VOICEOVER (spoken over sirens and gunshots): New York may be the city that never sleeps. But Jacksonville is the city that is always watching. As night falls over the River City, the veneer of safety and southern hospitality shatters. The alleyways get narrower. The buildings lean in towards you. The air thickens, not just with humidity, but with sweat and tears. The eyes of those who would do harm to those weaker than themselves never blink, and they are everywhere. But this is my city. And I will protect it. Because as long as there is evil in Jacksonville, The Flow will be there to thwart it.
INT. THE HALL OF ELITENESS
PEYTON MANNING, TOM BRADY, JOE FLACCO, AARON RODGERS, and DREW BREES are seated around a circular table. There is a palpable tension in the room. Aaron Rodgers coughs. Finally, the chiseled visage of THE CHIEF comes into view on the gigantic LCD panel on the back wall.
THE CHIEF: I’m sure you all are wondering why I activated the Play60 Beacon to call you all here today. First, I want you to know that I appreciate everything you selfless men do every day in the service of the shield. Without your efforts, none of this would be possible. So thank you all. Truly.
PEYTON MANNING is not listening, as he is currently being attended to by a pleasant makeup artist who proceeds to lead him to an ALL NEW 2014 BUICK VERANO to shoot a commercial.
THE CHIEF: That said, I’m sure you all have been reading the news recently. It’s no secret that our The Eliteness League has sparked a bit of controversy. It seems that some pundits believe that one of us doesn’t belong here.
EVERYONE shoots a look at JOE FLACCO. PEYTON MANNING glares at him through the driver’s side window of his ALL NEW 2014 BUICK VERANO while enjoying a DELICIOUS SLICE OF PAPA JOHN’S SIGNATURE ITALIAN TRIO PIZZA.
JOE FLACCO: Who do you mean?
JOE FLACCO is answered with a deafening silence. He looks around, and sees everyone glowering at him.
THE CHIEF: I’m sorry, Joe. We have to let you go. I hear Stafford and his buddies are looking for new recruits. I’d be happy to write you a letter of recommendation.
JOE FLACCO stands up from the table abruptly, his face devoid of feeling.
He briskly walks out of the HALL OF ELITENESS, pausing only briefly to turn back to The Eliteness League, facing each of his former comrades with a cold, emotionless stare.
TOM BRADY: Are we done here? I’m supposed to be fucking my supermodel wife, like, 2 hours ago.
THE CHIEF: Yes, that should do it for today. League of Eliteness– DISMISSED!
INT: EVERBANK FIELD LOCKER ROOM
BLAINE GABBERT: You’ll hear a lot of pundits talk this week, now that we’ve been officially eliminated from playoff contention. They’ll be encouraging us to tank, to lose hope, and to give up the fight in these waning days of the football season. Don’t. We may have been beaten this year, but we must never stop fighting. We owe it to the wonderful people of Jacksonville. So let’s practice hard today, okay? Jaguars on 3! 1–2–3!
NOBODY says “Jaguars”
Suddenly, BLAINE GABBERT feels a vibration on his Trion:Z Dual Loop Magnetic Therapy Bracelet. He swiftly exits the locker room through an air vent, even though nobody was paying attention to him in the first place. He flips a panel open on the watch, and a visibly shaken CHIEF comes into view.
GABBERT: What is it, Chief?
THE CHIEF: We need your help, Flow! The Hall of Eliteness is under attack… by Flaccquaman!
GABBERT: I’ve heard all I need to hear. I’ll be there.
BLAINE GABBERT flips open the lid of a nearby dumpster, and dives in. After searching around for 15 minutes, only to realize his costume is in the other dumpster, he dives into an adjacent dumpster and emerges as THE FLOW, clothed in a stained and torn baby blue spandex suit about two sizes too big, with mismatched tube socks pulled up to his knees.
THE FLOW: I’d better hurry! MJD, can I hitch a ride?
MJD: Sure, but only for around 3 yards at a time.
THE FLOW: There’s no time for that! To the Greyhound Bus Station!
6 HOURS LATER, EXT. HALL OF ELITENESS
THE FLOW: Finally.
FLACCQUAMAN, perched atop the Hall: It’s too late, Flow. I made quick work of the rest of the Eliteness League. You can’t hope to stand up to me.
THE CHIEF, piping through THE FLOW’s bracelet: It’s true, Flow. He cut the brakes on Peyton’s All New 2014 Buick Verano, and although he’s okay, he and Aaron Rodgers are hopelessly stuck at State Farm filling out insurance paperwork. Drew Brees hasn’t been seen since the Saints lost last week. And Tom Brady is busy fucking his supermodel wife. You’re our last hope.
Suddenly, FLACCQUAMAN begins to concentrate, calling Ravens near and far to his aid.
JACOBY JONES and MARLON BROWN suddenly swoop in from the dark, swirling clouds above. They dive down towards THE FLOW and start running at him. THE FLOW steels himself for battle, and really tries hard to clench his anus so he doesn’t poop himself again. Right as they’re about to reach him, the mighty leg of MIKE TOMLIN stretches clear across the vile Ravens’ paths, tripping and incapacitating them.
THE FLOW: Thanks, Coach Tomlin!
THE CHIEF (to MIKE TOMLIN): We’re in your debt. I’ll only fine you 30,000 and a second rounder for that one.
FLACCQUAMAN, his voice booming from his perch atop the hall: Fine. I will show you all what true eliteness is!
FLACCQUAMAN leaps off of the hall, landing 85 yards away atop a nearby skyscraper. He produces an ovoid gadget from his jersey, with HAIL MARY etched into it in block letters.
FLACCQUAMAN: This is a nuclear bomb. It is set to explode in 15 seconds. It’s 4th down, and you’re out of timeouts, Flow. Time to learn some clock management.
FLACCQUAMAN concentrates and calls JUSTIN TUCKER to the scene. He kicks the bomb at the HALL OF ELITENESS with all his might, and the two watch it spiral gracefully in midair. THE FLOW springs into action, sprinting a half mile past the Hall. FLACCQUAMAN’s emotionless visage cracks as he watches the device fly harmlessly above the Hall, landing neatly into the arms of THE FLOW.
THE FLOW: Didn’t you ever learn, Flaccquaman? Never outkick your coverage. Now it’s my turn.
THE FLOW hurls the bomb with all his might at FLACCQUAMAN and his collected minions. The time ticks down– :07, :06…
THE FLOW: Quoth the Raven…
Suddenly, the wobbling, wavering device hooks far right, and lands neatly at the 50 yard line of the nearby METLIFE STADIUM.
THE FLOW: Aw, shucks.
METLIFE STADIUM explodes, but nobody’s really all that broken up about it.
FLACCQUAMAN: Curses! Damn you, Flow. Mark my words, one day I will return and show the world what eliteness truly is.
FLACCQUAMAN takes to the sky, cackling maniacally as The Flow watches him head back to Baltimore, not interfering because if you think about it, allowing him to return to Baltimore is pretty much the cruelest thing THE FLOW could have done to FLACCQUAMAN.
THE CHIEF: Thank you once again, Flow. You are a true hero and protector of The Shield. The Eliteness League owes you a great debt.
THE FLOW, however, is collapsed on the ground, absolutely winded from sprinting a half-mile and throwing a football. He hacks and wheezes, unable to respond to THE CHIEF.
THE CHIEF: Ha ha! That’s our Flow!
Be sure to tune in next time to THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THE FLOW, in which Blaine Gabbert tries to adjust to normal offseason life without being constantly bombarded by Jaguars fans, but then is slightly hurt when he realizes that nobody recognizes him anyway.
I want more like this!
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