The premise: Coming off a Super Bowl victory, the Patriots open the 2013 season with a blowout win. Unfortunately, they get into trouble for Spygate II. As punishment, Roger Goodell orders the Patriots to fire Bill Belichick and replace him with Emmitt Smith. Three years later, the Patriots beat the Bears in the Super Bowl, 2-0. After the game, Emmitt announced his retirement.
This is a weekly feature that will take a newspaper reporter's perspective and follow Emmitt through his post-retirement days.
By Alex Rodriguez, Special to the NFL Bible Network Monday, Dec. 3, 2018
They were late. They were always late. Aldon Smith's two best friends were completely unreliable, especially when it came to punctuality, but at least they were loyal. They, along with his girlfriend, were the only people he could trust right now.
Aldon thought about his girlfriend and realized the pain she might be going through right now. She hadn't slept in days, constantly sitting by her son as he rested in his hospital bed. Poor little Taco didn't hurt anyone. He was the sweetest kid Aldon had ever met. What sort of monster would poison would him? One thing was for sure though - Aldon would get revenge.
Aldon spat at the ground angrily, but was immediately startled when he heard some commotion behind him. His two friends approached him, arguing about something important.
"Deanna Troi was definitely the hottest chick on Star Trek, man," said Skinny Jaguar, a slender man wearing a skull cap and a Sacramento Jaguars' No. 14 jersey.
"No way man, I think you've forgotten how big the jugulars on Seven of Nine were, bro," replied Tiger, a chubbier man with unkempt hair, donning a Kansas City Chiefs' No. 82 uniform.
Aldon usually liked arguing with Tiger and Skinny Jaguar, but time was precious. He needed to complete his mission as quickly as possible to save Taco.
"You guys have it?" snapped Aldon impatiently.
"Yeah, calm down, man, my guy I knew from my playing days came through," Skinny Jaguar replied calmly. He opened his bag and handed some C-4 to Aldon.
"Hey, Aldon, we were wondering if..." Tiger started, but Aldon interrupted him because he didn't want to hear any of it.
"I'm not blowing up any buildings," Aldon interjected. "Don't worry about it."
"No, man, we were wondering if you had any of that blue cat urine that you and your boss cook up," Skinny Jaguar said. Aldon didn't feel like dealing with this, so he just shook his head, put the C-4 in his bag and climbed into his car.
Aldon arrived at the designated meeting place, a hot dog stand on the outskirts of town, 20 minutes later. His boss was already there waiting for him.
"You're late," the hooded man hissed, though his mouth did not move.
"I'm sorry," Aldon said unapologetically. "My friends were... never mind. So, when are we going to do this, Aar-"
"Say my name, the hooded man interjected, emphasizing the final word.
"Ugh, fine, Belichick," Aldon grumbled.
"You're damn right," the hooded man growled, staring back blankly.
Aldon and his boss went over their plan. They were going to lure the man responsible for Taco's illness, an elderly, bespectacled man who goes by the name of "Pescados," into a room by promising him that they'd cook up the purest blue cat urine the world has ever seen. Pescados, a shrewd businessman, would undoubtedly take the bait, as his buyers have yearned for the potent blue cat urine that Belichick and Aldon have produced.
"What if he doesn't fall for our trick?" Aldon asked, still unsure the plan would work.
"It will," Belichick declared confidently, his mouth still not moving. "Besides, I have a Plan B."
Hours later, Belichick met with Pescados at Los Pescados, a fish-and-chips restaurant that the cat-urine drug lord used as a front. Belichick told Pescados about his new, fresh batch of blue cat urine. The cautious Pescados seemed eager, but thought this seemed to be too good to be true. That's when Belichick revealed the ace up his sleeve.
"I know your true name, and your only surviving relative is at this location," Belichick whispered, handing Pescados a slip of paper. The color drained out of Pescados' face almost instantly. Got him, Belichick thought confidently.
Sure enough, Pescados sprinted to his car and sped away to the address Belichick handed to him. He arrived at the nursing home within minutes. He ran up the stairs and into the designated room, where he saw Brandon Lloyd gagged and tied up to a chair.
"It's me, Christopher Lloyd!" Pescados shouted. "You and I are the only Lloyds left on this planet because someone's been killing them all!"
Brandon tried screaming to warn Christopher, but his mouth was covered. It was too late anyway.
"This is for little Taco!" Aldon bellowed, pressing the button. The explosion was deafening. There was smoke, fire and ash everywhere. Aldon was alarmed when he saw Pescados emerge from the room to fix his tie, but the elderly actor collapsed because half of his face was blown off.
Aldon ran to Belichick, who was watching from afar.
"We did it!" Aldon rejoiced. "We got the monster who put Taco into a coma with a really bad case of herpes!"
Belichick smiled. Pescados was gone. He took down the kingpin, and now that title belonged to him. His only regret was not outright killing Taco; the little kid was very annoying, so giving him herpes was quite pleasurable.
A FATEFUL BARBEQUE AT BELICHICK'S HOUSE
By Alex Rodriguez, Special to the NFL Bible Network Monday, Dec. 10, 2018
Life couldn't be better for Belichick over the following week. He and Aldon cooked up 50 tons of blue cat urine and sold it all to drug lords all throughout America. They even shipped some of their product overseas with the assistance of a trepid woman.
"This better not get back to me," she warned, pointing at both Aldon and Belichick, all while some neo-Nazi jerked himself off while staring at her from afar.
Belichick raked in tons of money, and best of all, he was able to use Pescados' death to clear himself for all of the Lloyd deaths. When the two men met at Los Pescados, Belichick planted a list of Lloyds he murdered in Pescados' pocket. He then called Emmitt and told him that he saw Pescados arguing with Brandon Lloyd earlier. With that "tip," Emmitt searched Pescados' corpse and found the list.
"Coach Billick, you not just a national hero, but you a international hero," Emmitt said. "And international hero better than national hero because it have the word 'inter' in front of itselves."
Belichick shook Emmitt's hand, though his face still did not move. Emmitt still thought this was very strange, but didn't think twice about it after Belichick extended an invitation to him for a celebratory barbeque at his house on Sunday.
"I'll be there with doorbells on," Emmitt replied warmly.
Sunday arrived quickly, and upon seeing his guest arrive, Belichick showed Emmitt around his humble abode.
"This is the kitchen, where my son eats breakfast all the time," Emmitt said. "Here's some random room where you won't want to dig into the floor, and there's the baby's room where you shouldn't check the air vent. There's my son's room, and there... uh, oh... I forgot to clean that out."
Emmitt peered inside and saw a whole line of masks in that dark room. Many of the masks looked like Belichick's own face.
"Coach Billick, why do you has a room of mask in your house?" Emmitt asked.
"Uhh... well... umm..." Belichick stammered. "It's... uhh... for Halloween! Yeah, for Halloween! I love Halloween, so I wear masks of myself on Halloween, and I need lots of them to... uhh... make sure I don't run out."
Belichick reached slowly for a concealed revolver that he had tucked under his shirt, but to his surprise, Emmitt bought the story, smiling and nodding.
"Yes, Halloween is my favorite national holiday of the year," Emmitt said. "Everybody give out candy and chocolate on Halloween, but I like to take it four step farther. When the kid comes to my house and yell 'Track or Treat,' I give themself Christmas present for Halloween."
Belichick wanted to ask why Emmitt didn't just refer to those gifts as Halloween presents instead of Christmas presents, but he decided to let it go because Emmitt bought his story so willingly. Belichick then led Emmitt outside, where they ate some grilled cheeseburgers and hot dogs.
The two men chatted a bit afterward, but Emmitt felt his bowels move from digesting so much meat.
"Coach Billick, do you mine if I use your toilet room because I feel my balls movin'?" Emmitt asked.
"Sure, it's the second door on the left," Belichick replied.
Emmitt hurried to the bathroom and plopped down on the toilet just as some diarrhea squirted out of his buttocks. He sat there for a while, and out of boredom, he began rummaging through Belichick's books. One stood out to him: How to Kill Someone and Get Away with It.
"This look' very interestingly," Emmitt said aloud and flipped open the cover. And that's when he saw it. There was a note on the inside cover:
"To Aaron Hernandez, I'm a big admirer of your work. Please accept my Bill Belichick masks as a token of gratitude for all that you've taught me. - O.J. Simpson."
Emmitt sat in shock, as more diarrhea dripped out of his butt.