Dungy: It is Christmas. CHRIST MASS. And yet, I do not feel that my beloved National Football League is operating as a proper vehicle for our Lord. Look at the way we’ve commercialized and bastardized the purity of Tim Tebow’s faith. There is a young man who knows MORAL COURAGE, a young man who isn’t afraid to speak out against abominations like ABORTION, and GAYS, and GAYBORTIONS. And yet, he’s been reduced to a mere talking point for the secular fundamentalists in our mainstream media! IS NOTHING SACRED?!

And now, as we near the birthday of our Savior Jesus Christ, I’m more concerned than ever. That filthy Rex Ryan and his band of dirty Jets players are STILL in the playoff hunt! This cannot be! What kind of country will we find ourselves living in if these, these… MISCREANTS were allowed into the postseason yet again! These are not ETHICAL creatures. They have refused my guidance at every conceivable turn, and now is the time for me to ACT! I must bring in one of my most trusted allies. Sergeant?

(door flies open)

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: THIS FUCKING GROUP OF CUMSWILLING MATCHDICKS OF MINE ARE SHIT! I HAD A FUCKING BATTLE PLAN IN PLACE AND THESE FRESHFACED, DAISY-PICKING SHEETBANGERS COULDN’T CATCH THE BALL IF IT HAD A FUCKING CHOCOLATE-COVERED THOUSAND DOLLAR BILL ATTACHED TO IT! FUCK!

Dungy: Dearest Coach Coughlin. You are a man of moral standing, are you not?

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: FUCKING GODDAMN RIGHT I AM. I HAVE TRIED TIME AND AGAIN TO INSTILL SOME DISCIPLINE IN ELI MANNING. I GUESS NOW I’LL HAVE TO PUT ON THE LATEX GLOVES AND DO IT RECTALLY. THAT BOY’S TESTICLES ONLY COME OUT ONCE A MONTH! FUCKING STILL SUCKING ON HIS MOM’S MILKY CLIT, THAT ONE.

Dungy: You must help me. You must do whatever you can to ensure that you triumph over those Jets this coming Sunday. We cannot have the league’s flagship franchise – your Giants – knocked from the playoffs by these Christmas banditos.

Sergeant Tom Coughlin: I THINK I HAVE A PLAN AND IF IT GOES WRONG I’LL JUST BLAME MY PLAYERS BECAUSE THEY ARE WORTHLESS SACKS OF SHIT AND THEIR PARENTS SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES FOR BEARING OFFSPRING THAT DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXECUTE A SIMPLE THIRD DOWN PASS PROTECTION SET. WHORES.

Dungy: Tell me the plan! I must know!

(Meanwhile, at Jets headquarters)

Mark Sanchez: Oh wow, Shonn! We got our asses kicked last week!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I mean, we barely even showed up!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I guess you could even say we were humiliated! That didn’t feel very good!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: Maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is just the kind of wakeup call we need to kick our season into high gear! Maybe, if we look at it the right way, we can see this loss as an early Christmas gift!

Shonn Greene: That’s retarded.

Mark Sanchez: You have to be positive, Shonn! I read a great Tony Robbins book this weekend to help deal with these very issues! To see adversity as a blessing, not unlike these two tickets I have to the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, featuring the Rockettes!

Shonn Greene: Dude.

Mark Sanchez: I know you think musicals are super lame, but I think you should let your guard down, Shonn! Stop trying to be so cool! Embrace your inner dork and enjoy song and dance, you know?

Shonn Greene: No.

(ground rumbling)

Mark Sanchez: It’s coach! I know he’ll see things my way, Shonn! I know it!

(door flies open)

Antonio Dungerson: Oh, hello! Just me, ANTONIO DUNGERSON, your local purveyor of drugs and escorts and in-temple money changing services! I was just in the neighborhood, delivering YOYO to my drug addict friends, when I realized I brought them one kilo too many!

Shonn Greene: Are you the guy that goes around trying to sell frozen steaks?

Antonio Dungerson: NO! Of course not! Just a simple street merchant peddling his wares! You guys look like you like to PARTY, as they say. I thought you might be down with a little bit of BLOKE, if you catch my drift.

Shonn Greene: Nuh nuh. Ain’t my thing.

Mark Sanchez: I don’t need to get high, sir. The only high I like is the high I get watching Sutton Foster tap dance.

Antonio Dungerson: DAMN YOU! I mean, what about lovely escorts? I know any number of ladies who will gladly perform sexual favors for the right price! They’ll do everything: the Birdy Sanchez…

Shonn Greene: You mean the Dirty Sanchez.

Antonio Dungerson: The Buick Skylark.

Shonn Greene: You mean the Bismarck.

Antonio Dungerson: The Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot.

Shonn Greene: I dunno what the hell that’s supposed to be.

Antonio Dungerson: IT DOESN’T MATTER! The point is… SIN! SIN FOR ALL! I am an agent of wickedness and I am here to lavish you with anything your heart desires! Surely, there is someone in this building who might enjoy the… DISTRACTION… of ladies and chemical substances, no?

(door flies open)

Wolfman Rob: OW-OOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Sanchez: Hey, it’s Coach’s brother!

Wolfman Rob: Where am I?! I blacked out in Amarillo and now I’m HERE! That ain’t right. Usually, when I black out, I end up in the same place: PATAGONIA. So this is a real skullfuck for yours truly.

Antonio Dungerson: Ah! Sir! SIR! MY new friends and I were just talking about how stressful the holidays can be, and how we ought to take refuge in the comfort of DRUGS and SEX.

Sanchez: We didn’t say any of that.

Antonio Dungerson: CALLATE!

Wolfman Rob: No, no. I had my fill of Vicodin and pussy last night, thank you very much. I was out with these six she-male prostitutes, and we went fucking NUTS. Ever party with she-males? ALL BETS ARE OFF. You’ve crossed into a whole new world when you’ve a got a tit in one hand and a dick in another. I went to the shitter here just now and I threw up a taco. A FULLY COOKED, UNEATEN TACO. In mint condition. I had half a mind to eat it again. How was I able to do that?! I haven’t regurgitated pristine food since the time I was coaching seniors in Finland.

Antonio Dungerson: Surely, you could use one more hefty dose of drugs, could you not? I have it all: SMAT, CHRONICLE, LEAN CUISINE…

Wolfman Rob: I just remembered! I GOT IT! I knew I threw up here for a reason. I got somethin’ I gotta tell my brother. Where the fuck is that asshole?

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. God, we SUCK! We suck the shit stains right out of Andy Reid’s underwear for him. We are AWFUL. It’s all my goddamn fault. Here I am talking about fighting a fucking and PUNCHING BALLS, and I can’t even put together a decent game plan! I SUCK. It makes me wanna go home and suck on a few toes.

Wolfman Rob: (burps)

Ryan: Hey, who invited the shuffleboard instructor?

Wolfman Rob: You did, ASS FAG.

Ryan: Come here, you fat fuck!

(both men wrestle each other)

Antonio Dungerson: Ahem!

Ryan: (sweating) Who the fuck are you? Say, you look familiar. Are you the Halal guy from outside? Because that kebab you gave me last week really did a number of my asshole. Looks like a 600-pound zit was popped down there.

Antonio Dungerson: No, no! I am merely an urchin.

Wolfman Rob: Like, one of those spiky things you see when you’re snorkeling?

Antonio Dungerson: I am a pleasure dealer. And I was just seeing if you gentlemen needed anything before the big game against the GIANTS. Perhaps some sort of sleeping pill that will cause you to miss the game?

Wolfman Rob: The Giants! That’s what I was gonna say! Listen, Rexinald…

Sanchez: Rexinald? Is that your real name, coach?

Ryan: Possibly.

Wolfman Rob: Listen, asshole brother of mine. You know I haven’t asked you for anything since that one time I asked to switch places with you in bed so I could feel Andrea Barley’s tits.

Ryan: Those were some hot tits.

Wolfman Rob: Yes they were. Now, I need your help again. I need you to beat the Giants. Because my defense BLOWS. It’s ass. And you just know that Jerry’s boy Romar or whatever is gonna shit all over the field the next two weeks. I need your help, you lovable fat shit. WE NEED TO BACK INTO THIS THING LIKE A VAN FULL OF COKE.

Ryan: I’m gonna do my best, but that means these boys here need to show some fucking PRIDE, Wolfman.

Sanchez: We’ve got pride, Coach.

Ryan: Do you, Nacho? Do you have pride? Because you barfed up refried beans all over that fucking field on Sunday!

Antonio Dungerson: I can help with that kind of problem. I know a certain little pick-me-up…

Ryan: Who the fuck is this?! This is a serious fucking football team here, Sketchboy! WE HAVE A FUCKING WAR TO PREPARE FOR.

Antonio Dungerson: (tears off mustache)

It is I! TONY DUNGY! YOUR LONGTIME NEMESIS! And I think I’ve seen enough here to know that you men lack the faith and serenity to EVER make a name for yourselves in this league!

Ryan: So… you’re NOT the kebab guy?

Dungy: NO! I AM A MESSENGER OF JEHOEVAH!

Wolfman Rob: Oh! So you sell Indian food.

Dungy: BRAINLESS CRETINS! YOU SHALL PERISH UPON THE FLAMES OF GOD’S QUICKSWORD! THOSE WHO LACK FAITH WILL NEVER KNOW TRUE VICTORY! And for the record, I was trying to sell you cocaine and hookers!

(shoots up to Heaven via tractor beam)

Wolfman Rob: I wish he’d come out and just said he had coke. I woulda bought a case of it.

Ryan: We’re in rough shape, men. We’re turning the ball over. We’ve got the Dunge hanging on our nuts. We’ve gotta play the one non-crippled Manning. THIS IS A FUCKING COCK-CHECK MOMENT FOR US! Do we all have our cocks? Shonn?

Shonn Greene: Yep.

Ryan: Wolfie?

Wolfman Rob: It’s down there somewhere.

Ryan: Nacho? You still got a beating cock in your pants? You take some gal to a Broadway to show to show her you’re all sensitive, and then matriculate your way into her cooch?

Sanchez: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, ol’ Nacho scored himself some of that hot wet Madame Butterfly action! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: This is us every year, isn’t it, men? Beaten down. Ready to give up. Left for dead by America. You tell me… DO WE HAVE THIS FUCKING LEAGUE RIGHT WHERE WE WANT IT?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: Are you ready to KILL?!

Everyone: YES!

Wolfman Rob: Yeah and are you ready to play some donkey darts?!

Everyone: (silent)

Wolfman Rob: What? It’s a fun game. Played it in Brazil. Super fun if you’ve got a baby donkey.

Ryan: I got this, Rob.

Wolfman Rob: Oh, okay.

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: We will fucking WIN this weekend. We will win, and then we will make the playoffs, and then we will FUCK AND CONQUER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? NO ONE CAN FUCK WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. NO ONE CAN KEEP YOU FROM BEING THE WAR MACHINE I KNOW YOU CAN BE. FUCKING KILL! FUCKING HURT! FUCKING ANGER! FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: WIN!

Wolfman Rob: Anyone know how I can get back to Dallas? I don’t have bus fare.

Ryan: Just start drinking again. You’ll end up there.

Wolfman Rob: That’s true!

Mark Sanchez: Damn, Shonn! I threw for four touchdowns last week!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I don’t feel like I threw that many TDs. I feel like I played worse than that.

Shonn Greene: You did.

Mark Sanchez: I wonder if Coach was on the verge of benching me.

Shonn Greene: I would’ve.

Mark Sanchez: Well, I think this win is just the kind of springboard we need to get back on track. I think we’re on our way to doing great things, and I can take us there! Don’t you think so?

Shonn Greene: Uh… I’m gonna get a snack.

Mark Sanchez: Shonn? Shonn! Come back! I need to know you trust me, man! COME ON!

(doorknob fondled creepily)

(door flies open)

Sex Cannon: Oh. Oh, am I in the wrong spot? I’m in a post-coital daze right now. Six women at the same time. I stacked them like pancakes and poured candied pecans on top of them. It was like the International House Of Poonani.

Sanchez: You’re not supposed to be here!

Sex Cannon: No, I suppose I’m not. But that’s me. I like to live on the edge. I like to go where I’m not supposed to, like into a woman’s small intestine. The forbidden places are where I feel MOST ALIVE.

Sanchez: Get the hell out of here!

Sex Cannon: Whoa hey, what’s your rush, kiddo? You feeling a bit… intimidated? You worried that perhaps, once your coach gets a look at this good thing (fondles own hips), he may not have a hunger for Mexican Throwgasms anymore? It’s understandable. I do that to other men. I’ll tell you a secret: Most of my friends are women. Men can’t relate to me. Also, I cannot have sex with them, because they have hairy assholes and my peepee can’t get past that.

Sanchez: You don’t scare me, Grossman. I’m the quarterback of this team, and I have the full faith and backing of my teammates. Cris Collinsworth said that I had great huddle presence. Isn’t that right, Shonn?

(crickets)

Sex Cannon: Full faith, eh? Let me tell you a little story, Mark. May I call you Mark?

(puts arm around Sanchez’s shoulder)

I was once like you, you see. I was a fresh-faced newbie eager to please. I was all, “We’re gonna win, you guys! And then we’ll go out for cake and ice cream!” And I thought my team had my back. But you know what happened? The first goddamn time I threw 42 picks in a season, I was out on my ass. These teams don’t have your back, Senorita. They’ll use you and throw you away like a gutter whore. So I decided a long time ago to flip the script. Teams aren’t using me. I’M USING THEM. I’m gonna use their platform to pump out as many long hot throws as I can. And if they don’t like it? FUCK THEM WITH A TROWEL. You catch my drift, amigo?

Sanchez: I’ll never be like you. NEVER. I care about my teammates.

Sex Cannon: Pity for you. I bet there’s a Mexican Fuckquistador just waiting to burst out of that protective girdle.

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. Oh, men. Men, took a shit this morning that had me blocked up like the goddamned Holland Tunnel. Soon as that turd got halfway out, it sat there in the pocket like a fucking rookie. And I had to figure out whether or not to dig that fucker out, or have faith in it to get me out of a jam. And sure as shit, forty minutes later that turd dropped. That’s you, Nacho. You are that green turd that needs a little more patience than I usually have.

Sex Cannon: I had that happen to me once when I was taking a dump on a freshman.

Ryan: Is that right?

Sanchez: Don’t listen to him, Coach. He’s not even supposed to be here.

Sex Cannon: I guess I just like violating things. Do you like violating things, Coach?

Ryan: You know I do.

Sex Cannon: I bet you and I could do some violating together, you know. You know I throw like I fuck, right?

Ryan: Let’s see it, buster.

Sex Cannon: All right.

(throws the ball seventy yards, gets intercepted by an overturned traffic cone)

Sex Cannon: HOW YOU LIKE THAT?

Ryan: Goddamn, that was impressive! You see that, Nacho?

Sanchez: Whatever.

Sex Cannon: AGAIN!

(throws the ball into the mouth of a homeless child)

Sex Cannon: BINGO BANGO! DOUBLE BONUS!

Ryan: I like your bravado, kid. You ever make that kind of throw with a double-pronged speculum?

Sex Cannon: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, El Cannonarino blasted one through tight double coverage! THAT’S GREAT HUSTLE!

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass, HARD)

Sex Cannon: Ooh. I like that. Do it again.

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass again)

Sex Cannon: HARDER! MORE INTENSE!

(slaps Sex Cannon on the ass again)

Sex Cannon: GIMME ALL YOU GOT!

Sanchez: I’m gonna be sick.

Sex Cannon: You know, Coach Ryan, I didn’t have any plans for after this season. Maybe you could use a bit of fresh air. Let me tell you a little something: Rex Grossman doesn’t give a FUCK. No defense scares him. No cornerback scares him. You can knock down the Sex Cannon all you like, but he is still gonna ATTACK, ATTACK, ATTACK! He isn’t gonna stop until someone is left on the bed, naked and panting and dripping with glistening skeet globules.

Sanchez: Don’t listen to him! He’s jaded and cynical! We have to beat him!

Sex Cannon: Shut up, kid. Come on, Coach. You know you want it. You know you want this arm knee deep in the Pats secondary, doing things to Devin McCourty that you never dreamed possible. Think of the deep penetration. IMAGINE THE HOT THROBBING FADES TO PLAXICO. Tell me you don’t think this could work. I’m tired of Magentamind bossing me around on the sideline. I want a REAL coach, and in a town swimming with pussy. What do you say?

Ryan: You drive a hard bargain, soldier. And I like your style. It’s just that…

(looks at Nacho)

Sanchez: (puppy dog eyes)

Ryan: Aw, hell. I can’t do it. Look at that kid. He fucking CARES. He may be a shitty QB. But dammit, he’s OUR shitty QB. I wouldn’t want to suck any other way.

Sex Cannon:You’ll regret this, Ryan. We could have had something together, you and I. Instead, you chose to go home with the fucking debate champ. See you Sunday. If you need me, I’ll be banging your wife’s ankles.

(disappears in mist of Axe Body Spray)

Sanchez: Coach, you stuck by me!

Ryan: Of course I did. That asshole’s crazy. He gives the ball away like rubbers at Planned Parenthood. Don’t get so fucking comfortable though, Nachayyyyyy. One call from Bill Polian and your ass is backup for three years, pending the physical!

Sanchez: I won’t let you down, Coach! I swear!

Ryan: Yeah yeah yeah. Just shut up and FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Men, I’ve never felt so unsure of myself in my life. I have no idea if you men are FUCKING WINNERS or not, and I’ve never felt that way before. You sons of bitches have five weeks to prove to me that you have the BALLS AND COCKS to be the fucking winners you were born to be. Can you do it?

Sanchez: Hey!

Ryan: ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO KILL?!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Last chance saloon, men. If you don’t fucking go hard now, we all go down. And I ain’t goin’ down without cuttin’ a few throats and fingerin’ a few snatches along the way. I AM NOT HERE TO FUCK AROUND ANYMORE. REX RYAN IS PUTTING ON HIS SERIOUS BEER GUT NOW. ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING MURRRRRRDER?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO CUM IN LADY VICTORY’S HAIR??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: FUCKING KILL ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: KILL!

(door flies back open)

Sex Cannon: Anyone see my spanking paddle? I may have dropped it.

Ryan: IT’S ALREADY BEEN CLAIMED!

Let’s do this, Rex. First order of business: BOUNTIES. A fresh whore to the man who supplies a Tebow part ripped clean from his body. Gotta settle for Jenn Sterger if you only draw blood.

[Bays for blood while beating knife and fork against kitchen table]

Oh, you shut up, Breer. We only like you because you serve as a handy counterexample to Peter King’s overpowering nutmeg-scented laziness. Don’t you start telling us things we don’t want to hear. “OMG HOW DO WE PREPARE FOR A QB WHO ONLY COMPLETES TWO PASSES A GAME?! PLEASE, JUST GIVE US ’07 BRADY INSTEAD. ANYTHING BUT THAT!”

The Patriots have lost two straight largely because their defense blows and the offense has no one capable of stretching the field. Last week, Eli Manning essentially replicated the game-winning Super Bowl XLII drive (MINUS THE LUCKIEST PLAY IN RECORDED SPORTING HISTORY ACCORDING TO BILL SIMMONS) and now the Patriots must travel to the Quasi-Newish Meadowlands to face their biggest rivals.

“FACK THIS TEAM! THEY AHHHH NAWT WORTHY OF THE PROUD NAME OF THE GREATRIOTS! THEY AHHHH REDUCED TO PLAINTRIOTS WHO PRAWBABLY EAT FRIED CHICKEN AND DRINK BE-AH IN THE HUDDLE! OCHOSTINKO DOUBLE FISTS FAHHTIES AWN THE SIDELINE. I SAWR HIM! CUT HIM NOW OR-AH TRADE BILLY B. TO THE CUBBIES”

It’s worth nothing that New England already soundly beat the Jets in their first encounter, but that was before Rex Ryan and Brian Schottenheimer arrived at the brilliant realization that perhaps the best course of winning for their team was entrusting as little responsibility to Mark Sanchez as possible. It’s called Tebow Tactics and it’s a proven godsend.

Continue after the jump for the original image in all its glory.

But a true champion, face to face with his darkest hour, will do whatever it takes to rise above. A man fights, and fights, and then fights some more. Because surrender is death, and death is for pussies.

Via the indispensable SI Vault twitter feed.

Thanks to all those who showed up for the live blog despite knowing this game was going to suck. Then rolling with it as it outsucked even the suckiest expectations. ESPN had Fireman Ed do the game intro. Yes, it was that bad. And things actually got worse from there. Brandon Marshall didn’t have the courtesy to do anything extraordinarily crazy or life-threatening. Matt Moore did his derpy best to provide laughs by throwing at Revis all night, but I’m afraid that’s not enough to carry a broadcast.

But a referee did get run over, which was nice. If you missed the game, allow me to save you three hours.

If only the Broncos had just gone ahead and traded Kyle Orton to the Dolphins, things might be somewhat better right now. Tim Tebow would have started right out of the gate for Denver – no fuss, no billboard bullsh*t. He would have sucked and probably would have already been benched by now. And the Dolphins would be marginally better at quarterback. Even if Orton had been injured as Chad Henne was, at least then Henne would be starting tonight instead of Matt Moore. Big deal, you scoff. WELL IT IS! Matt Moore makes Chad Henne look like Aaron Rodgers. This will not be fun. You remember that game last season between the Bears and Panthers where Chicago won 23-6 even though their starting QB, Todd Collins, completed 37.5 percent of his passes, threw four interceptions and had a QB rating of 6.2? Probably not, and you shouldn’t, but here’s a pertinent fact: MATT F*CKING MOORE WAS THE OPPOSING QUARTERBACK.

It’s all up to super cray-cray wide receiver Brandon Marshall to live up to his promise of a quarter and a half of amazing output before he does something derptarded and gets himself tossed from the game. Knowing him, he’ll punch a woman or something, but we’ll get to experience the shocking and disturbing moment together.

Mark Sanchez: Oh wow, Shonn. We’re in some serious trouble here!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Three losses in a row! Man, we suck right now!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: And you know what the worst part of it is? I think it might be my fault.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I feel like I’m losing the team. I feel like everyone has lost faith in me.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: What’s up with you, Shonn? You seem awfully curt today. Just a bunch of one-word answers.

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Oh, God. You, too? I’ve lost you, along with everyone else! OH NO! I can’t believe I’ve managed to lose my best friend in all this!

Shonn Greene: Best friend? The hell you talking about?

Mark Sanchez: We’re not best friends?

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: I thought we were best friends!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

Mark Sanchez: Christ, everything I’ve ever believed in has been a lie! What if I’ve been fooling myself this whole time? What if I’ve never been worth a damn? This is a spiritual crisis, Shonn!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: Maybe a trip to see “Mamma Mia!” would help get my head straight. Sometimes, it just feels so good to get away and lose yourself in ABBA.

Shonn Greene: (shakes head)

Mark Sanchez: I thought you liked musicals!

Shonn Greene: Nope.

(ground rumbling)

Mark Sanchez: Maybe coach will have it sorted out. I need help!

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: Oh, men. Oh… men. Men, I’m not going to sugarcoat it, because things that are sugarcoated are delicious. WE ARE SHIT. We are a big green turtle that poked out of a dirty Russian war criminal’s asshole and broke off down into a puddle of cold piss. I took a shit this morning, men. Big shit. HUGE shit. The kind of shit that makes you wonder if you just lost a vital organ. And all I could think about while that turd was running a go route was, “THIS IS US.”

Sanchez: So what can I help do about it?

Ryan: You, personally? Uh… well… uh…

(door flies open)

Silky Garrard: Hello. I was told to be here at this facility at 3PM today, which is why I’m here at 5:46PM.

Sanchez: Wait a second. What’s he doing here?

Silky Garrard: Sir! SIR! Take a seat, my Chicano friend. I know just the kind of entertainment you Latin men require. You must be tired. You must be aching after a long day working in the fields, picking organic blueberries for the local Trader Joe’s shipping facility just so you have enough money to send back to your five hundred family members down in Chiapas. I know your struggle all too well. Your hands must look GHASTLY, as if they were chewed on by a very large dog. I do not blame you for coming to me and asking for the companionship of my fine, fine, FINE ladies. Business has blossomed ever since the Jaguars so rudely showed Silky Garrard the door. Such a frugal enterprise down there. Wayne Weaver would only buy a woman from me if I let him pay with used waffles. Now, to show you your options for the evening’s latex party…

Ryan: Hold up, Silky. We don’t need the hookers. Yet. We need you for something else first.

Sanchez: Oh, God! You’re replacing me! That’s it, isn’t it? He’s here to take the starting job!

Ryan: Now, don’t go shittin’ your pantalones, Mark.

Sanchez: And you called me MARK! Oh, sweet Jesus! I’m not even worthy of a racist nickname anymore! I’M SHIT! I’M ASS! I need ABBA now more than ever!

Ryan: Hold on a goddamn second.

Sanchez: This is not all my fault, you know! Ask the wideouts!

(opens door to wideout room, where Plaxico, Santonio, and Mason are all punching Brian Schottenheimer in the nuts)

Ryan: God dammit, BREAK IT UP! BREAK IT UP! We do NOT punch members of the coaching staff in the nuts here! Except Alosi, because he’s a shithead.

Mason: You’re not throwing the ball to the wideouts enough!

Ryan: You got a smart mouth on you, Mason. I brought you in from Baltimore because I thought you were a WINNER. Instead, all you do is bitch about your grandkids not calling you!

Mason: Fuck you!

Ryan: Keep it up. I’ll ship you to HOUSTON. See what life is like working for Gary fucking Kubiak. You blow games with five seconds left and Kubes gets Dep all over you! And Wade steals lunches!

Mason: I’ll take it, BITCH. I’m outta here.

(traded to Houston)

Ryan: God dammit, we’re falling apart here!

Silky Garrard: That’s why you need the comfort of a good, strong bitch.

Ryan: That’s true, Silky. I like where your head is at. BUT WE NEED TO FOCUS FOR A MOMENT HERE! I need everyone to take a knee!

(everyone takes a knee)

Sanchez: Actually, can we stand? This is really uncomfortable.

Santonio: Yeah, this floor is concrete and shit.

Ryan: Stand, sit, stick your thumb up your butt, WHATEVER. Just gather in my general vicinity.

(everyone gathers round)

Ryan: I told you I wouldn’t sugarcoat it and I haven’t. We all suck right now. I’ll take the blame for it. Schottenheimer will take the blame for it. Shit Taco over there will take the blame for it.

Sanchez: Hey, I have a nickname again!

Ryan: SHUT UP. Look, I don’t always have the answers. And I’d be a shit leader if I pretended I did. You’d know I was bullshitting you, and I will NEVER bullshit you boys. We’re fucking up right now. But it’s not like we haven’t played like shit in the past, am I right? We figured it out after a while, and we got back to winnin’ games and bangin’ strippers. But we only figured it out because we stayed TOGETHER. None of this girly finger-pointing dogshit. You can blame me all you like, and I can blame you all I like. But it ain’t gonna do us any good, now will it? It’s not gonna magically get us to stop fucking up.

Sanchez: But then… how do we stop fucking up?

Ryan: Well… I think that we… We probably ought to… You know, there’s a good bit of tape we could study… OH FUCK IT. JUST BRING OUT THE HOOKERS.

Silky Garrard: Your wish is my command.

(brings out the hookers)

Silky Garrard: I was feeling a certain Asian flair today. These girls just arrived from Myanmar in an airtight shipping container. They may be a touch light-headed. They were not given names at birth, only three-letter passcodes. RFQ over there likes dolls and having her hair pulled. FGP has never spoken a word in her life. She might have brain damage. Prices have been tattooed on their fannies.

Ryan: (hands out cash) Go, men! GO! Do what you have to do!

(everyone has sex with a hooker)

(ten minutes later)

Ryan: Does everyone feel better?

Sanchez: My penis itches.

Silky Garrard: That’ll happen.

Ryan: What about you, Dichabod? You happy now?

Santonio: Well, I…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, Dichabod Crane took a ride on the Orient Express! THAT’S GREAT FUCKING HUSTLE!

(slaps Holmes on penis, HARD)

Santonio: Ouch!

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: Listen, let’s not get lost in our own asses here. It’s early. And did you see who we’re playing this week? We’re playing the DOLPHINS. They’re fucking shittier than we are! All it takes is one win, men. All it takes is one goddamn little win to make it all right. One win, and suddenly our differences don’t seem so big. One win, and suddenly pussy tastes just a little bit sweeter.

Santonio: Speaking of tasting pussy, I think I might have some kind of sexual gum infection now, Coach.

Ryan: Quiet! I’m getting in a rhythm here. One win, men. One win and you’ll remember how the fuck it’s done. You’ll remember that you are WINNERS. That you are all eight-tentacled, whale-raping seabeasts! That you can still FIGHT AND FUCK AND KILL. You like fighting and fucking and killing, don’t you?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: I’m glad we’re going through this right now, men. I truly am. It’s a ball-check moment for all of us. I look around this room and I see men who are hurt, and angry, and want to strangle a stray cat. I like that. I like that this has pissed you off, because right now I’M SO GODDAMN PISSED I COULD TEAR OUT NACHO’S HEART AND FUCKING EAT IT. AND I MIGHT, BECAUSE THEN I COULD BENCH HIS ASS.

Sanchez: Hey!

Ryan: This is the moment that we’re gonna look back on. When we’re sitting on top of the fucking world in February, we’re gonna point to this month right here and said THIS is when our balls dropped. When we became the anger. When we became the red blood fog that consumed cities whole. WHEN WE BECAME FUCKING DEATH. ARE YOU READY TO BECOME DEATH?!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO COME FUCKING CORRECT??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO REST YOUR BALLS ON THE CHIN OF VICTORY??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU FUCKING READY TO MUTILATE AND DISMEMBER??????

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: We’re gonna get that one fucking win, and then we’re all gonna go back upstairs and enjoy Round 2 with Silky’s finest!

Silky: You get 10% off your second insertion.

Ryan: FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: WIN!

Ryan: Do you take a credit card?

Silky: Cash or coke only, please.

During the Sunday Night Football Night In Redundancy Night pregame show, Bart Scott dubbed himself “The Mad Backer” which is just about as stupid a nickname as the “T-Sizzle” moniker belonging to former teammate and tonight’s opponent, Terrell Suggs. Not to be outdone, Terrell Suggs did what he does in preparation of any big game – he resorted to TEE SHIRT TRASH TALK! DOWN WITH HOMEWORK! DONE WITH HOMEWORK!

Ha ha, it’s so funny until you realize Bart Scott gets paid royalties on those shirts. (UPDATE: or not.)

Anyway, these two teams played a painfully sloppy game in Week 1 last year, so let’s hope for something just a little more watchable this go-round. Also, the swift end of Ray Lewis’ playing career. Not asking for much, here.

Dungy: For the past few years, I have seen my beloved NFL become overrun with loudmouth coaches and deranged hooligans with no semblance of respect for authority of Jesus. It is travesty, I tell you. What was once a league of QUIET STRENGTH has now succumbed to our worst secular impulses: selfishness, greediness, look-at-meism! I won’t tolerate it any longer. I will not sit idly by while that disgusting REX RYAN and his band of foul-mouthed cretins sully the inherent Godliness of our most American sport! That’s why I called on you. I know you understand where I’m coming from. I feel like we can see eye-to-eye. You and me, we understand each other, do we not?

Garrett: Hmm. Yes. Indeed. Such a shame that this league lacks MORAL FIBROUSNESS. It lacks a, dare I say, Princetonian element of intelligence and rectitude. Oh sure, there’s a place for fun. A time for GOOD EATINGS, and consecrating the bond of obedience. But I agree with you, dear Sir. Such ruffianage from the Jets has NO PLACE in our beloved League.

Dungy: Yes, yes! That’s right! I knew you’d understand. You see where all this is going! You can see how the legalization of gay marriage in New York and the flamboyant style of play that the Jets deploy and Mark Sanchez’s love of showtunes are converging to DESTROY OUR NATION! They must be stopped. They WILL be stopped.

Garrett: Never you fear, dear Coach Dungy. For I have found the ultimate interloper. A man who knows the way of our enemy inside and out. But I’m afraid it means getting your hands a bit dirty. It involves to sinking well below merely just the state university level of acceptable behavior. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared to risk your very soul to do what is right for the Dallas Football Cowboys?

Dungy: I am.

Garrett: Very well.

(door flies open)

Wolfman Rob: OWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Dungy: My God, the stench! It’s like being near Peter King’s wastepaper basket! This is not the smell of godliness!

Wolfman Rob: Fuckin’ Tony Dungy! Goddddddamn! That is one fine mustache you have on there, sir. Let me tell you about the mustachioed woman I fucked in the ass. 1984. Key West. I saunter into the Cuche Cantina and who do I see running the food out but the prettiest little goddamn girl from San Juan you ever saw! Skin the color of mole sauce! I licked my beard and went right for that ass, and then she turns around and I’ll be goddamned if she didn’t have a mustache just like yours right there, sir. God, just looking at your face right now makes my dick hard. Wait, that came out wrong.

Dungy: He’s even worse than I could have imagined.

Garrett: Trust me! He knows things! To defeat the heathen you must think like one! Wait for the tequila to wear off and he’ll offer us a treasure trove of information!

Wolfman Rob: Now my brother likes to fuck feet, but me? I’ll come on your rabbit.

Garrett: Sit tight. It may be a while.

Dungy: Guhhhhhhh…

(Meanwhile, at Jets headquarters)

Mark Sanchez: Hey, Shonn! The season is almost here!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I wonder if we’ll win the Super Bowl! Do you think we can win the Super Bowl?

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: I guess I’m the biggest question mark. If I throw the ball as inaccurately as I know I can, we might be fucked!

Shonn Greene: Yup.

Mark Sanchez: You think Coach has a plan?

(ground rumbling)

Shonn Greene: Shit, he back from Blimpie.

(door flies open)

Ryan: HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS?

Sanchez: Hey, Coach!

Ryan: I feel fucking great! DO YOU FEEL FUCKING GREAT BECUASE I FEEL FUCKING GREAT! I FEEL LIKE I COULD HIT A HOME RUN WITH MY BONER, I’M SO FIRED UP!

Sanchez: We’re very excited, Coach.

Ryan: Oh, men. MEN. Men, ever since this god-awful piece-of-shit no-good motherfucking shit-eating cocksucking asshole-blasting taint-caving lockout ended, I have more energy than I’ve ever had! I feel like I could run for five whole minutes, I’m so full of piss! ARE YOU FULL OF PISS, NACHO? MEXICAN PISS SMELLS LIKE MEXICO!

Sanchez: I’m doing just fine, sir.

Ryan: Nacho, your new name is Graziella, because you’re a homo who likes musicals. Don’t think I didn’t check out that interview with you in GQ while I was busy nuking the bathroom at Blimpie! You should have seen what I left in that bowl. I traded them a footlong for a footlong!

Sanchez: Sir, I’m not ashamed of my love of musicals. I actually think it’s quite manly to embrace pursuits that other men might find…

Ryan: I HEARD YOU BANGED THE SHIT OUT OF HEROES GIRL.

Sanchez: That was just a rumor.

Ryan: Oh, come on, Graziella. We can talk honest. It’s ME. I know you don’t wanna fight me anymore, you big pussysquirt. You know you hit that pint-sized ass.

Sanchez: Well, if we’re being frank…

Ryan: Oh! Oh! Oh, our little Graziella took his girl home for a limited-run production of “Dicks in Dolls”! THAT’S GREAT FUCKING HUSTLE!

(slaps Sanchez on ass, HARD)

Sanchez: Ouch!

Ryan: Now, men! First order of business today is PROTECTION. My twin brother, who is as sleazy a sack of shit as you will find on this planet Earth, which is why I love him so much, is gonna use just as many Ryan-approved dirty tricks as me. So we need to prepare! I want everyone’s knees wrapped in heavy duty Kevlar, and you’re gonna want to keep your daughters locked in your treehouse until the Wolfman has left town. He treats girls like a Payless Shoe Store. He comes in all sizes. Now, to protect yourself from “bounty nutgrabs,” we have to…

(door flies open)

Jones: NYEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW!!!! FUCKING CAT DAMN YEEHAW!!!! HOLY FUCKING YEEHAW I AM READY TO YEEHAW!

Ryan: Oh, who the hell let his ass in the door?

Jones: Well well well, loogee what we got here! THE FUCKING TOKEN AFC TITLE GAME WHORES THEMSELVES. You boys look ready for another season of just not quite being good enough! If it’s any consolation, YOU CAN HAVE ONE OF MY GRAYING BALL HAIRS! How’s your team doing, Fat-ipus Rex?

Sanchez: What do you want, Mr. Jones?

Jones: And if it isn’t your little wetback QB! Promoted all the way from dishwasher! I’m very excited to see what kind of errant passes you have in store for us Sunday night, young man! You think you’re a star? WHY DON’T YOU TALK TO MY BOY ROMO AND LEARN WHAT REAL STARDOM IS ALL ABOUT! BECAUSE HE’S A FUCKING STAR! Did I not tell you people he’s a star?

Sanchez: I don’t think you and I have ever spoken bef…

Jones: HE’S A STAR! A STAR WITH A 100-WATT SMILE AND A 200-WATT FUCKPOLE! I am here to tell you gentlemen today that I know what you’re up to. I see all your antics on the TV and I see your coach huffin’ and puffin’ to the media like a used dildo salesman. You boys think you’re the marquee franchise! YOU BOYS THINK YOU’RE THE A-LIST! Well, I got news for you: THERE’S ONLY ONE AMERICA’S TEAM AND IT’S THE ONE WITH THE STAR ON THE HELMET! You can’t even upstage the only functional Manning!

Ryan: You can have your America’s Team title, Jerral. It’s the perfect title for your little band of shitlickers. No one in this country can find a fucking job, and no one on your team can find a fucking divisional playoff win.

Jones: THREE FUCKING SUPER BOWL TITLES UNDER THE DOUBLE J, YOU FAT TWAT! Let’s see you top that, you Crisco-licking shit! You’re too busy fucking toes to know that your QB ain’t a real STAR! Well, let me tell you something right now. You can have all the media attention you like. You can hog the spotlight all you want. The Double J don’t mind ONE BIT. We’re doin’ things a bit different these days, not the Foot Fisting Way like you! We’re doin’ it with DIGNITY. With INTEGRITY. We’re flying under the radar. I told seventeen different reporters that myself this morning! We’re going to win with QUIET STRENGTH. The Double J ain’t afraid to go all classy this time around! In fact, I’ve secured the finest table at Houlihan’s along with two extremely well-dressed hookers to make the announcement! I’m gonna wear all my pinky rings and my Pope hat with the Stetson brim! THE COWBOY WAY WILL BE THE RIGHT WAY! And I’ve got a secret weapon at my disposal! He’s spilling the beans to your enemies as we speak!

(over at Valley Ranch)

Wolfman Rob: So I’m fuckin’ this hooker down at the Safari Motel Inn, and she start screamin’ out FUCK ME IN THE BEEFHOLE! FUCK ME IN THE BEEFHOLE! And I hear ol’ Rexy’s hooker screaming the EXACT SAME THING through the wall from the next room over, at the exact same time! Those two gals were workin’ off a script! Have you ever been both impressed AND let down all at once?

Dungy: How much longer must we endure this?

Garrett: Don’t worry. He’s winding down. I can sense it.

Wolfman Rob: Now another time, we’re in Puerto Vallarta, and I ask if we can have a burro in the room to watch, and the girl had NO PROBLEM with it, seeing as how it was her family’s burro…

(back to Jets HQ)

Ryan: I ain’t afraid of The Wolfman, Jerral.

Sanchez: Wolfman?

Ryan: That’s my nickname for Rob. Always on the hunt, that one. Watch for him during the full moon. He goes into the woods and does stuff I don’t really want to know about.

Jones: YOU PEOPLE AREN’T PAYING ATTENTION TO ME AND HOW UNDERSTATED I’M BEING!

Ryan: You go back to the Wolfman and you tell him that Bubbo is ready for his ass.

Sanchez: Bubbo?

Ryan: NO TIME TO EXPLAIN IT.

Jones: Oh, you better be ready. Because I have paid that bearded freakshow top dollar to rip that dirty Mexican’s knee apart like a quinceanera dress! THE DOUBLE J WILL HAVE HIS GLORY, AND TAKE YOUR WIFE’S LITTLE PIGGY HOOFERS WITH HIM WHEN HE DOES! YEEEEEEHAWWWWWW I AM FUCKING CRAZY!!!

(leaves)

(back at Valley Ranch)

Wolfman Rob: Now, the secret to makin’ love to a black woman is to KEEP UP THE CHATTER.

Dungy: The plan! You must give us the plan!

Wolfman Rob: Oh, right! The gameplan! Well, they don’t have Damien Woody anymore. Why don’t we just flip DeMarcus to the opposite side, and let him rape Wayne Hunter to death?

Garrett: Splendid! You see? PATIENCE HAS PAID OFF NOT UNLIKE A FINE PRINCETON EDUCATION.

Dungy: I could have figured that out myself five hours ago! You people aren’t of the Christliness I’m looking for!

(disappears in a puff of red vapor)

Garrett: Heavens to Betsy, what a cold fish! Remind me not to invite him to Muffin’s Kentucky Derby party this spring!

Wolfman Rob: HORSES? Let me tell you about love in a stable…

Garrett: Oh, God.

(back at Jets HQ)

Ryan: FUCKING BRING IT IN, MEN.

(everyone brings it in)

Ryan: I don’t give a shit what that Arkansas hillbilly says, and I don’t give a shit who’s a star and who isn’t. I don’t tell the world I think you men are FUCKING WINNERS just so everyone can blow smoke up my balls. I say it because I believe it. DO YOU?!

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: This is a gift, men. Right here? This game? This weekend? The chance to finally strap it on again and fucking MURDER someone? That’s a gift. It’s like Christmas, only instead of shaking your presents, YOU KICK THE SHIT OUT OF THEM. This is what I live for, men. The rest of my life is just waiting for Sundays. Anytime I’m driving in my car or licking my wife’s shoes, I’m just waiting for Sunday. And I’ve waited a looooong time for this particular Sunday. And I know you have, too. This almost didn’t happen. And now that we finally have our Sundays back, are we gonna spend it sitting on our dicks?

Everyone: NO!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING SPEW FIRE AND MAKE THE MOUNTAINS BURN??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO TAKE WHAT IF FCUCKING YOURS AND GRIND THOSE TEXAS CUNTS DOWN INTO THE SWAMP??!!!

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: ARE YOU READY TO FIGHT? TO KILL? TO MAIM? TO MUTILATE? ARE YOU READY TO FUCKING PLAY FOOTBALL??????

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: FUCKING HANDS IN!

(hands in)

Ryan: We’re gonna fucking win, and then we’re all gonna go out for Chinese food and oiled handjobs. FUCKING WIN ON THREE! ONE TWO THREE!

Everyone: WIN!

Ryan: Hoo boy, I gotta call my brother and remind him the knife collection still ain’t legal.

Sanchez: I wish it was Sunday right now.