Schaub: Ah, nothing like a glass of warm milk before bed!

Mrs. Schaub: Honey, I think I heard a noise downstairs, could you check it out?

Schaub: Again? Ugh. Fine.

*white picket fence gate flies open*

Fan: You’ve got some nerve, you piece of sh*t.

Schaub: Excuse me?

Fan: YOU HEARD ME. YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE. What you did on Sunday was an EMBARRASSMENT to good Texas football.

Schaub: What the hell are you doing on my property?

Fan: DON’T TALK BACK. In Texas we love three things: Beef, blondes, booze, and good quarterbackin’. FOUR things. And I’ll tell you what, you ain’t none of those things. By God, we had such high hopes for this team this year, and now what do we have to show for it but a 2-3 record and a quarterback who can’t stop throwing picks at the wrong time? After all these years, you only have ONE win in the playoffs. ONE.

Schaub: Look I’m sorry about my performance but that’s no excuse to come onto my property and scare my family. You need to leave before I call the police.

Fan: YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. I only take orders from GOOD quarterbacks. The way you turned that ball over on that back-breaking interception on Sunday, I can’t believe you’re even in the league. Now sure, you did throw for five touchdowns, but —

Schaub: Wait … five touchdowns? I didn’t throw five touchdowns.

Fan:

Schaub: What are you talking about?

Fan: Is this Tony Romo’s house?

Schaub: No.

Fan: Oh. Sorry, mister.

*leaves*