EXT. A TELEPHONE BOOTH. BALTIMORE ALLEY. RAINY. LATE NIGHT.
Baltimore head coach John Harbaugh is drunk, drool and spittle ooze from his mouth, flows down his chin and cheeks, then gathers itself and drips onto a grimy telephone handset.
Ugh, ugh, guh, gug, gah, gug.
ANGLE INT. KITCHEN IN UPSCALE PALO ALTO HOME. NIGHT. WE SEE A SOBER JIM HARBAUGH, SAN FRANCISCO HEAD COACH, GRIP HIS iPHONE.
What are you doing in a phone booth?
I don’t deserve a cell phone.
Your team played ugly. You had so many chances to win and blew every one.
JOHN (takes a double swallow from a bottle of scotch)
Fucking Flacco scumbag. And that punk, Lee Evans, drops a pass in the end zone. FUCKING END ZONE! Ball hits him in the gut, 27 seconds left in the game, and he drops the BALL! Make the catch and we’re in the Super Bowl. But, OH NO, instead of being four points ahead, fuckhead drops the ball, or has it stripped, same thing. Fucking worthless mutant.
You think that’s bad? Alex Smith went all Alex Smith on me. The sniveling son of a bitch reverted to his old self in the fourth quarter. Couldn’t take the pressure. Nothing but shit passes. Couldn’t throw the ball to a receiver who wasn’t double-covered.
JOHN (ignores his brother, takes another slosh of scotch)
Then, we get the ball back. Incredible. Miracle. Fifteen seconds left in the game, little boy Cundiff has a 32-yard chip shot, a gimme of a field goal to tie and go into overtime. And the puke MISSES! Choke-ass son of a bitch MISSES THE GIMME!
INT. MEQUON, WISCONSIN, DEN. (Dad, Jack Harbaugh, comes on the line)
John, son, that was an ugly, ugly game.
JOHN (gulps down another slug of scotch)
Not as ugly as the time you ran over my tennis racket in the driveway. Remember how you LAUGHED?
MOM (Jackie pulls the phone from Dad)
Johnny, dear, your father’s right, that was ugly.
JOHN (guzzles the rest of the scotch)
YES, I KNOW, MOTHER! Remember how ugly it was when you told the police I wasn’t your child? By the way, do you have ANY IDEA how much I hate Baltimore and this funky-ass franchise? Art Modell and the fucking storybook Baltimore Colts. La-de-da. It never ends. Besides, what about Jim? His team sucked, too.
INT. BLOOMINGTON, INDIANA, LIVING ROOM (sister Joani is on the line)
John boy, lousy game. Ugly. Are you drinking again?
JOHN (smashes the telephone booth door with his head)
I WASN’T DRUNK DURING THE GAME! What about Jim? Little brother always gets off. Always takes the easy way home. His big-deal punt returner, Kyle Williams, fumbles TWO punt returns, the last one in overtime, which puts the ball on the 24-yard line and LOSES THE GAME! And what about precious-teacher’s-pet quarterback Alex Smith? He couldn’t make a third down all day. He went 1-13 on THIRD DOWNS! Fourth quarter, money time, everything on the line, and he was PATHETIC! He CHOKED! Why aren’t you all on Jim’s ass? Why isn’t he Mr. Ugly Game?
MOM, DAD, SIS, BROTHER (in unison)
IT’S MORE FUN WHEN YOU LOSE!!!
Fade In 2: january 16, 2013