unrealized scripts

Friday, March 16, 2007

The Born-Again Athlete

A short film with a whole lot of awesome action packed football montages

*beep-beep* *beep-beep*

I wake-up in a hospital bed and it's a pretty heavy scene. The only thing around me is a group of doctors who start talking to me about my accident, how long I've been out, what they did to me...blah, blah, blah. I'm bored as shit. I feel like I've done pretty good so far in my life, you know. I tried to be a good man, got up every morning and went to work each day. I figured that God would be smiling down on me for all my beautiful virtues, but it turned out he wasn't. He decided that it was time for him to show me who's boss, so he made some asshole run me off the road and into a tree. It wrecked me pretty good and put me on my near-deathbed. One thing ol' God didn't count on though was what those genius docs would do to me. As soon as I woke-up from the coma I could tell something was different, but I didn't care enough to ask. The doctors finally tell me that they decided to do an experimental surgery on me and replaced my heart with some parts of a motorcycle engine. I was like, "cool". As long as I'm not crippled and can still get feed the snake some blood, I'm good.

My wife and everybody wants to know what I'm going to do with my new second chance at life. Motivational Speaker? Charity Spokesman? Churchgoer? Organ Donor?

"FUCK NO!", I says to them, I says "I'M GOING TO PLAY FOOTBALL."

My wife starts to cry, so that is when I tell her that I told the docs to take out my tear ducts too. She divorces me, but I smoked the papers instead of signing them.

Trying to realize my gridiron dreams, I start hanging out at the local high school cause I don't know where else to start. Eventually some of the football players start hanging with me because I can buy beer and one night we decide to play 40-40, a race to see who can drink a 40oz then run the 40 yard dash the fastest. I smoke everyone. I'm so goddamn good at the 40-40 that the word spreads to the football coach and he decides to come check me out. He's impressed with my skills, so we make a deal that he'll sneak me into the NFL combine and if I give him my car. Done. The NFL scouts love my skills and my speed, but I fail the physical because of my cursed engine heart. NFL officials escort me out of the combine, so I hit the nearest bar. Hard. Once I'm finally starting to feel a buzz a man sits down beside me. His name is Bobby. He is a team medic and loved my playing so much that he wants to switch his x-rays with mine, so that I can play. Bobby is a good man, but Nam messed him up real good, so I'm not buying it and keep on drinking. He continues and tells me he's a millionaire ex-player and that anything can be bought in the NFL. The real reason he likes me, however, is because he lost his legs in a motorcycle accident and wants to see a half-human like himself play ball. It's a real sad story about his legs and he begins crying towards the end. I tell him that I had my tear ducts removed, so he stands up on his steel rod legs, salutes me and tells me that the football was created in my image.

Because of my twink-like frame the head coach of the team isn't buying into the idea of me, so during the last day of tryouts the coach offers a million bucks in cash to anyone that can take me out of commish because he's sick of seeing a twink walk away from bearish hits. I take about 3 hours worth of hits before the coach comes running up to me like Mt. Vesuvius on exploding day;

"I can't. Got no ducts"
"Just into Touchdowns."
"We play on Sundays"

I see Bobby kneeling on the sidelines crying like the happiest baby in the world. I give him a head-rub and tell him to get ready for a promotion. Needless to say, with my engine heart and Bobby calling my plays like an attack on Saigon, we win the Super Bowl that year. And the year after that. And the year after that. I set more records in my first three years then most players do in their whole career (most notably causing the most concussions with my chest). After three years though I thoroughly bored. While most players are interested in making money, starting families and all kinds of other things that people love and cry over, I am only interested in touchdowns, so with Bobby's money and my all-star rep we start our own expansion team. The Hawaii Man-Gods.

Our team works like this, we draft players, have them sign a contract and then Bobby replaces their hearts and takes out their tear ducts in the team locker room. It's a risky procedure, but Bobby's always improving. It is decided that I'll be the head coach and Bobby the play caller. He calls the plays like he's still in the midst of Nam, cries everytime we score a touchdown and I keep the guys up to par on the execution side. We, of course, win the Super Bowl, but the notable thing is that I am the first player in history to win coach of the year and be MVP of the Super Bowl. Bobby is overwhelmed at our success and can not stop crying from happiness. I, however, feel nothing than the usual emptiness that I've always felt while not in the endzone. Then, it is announced that the NFL has to decided to have a special double trophy presentation for me in my home of Hawaii. In attendance at the ceremony are all the head coaches, every living hall of fame player and my team of heartless followers. The two trophies are unveiled in front of me and a rainbow suddenly sprouts from each one. The 'bows fly over the stadium's goalposts and off behind the volcanoes in the distant. Something begins to come over me, a feeling I don't recognize. It almost feels like an erection coming from underneath my eyes. The feeling becomes so intense that I'm about ready to have an orgasm when my eyes become filled with blood. I feel the blood pour down my face for a couple of seconds and then pass out. They rush me to the hospital, but I die on the way. Exploded ducts. I guess Ol God decided to show me who's boss again with his double rainbow launch. The sentimental acts from the good men of the NFL and the cruel beauty of nature caused me to catch an emotion like a case of Bird Flu. What God doesn't know though is that Bobby is building a statue of me in Hawaii so that forever I will remain a god amongst the men of the NFL. As far as football is concerned God and I will be equals.


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