSY OF FAILURE!

Wolfman Rob: Whoa hey, slow down there, muchacho. Now, I know that we had some issues there at the beginning of that Giants game. But I adjusted! You get enough epsom salts in me at the half, I’ll draw you up a defense. I remember one time when I was coaching in the Japanese league. 1951. We’re down 45-0 nothing at the half and I am out of my goddamn mind. I’m sittin’ there in the locker room, yelling at a bunch of guys that don’t speak English and think that a white person is some kind of mystical lizard beast with the power to alter time. I gotta come up with a scheme, and I gotta make sure this game is over 4AM so that the fish market can open on time where our field is. Now, we had this one freakshow on our team with a two-foot long tongue. No bullshit. He had a fucking alien tongue. So I pop six Percocet and I grab his tongue and I start tellin’ him in Jap sign language to lick every player on offense that he can. So he goes out and starts licking everyone and they run off the field. FORFEIT. We won. So don’t tell me a Ryan boy can’t draw up a defense for you, because that shit’s a LIE.

Garrett: Your men were all confused at the snap!

Wolfman Rob: That’s because we were watching amputee bestiality porn on the sideline. That’s gonna throw you off your game sometimes.

Garrett: This is lunacy! This man is not fit to coordinate a defense! Let me choose my own man, dear Jerral. A PROPER coach, of good grooming and breeding. Not this… this Mexican bartender you’ve imported!

Wolfman Rob: (belches)

Jerry: Both of you are gonna have to work your sorry asses out of this mess! I’m not changing shit! I hired the players. I hired the coaches. I KNOW WHAT IT TAKES TO BUILD A CHAMPIONSHIP ORGANIZATION. And you two will prove me right, or else I will find your mothers and I will cheekfuck them with TWO dicks!

Wolfman Rob: I’ve heard that a tradition in Argentina, actually.

Garrett: Dear Lord…

Jerry: YOU WILL WIN ME A SUPER BOWL NEXT YEAR OR ELSE YOUR MOMMAS WILL GET THE SUSAN SKAGGS TREATMENT!!!! YEEEEEHAWWW WOOOOHOOOOO I AM FUCKIN’ CRAZY!