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 Friday, Sept. 4, 2020
There was sand all over his car. But that didn't really matter, did it? It technically wasn't his car, after all. He didn't know whose vehicle happened to be; he stole it from a handicapped space in a church parking lot. The person driving this automobile probably would need it the most, so it seemed like the most logical target.
The person in the wheeled chair gonna be real upset when he see him car gotten stolened, Emmitt thought to himself, smiling at this person's impending misery. Maybe he gonna have to crawl home, unlessed his wheeled chair like the thing in the Transformation movie and it becomed a giant monster who evil and then he can fly home and explosion.
Emmitt came to a stop at a red light. He thought about just going through the intersection illegally, but his foot was bothering him. Realizing that there was sand in his shoe, he emptied the contents onto the car floor.
That's when he remembered the letter. He didn't know how Robert Kraft found him, but the New England Patriots owner somehow had a piece of mail delivered to Emmitt.
"How did he found me?" Emmitt asked himself, retrieving the letter out of the glove compartment and staring at it once more. The smell of the barbeque stain on the piece of paper wafted into his nose. Emmitt's stomach growled as he read the note.
If you see any ghosts, be careful. They will give chase if you turn away.
I have enclosed a jewel that helps protect you.
There was a second letter as well. Emmitt scanned it just as quickly:
Please ignore the first letter. That was meant for someone else.
I need your help. Please come posthaste. The future of the New England Patriots organization lies in the balance, and so does our well-being. Please, I need you. I know your secret.
"What do he mean he knowed my secret?" Emmitt asked himself aloud. It had been nearly a year since Emmitt escaped the Evil Dimension, trapping the "good" version of himself there for eternity. Emmitt - or rather, Evil Emmitt - had spent the past 12 months doing horrible things throughout America. He had walked out of convenience stores without paying for sandwiches. He left the faucets running in various bathrooms. He spotted Mrs. Hopkins' missing cat in the tree and didn't bother to inform her. And of course, there was the business in the desert. All of this had been done under the radar, but Evil Emmitt's plans were suddenly in danger. All because Robert Kraft knew his deep, dark secret.
A noise startled Evil Emmitt, knocking him out of a trance. A man driving a Honda Accord beeped his horn once more and raised his fist in the air, shouting expletives.
"Move your f***ing car, it's a f***ing green light," a man in his late 30s shouted impatiently.
Evil Emmitt was just as impatient. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door, shattering the side window in the process. He stomped toward the man, who sank into his chair, suddenly looking very afraid.
"I- I- I'm sorry," he whimpered.
"And I sorry I has to do this to you," Evil Emmitt replied. He shot his hand out and reached into his eyes. Blood gushed out of them, and the man convulsed. Seconds later, his body was still, and Evil Emmitt had chunks of his brain in his hand.
"I sorry I just lie to you because I sorried, not sorried," Evil Emmitt snickered.
Add another murder to the list. The convenience store workers, the bathroom attendants, Mrs. Hopkins. The man in the desert. And now this angry individual who dared to raise his voice at Emmitt.
"And Mr. Kraft, you nexted if you knowed my secret," Evil Emmitt hissed.
EVIL EMMITT MEETS WITH ROBERT KRAFT
By Alex Rodriguez, Special to the NFL Bible Network Saturday, Sept. 5, 2020
Evil Emmitt drove straight to Patriots headquarters in Foxboro. He had the urge to pop into various pit stops and either harass or murder everyone there, but curiosity got the best of him. He had to discover what Robert Kraft knew, and how he came into this information.
Driving through the parking turnstile without paying, Evil Emmitt left his vehicle in a handicapped spot and stormed into the building. It didn't take long to reach Kraft's office. Evil Emmitt found the Patriots owner there, eating a sandwich at his desk.
"Ah, Emmitt, you have finally arrived," Kraft said, nearly choking on a bite. "Come, sit down, have a curly fry. I have eight more orders on the way, so I can spare a single curly fry."
Evil Emmitt sat down and snatched a curly fry, as suggested. Kraft watched jealously as Evil Emmitt placed the food item into his mouth. Sure, he had thousands of other curly fries on his desk, but this one seemed particularly important to him. Sweat dripped down his brow rather profusely.
"Robert California, I mean Kraft, I camed here because I saw your alphabet. I mean letter," Evil Emmitt said.
Kraft snapped out of his trance with the lost curly fry now out of sight.
"Yes, Emmitt, yes, thank you for coming," Kraft said. "You're just in time, too. Roger Goodell will be making an announcement shortly on NFL Network. I was informed of this news a couple of days ago, and now it will be public. Take a listen. The TV remote is right here, raise the volume."
Evil Emmitt winced as he snatched the remote, which was covered in barbeque, mustard and ketchup sauces. A chunk of the remote was missing as well, as there were bite marks in it.
"Sorry, I thought that was a roast beef and cheese," Kraft said shamefully. "Anyway, what are you waiting for? Turn it up!"
Evil Emmitt did as he commanded, just as Goodell began speaking.
"Herro ferrow Americans, I mean, hello fellow Americans, I am Roger Goodell, please don't boo me. We're announcing the relocation of some teams. Starting this season, the Philadelphia Eagles will now be the Los Angeles Eagles. The Washington Redskins will be the Los Angeles Redskins. The Dallas Cowboys will be the Los Angeles Cowboys. The New York Giants will be the Los Angeles Giants. The Green Bay Packers will be the Los Angeles Packers, and, well, you get it.
We wirr, I mean, will be moving every team to Los Angeles. We're well aware that no one goes to the Los Angeles games because no one in that city cares about professional football, but we're doing what's best for the league, and that would involve every single team moving to Los Angeles, save for the Raiders, who will remain in Las Vegas."
Kraft grabbed the remote from Evil Emmitt and turned the TV off.
"Can you believe this nonsense!?" Kraft snapped. "They're making us move to Los Angeles! I don't want to go there! Can you imagine the traffic I'll be stuck in when I go to lunch!?"
"Robert California, you said you knowed a secret about me," Evil Emmitt said, attempting to change the conversation. "Please telled me this secret."
"Emmitt, I heard through the grapevine that you want to be a head coach again," Kraft said. "I'm willing to make you head coach of the Patriots once more - but only if you prevent us from moving to Los Angeles."
"Robert California, how do you hear a grapevine talk?" Emmitt asked. "A grapevine happen to be a vine with some grape on it, but he cannot talk."
"Let's just say I have my tricks," Kraft snickered.
Evil Emmitt came to Foxboro with the intentions of murdering Kraft, but what the New England owner said piqued his interest.
If this man can talk to grapevine, he gonna help me against my march menesis, who gonna get some helped from a grapevine, according to prophet.
"You got yourselfs a deal," Evil Emmitt told Kraft. "I gonna arch right into Roger Goldman's office and gonna telled him not to make the New Zealand Patriot go to Las Vegalas."