Betsy: Richard! Richard! The raspberry roundies are done!

Dick LeBeau: There in a minute!

Betsy: Okayyyyy, but I know how you like ‘em right out of the oven.

Dick LeBeau: What do we have here? Oh, you spoil me, Betsy. But you know what the doctor says about the sweets.

Betsy: Once in a while can’t hurt. Besides, I thought you could use some.

Dick LeBeau: Thank you, honey.

Betsy: Are you feeling any better?

Dick LeBeau: Oh, you know me. I was a little morose the other day, but it passes. You do this as long as I have, you learn to deal with the ups and the downs.

Betsy: I guess once you went through those years in Cincinnati, you can deal with anything.

Dick LeBeau: You know I don’t like to talk about that.

Betsy: Sorry.

Dick LeBeau: What’s that noise?

Betsy: It sounds like there’s a car on the lawn.

Dick LeBeau: That can’t be.

[Door flies open]

Todd Haley: Where the fuck is Ol’ Father Defense? He and Boss Todd are about to have words.

Betsy: Who is this man? He smells awful.

Dick LeBeau: Into the other room, darling. I’ll handle this.

Todd Haley: Handle this? I’ll tell you what you can handle, dickcheese. Try handling the shitstack Raiders after Boss Todd spots you double-digit leads all day.

Dick LeBeau: Have you come to my home just to berate me about Sunday’s game?

Todd Haley: You bet your saggy balls, I am. Listen, I have installed a finely calibrated offense into this broken down wreck of a team. You see how good I got Big Retard to play? He had the game of his life on Sunday. That’s all Boss Todd, baby. Coach Blackie may like you, but I know you suck. Even other team’s players said you’re predictable.

Dick LeBeau: Excuse me, did you just call Coach Tomlin “Blackie”?

Todd Haley: What? No, of course not. See what I mean? You’re hearing shit, old man. You’ve lost it. Time to step aside for the next generation. Or, in your case, two generations later.

Dick LeBeau: I don’t know what to tell you. We’re missing personnel. We’ll make adjustments.

Todd Haley: I’ll make an adjustment TO YOUR FUCKING FACE, PALLY. DON’T STEP, OLD MAN!

Dick LeBeau: Who are you to talk to me like that? I knew your father.

Todd Haley: Hate to break this to you, but my old man is a bitch. And you are, too, old man. This is Pittsburgh. Defense is all you have. That’s why you called in the Pro from Dover to get your shit right on offense. I did that, but now you’re trying to mess up Boss Todd’s beautiful offensive detailing work. I took it to my favorite body shop. Cost me a couple large.

Dick LeBeau: Look, I appreciate –

Todd Haley: You can stuff your appreciation up your old lady’s poop shooter, gramps. From now on, for every lead of mine you mess up, I’m breaking something in your house. What do we have here? A collection of all your dead friends’ ashes? Fuck it, they’re going on the floor.

Dick LeBeau: You wouldn’t.

Todd Haley: Watch me.

[Someone fumbles with door knob with 20 seconds before crashing through door]

Ben Roethlisberger: HI COACH HI ANOTHER COACH

Todd Haley: The fuck you doing here, Big Bumfuck?

Ben Roethlisberger: UNCLE BO READ THE BEN GOODNIGHT STORY FOR BEDTIME. THE BEN CAN NO WAIT TO LEARN WHAT BIG BAD WOLF DID IN BATHROOM.

Dick LeBeau: That’s okay, Ben. You go tuck yourself in and I’ll be right there. Well, hate to break this up, but I have to work to do.

Todd Haley: Consider yourself lucky this time, Dicky. Don’t make me come back. BOSS TODD OUT!