EXT. RAILYARD – NIGHT

A lonely watchman – ASA GRUNDERSON – strolls through a Richmond railyard during the dark hours of the morning. Accompanied by a German Shepherd – ROLF – he shuffles between the trains, occasional poking into darker corners with a flashlight. As he passes under one of the yard lights, we catch a glimpse of his weathered face; he looks to be almost seventy years old and has clearly lived the life of a blue-collar worker. A faint metallic noise, such as that from a tin can falling over, is heard in the darkness. The watchman’s ears and those of his dog perk up.

ASA: [shining his flashlight] Who’s there, now?

ROLF: Woof woof woof!

A rustling noise is heard, followed by the clink of a glass bottle.

ASA: You can hear I’ve got my dog here. Come on out. No trouble. Ya cain’t be here, is all.

ROLF sniffs the air and begins to pull hard on his leash. ASA is caught by surprise and loses his grip, and the dog darts out into the darkness after the interloper.

ASA: Rolf! Get back here!

There is concern in the old man’s voice – though it is not clear whether it is for his dog or for its prey. ASA shuffles into the darkness, his flashlight bobbing as he moves, and he arrives at the door of a vacant boxcar and his flashlight lights up the inside.

TOMSULA: [drunkenly petting the dog, who has reared up and is eagerly licking what is clearly a familiar face] Heya, buddy. Been a while.  Almost a whole year.

ASA: [relieved] Aw dagnabit, Jim. You nearly gave me a damn heart attack!

TOMSULA: I’m sorry, Asa.

ASA: [noticing Jim’s inebriated state] Aw, Jim, get down from there. C’mere.

TOMSULA clambers down from the boxcar and stands unsteadily in front of ASA.

ASA: You leave some hooch up in there, Jim?

TOMSULA: Had me a bottle of Night Train, but it’s gone. All gone.

ASA: You clean that up now, you hear? Gonna get me in trouble with the daytime crew.

TOMSULA reaches back into the boxcar and pulls out an empty bottle of skull-busting wine. ASA shakes his head sadly, reaches inside his heavy coat and pulls out a flask. He unscrews the cap, helps himself to a healthy swallow, and then hands it over to TOMSULA.

TOMSULA: I had a shot at the big time, Asa.

ASA: Oh, I know ya did, Jim.

TOMSULA: When we beat them Vikings, I thought it looked good.  I really did.  But it all fell apart.

ASA: Sometimes it does, Jim. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.

The two share a moment in silence and pass the flask back and forth.

ASA: Say, Jim, remember that time that timber train came through with that car full of mesquite bricks heading for Amarillo? And Kenny got a little too heavy on the throttle and bumped the linkup too hard and damn near a hundred pounds of wood fell out? And all you fellas – Hollerin’ Ron, Banjo Bill, Olaf, Big Fred, Ol’ Skunk Pelt Steve, the Fingerling brothers, Mama Katz, Spare Tire Teddy, all those folks – gathered it all up and threw it all in an old Conoco barrel and you had yourselves a right proper bonfire?

TOMSULA: No burning old sneakers for us that night!  [his eyes grow distant and he reminisces] Aw, that was a nice time.

ASA: But it still stank to high heaven, dint it?

TOMSULA: It sure did, Asa.

ASA: And nobody could figure out why, and then when it was all over you found out there as a dead possum at the bottom of the barrel?

TOMSULA: [blinks unsteadily]

ASA: Well that’s what you had to work with there in San Francisco. Ain’t nobody gonna make a stew outta that mess. Why Cookie Jones coulda thrown his whole spice kit in there and it wouldna done nothin’. You were doomed ‘afore ya started.

A single tear gathers at the corner of TOMSULA’S eye, then rolls slowly down his cheek. He glances upward, towards the hills that overlook the city of Richmond from the east. ASA follows his gaze.

TOMSULA: You see the lights from them houses, Asa? Up there in Vista Heights?

ASA: I sure do, Jim.

TOMSULA: I went up there, Asa. Just before Thanksgiving, Mr. York had a nice little party for us. No players, but all the coaches were invited to come by as long as we cleared out by eight o’clock. They had a man out there parking cars for us. You believe that, Asa? A valet! For a party at someone’s house!

ASA: Is that so, Jim?

TOMSULA: Little tiny sandwiches…crackers with fish eggs on ’em. A man in a tuxedo pouring drinks – anything you wanted! Felt like I was in a movie. Fanciest party I ever been to.

ASA: I’m sure it was, Jim.

TOMSULA: [growing angry] I can’t stand what that man’s done to the 49ers! Great franchise! Full of tradition! And he’s gone and runned it right into the ground!

ASA: Easy now, Jim…

TOMSULA: Naw, it ain’t right what he’s doin’! And it ain’t right for him to drag little people like me into it! I ain’t got big dreams…bottle a’ Thunderbird and some couch cushions to lay down on is all I need to get me through the night…but how could I say no to coachin’ the Niners? And now – all those losses – everyone in town is putting that all on me. And meanwhile Mr. York gets to keep on livin’ in his ivory tower. And next year he’s gonna find some poor sap an’ do it all over agin.

TOMSULA looks over ASA’S shoulder.

TOMSULA: [thumps the empty bottle into the flat of his hand, like a club] Whaddaya say, buddy? You wanna go with me and have a chat with Mr. York?

ASA glances back over his own shoulder and sees nothing but an empty oil drum.

ASA: Who ya talkin’ to, Jim?

TOMSULA: My buddy. Right there [points]

ASA: [glances again, sees no one] Who?

TOMSULA: You ain’t seen him? Hell, he’s been standing there the whole time!

ASA turns around to look once more.  His flashlight pans slowly back and forth across the debris in the railyard.  The beam stops scanning, and ASA squints.

JIM CALDWELL: [coldly]  Yeah.  That sounds like fun.  Let’s go pay him a visit.