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 Tuesday, Aug. 27, 2019
It seemed like an eternity. It was impossible to tell how much time had elapsed, but trapped in a cell contained in a dimly lit subterranean room, it felt like it could've been weeks, maybe even months. Emmitt had to resist the urge to claw at his own flesh, but was resigned to the possibility that he would have to endure this particular torture forever. Would death be his only escape?
"How long we gonna be lock in this jail!?" he finally wailed, venting his frustration. "How long it have been anyway? One month? Two year?"
"Emmitt, it's only been three hours," Isaiah Crowell answered calmly. "There's a clock on the wall over there."
"Oh, I see," Emmitt said, sounding embarrassed. "I just thought that was a round circle thing with number on it."
More hours passed, and all Emmitt could do was sit on the ground and tap his shoes together. He once again wondered if he would die of boredom.
"If only we had something to shoot the lock on that door," Crowell lamented.
"Wait, don't you has a gun?" Emmitt asked.
"Yeah, I do, but that wouldn't work," Crowell replied. "I can only shoot Five-O with this gun. If I try to shoot something else, I will miss horribly."
"You mind as well try it," Emmitt said. "What do you have to loose?"
Crowell told everyone to stay back, and he fired multiple rounds into the padlock on the jail door. Each shot missed.
"I told you," Crowell said. "The only things I can shoot are Five-O, the scum of the Earth. Now, I only have one bullet remaining in this gun."
"Let me have a try at that," said Johnny Manziel, now completely sober. "The Fruity Pebbles have worn off, so I should be able to hit it."
Manziel fired, and surely enough, the bullet struck the padlock, which shattered into a million pieces.
"Some of my cool celebrity friends taught me that," Manziel explained. "I think it was Tony Danza and the guy who played Mark Foster on Step by Step."
Ignoring another tale of Manziel's glory days, Emmitt pushed the jail cell open, and he and his two friends sprinted up the ramp, which led into a hallway with many locked doors. Crowell and Manziel continued to run, but stopped once they noticed that Emmitt was not joining them.
"Emmitt, what are you doing? Let's go!" Crowell shouted.
"I cannot goed yet," Emmitt said. "I have to find my belove Dianna Mariana Russia."
"Who cares, there are plenty of other fish in the sea!" Manziel pleaded. "Besides, you don't even know how to say her name right!"
"It's Diana Marie Russini," said a woman at the end of the hall. She walked toward them slowly, holding a railing that kept her from falling over. The three men were stunned by her appearance. She wasn't pretty or anything; rather extremely cold and menacing, as if the ground she walked on could turn into ice almost instantly. She was wearing a pink designer coat that would probably be estimated at $30,000 on the Price is Right.
Emmitt, Crowell and Manziel recognized her instantly, and they were at a loss for words because they did not expect her to be in this particular building. She was the President of the United States, after all.
"Hello, I'm Hillary Clinton," she said coldly with a fake smile. "And I am your friend."
THE GRAND MASTER PLAN OF THE LEAGUE OF FAILED GENERAL MANAGERS
By Alex Rodriguez, Special to the NFL Bible Network Tuesday, Aug. 27, 2019
What the hell was Hillary Clinton doing in this compound? Was she there to help Emmitt and his friends, or was she part of the grand conspiracy surrounding the disappearance of Diana Marie Russini?
Emmitt pondered these items while staring into Clinton's cold eyes. He also wondered if his captors would've served them chicken parmesan had they remained in their prison cell through dinner.
"I'm Hillary Clinton, and I am your friend," Clinton repeated, still grinning menacingly.
"Mrs. President Hillary, what are you doing here?" Isaiah Crowell asked. "Have you come to rescue us?"
"Do you know where I can founded Diana Marcie Rustini?" Emmitt asked. "Because I am not leafing without herselves."
"Do you happen to have any Fruity Pebbles?" Johnny Manziel asked. "Because your designer coat reminds me of Fruity Pebbles."
"I am here to show you something," Clinton said. "Follow me."
Clinton beckoned them to follow her, and she led them through the hall and down three flights of stairs, which she struggled to descend. The bottom floor of the compound was completely dark, but she grabbed a torch off the wall and lit it.
"If this torch goes out, we all die," she said. "So don't try anything funny. Remember, I am Hillary Clinton, and I am your friend."
Clinton continued onward, and a horrible, rancid stench wafted into the air. At first, it was just unpleasant, but Emmitt and his friends eventually had to cover their nose. Emmitt's eyes watered, and he couldn't bear it any longer, but Clinton finally stopped. She had entered a large, oval room with a dark chasm in the middle. She walked around the room, lighting numerous braziers she passed by. Moments later, it was bright enough for Emmitt, Crowell and Manziel to see what exactly was in the pit. There was stunned silence.
Countless corpses were crammed together in this hole. Clinton beamed at them, as if she were proud of this particular accomplishment.
"You are my friends," she said coldly. "So, I thought I would share this with you. My crowning achievement."
She sported an icy glare and hovered the torch over the hole, further illuminating this particular abomination. Emmitt and his friends had no idea how to respond.
"Friends, if you look closely, you can see the bodies of some you might recognize," she said. "There's Jim McDougal, a key witness in the Whitewater scandal. I told them to say he died of a heart attack. He was my friend. There's Suzanne Coleman, whom I shot after she had an affair with my beloved husband, Bill, the rotten scumbag. Suzanne, also a great friend of mine. Oh, and
I see Vincent Foster, Deputy White House Counsel. How are you doing today, Vincent, my friend? I hope you are still not reeling from that supposed suicide gunshot wound that I forced you to do by threatening your wife..."
Clinton droned on and on about the various bodies in this hole. She finally finished listing each of them, addressing all as her dear friends.
"And finally, Anthony Weiner, such a dear friend," she said, pausing, then turning toward Emmitt and his crew. "Emmitt, Johnny and Isaiah, you are all good friends. I hope you can avoid this fate. You can do so by telling me where we can find Shannon Sharpe. He was not at Eric Mangini's house."
"If he not there, I has no idea where I can found Shannon Shark!" Emmitt exclaimed.
"Hush, Emmitt, my good friend," Clinton hissed. "You will tell us the location, or I'll feed your friends - my friends, too - to the hole. The League of Failed General Managers is under my control, and we will have our vengeance."
"What is vengeance, or who is vengeance?" Emmitt asked.
"Revenge!" Clinton bellowed. "You trapped my vice president, Matthew Millen, into an alternate universe, and with my help, he was able to escape. You and Shannon Sharpe are the only two individuals who can open the portal to this alternate universe, and you need to do it together.
"One way or another, this will happen," Clinton whispered into Emmitt's ear. "Or Diana Marie Russini will be sharing a new home with my closest friends."