EXT. NIGHTCLUB ENTRANCE – NIGHT

A hip nightclub in a big city.  The line of potential patrons stretches around the corner and out of sight, corralled by a velvet rope.  A burly bouncer wearing a black shirt that emphasizes his bulging biceps stands sentry at the head of the line.  Equipped with a clipboard, he occasionally taps his finger to an earpiece and allows two or three people to pass through.  Further down the street, a tall young man emerges from the shadows and strides confidently to the front of the line.  The bouncer eyes him heavily for a second, then breaks character and smiles broadly.

BOUNCER: Jimmy G!  The G-man!  Welcome to P♂ISE!

JIMMY GARAPPOLO: Good evening.  You got room for a winner in there?

BOUNCER: One who stands up straight in the pocket and faces down a pass rush?  We sure do, Mr. Garappolo.  Come on in!

— [velvet rope flies open] —

The bouncer ushers JIMMY GARAPPOLO inside, then hooks the velvet rope closed again.  A few moments pass, and then another figure strides to the front of the line. As earlier, the bouncer eyes the new arrival heavily.  But unlike before, he doesn’t break down and smile.

BOUNCER: Sorry, pal.  Gotta wait in line like everybody else.

DAK PRESCOTT: Mmmgghhhpphff!

BOUNCER: What did you say?

DAK PRESCOTT: Mmmuugghhhphhmmmfff!

BOUNCER: I don’t understand you, man.

DAK PRESCOTT: Nnnglmphf.  Mmmfhghph!

BOUNCER: [growing irritated] Buddy, I think you’re gonna have to leave.

From the line, a helpful voice pipes up.

KELLEN CLEMENS: [who has been waiting for two hours] It’s okay, I speak DAK.  He’s asking if you don’t recognize him.  He’s Dak Prescott, starting quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys.

BOUNCER: The 0-1 Dallas Cowboys?

DAK PRESCOTT: Gggmmppfhhh!

Although his attitude has softened somewhat, the bouncer’s arms remain crossed and he makes no move to let DAK in.

BOUNCER: Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that.  Should have stopped the clock one more time, tossed a Hail Mary.

DAK PRESCOTT: Ffffggghhmmff!!!

BOUNCER: Huh?

BRAZILIAN MODEL: [also in line] He said he cannot throw the ball and catch the ball and then ignore his coaches and teammates who are frantically signalling him to run out of bounds at the same time.

KELLEN CLEMENS: Hey, you speak DAK too?

BRAZILIAN MODEL: Don’t fucking talk to me, loser.

DAK PRESCOTT: [to BOUNCER] Ggggummmpphhhfff?

BOUNCER: Only winners get to jump the line.  So you’re gonna have to wait just like everybody else.

DAK PRESCOTT hangs his head and leaves, presumably walking towards the back of the line.  He is passed by another man who jauntily walks to the front.

CARSON WENTZ: Heeeerrrrreeee’s Johnny!

BOUNCER: Carson!  [grabs him in a half-hug, turning him to face the people in line] Ladies and gentlemen, this is what POISE looks like.  Get on in there!

The velvet rope is withdrawn again.  CARSON WENTZ points to the BRAZILIAN MODEL from earlier, who takes his arm and the two of them enter the club as a familiar figure arrives at the front of the line.

BOUNCER: Evening, Mr. Kaepernick.  Sorry, we’re pretty busy tonight.  Gonna be a while.

“COLIN KAEPERNICK”: [haltingly] Buuutttt….I…..woooonnnnn…..

BOUNCER: Oh, I saw.  Worst football game I’ve watched in my life but a great win for you guys.  And I wanted to say that as a veteran I respect what you’re doing with your protest.  You’ve taken full advantage of the platform you have to draw as much attention as possible to what you feel is a very real and meaningful problem in our society.  It really bothers me that people who have been made uncomfortable by your protest have tried to make it about the military, when it’s obvious to any thinking person that invoking the military is a cheap trick to make their OWN opinions on the matter unassailable.  But I can’t let you skip the line, I’m sorry.  Come back when you’re first-string and have learned a seven-step drop.  Club policy.

“COLIN KAEPERNICK”: [sadly] Ohhhhhh…kkkkaaaayyyyy….

As DAK retreats, another figure arrives.  He is followed by an entourage who launch themselves at the heads of other people waiting in line, dealing out concussions (or at least presumed concussions, since nobody bothers to check) with complete impunity. 

BOUNCER: Big T!  The Monkey Man!  Glad you’re here.  I see you brought some friends.

TREVOR SIEMIAN: Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be here without them.

BOUNCER: Game managing your way to 178 yards and two interceptions and having your opponent’s kicker choke and miss a field goal at the last second, THAT is what you call poise.  Have fun, gentlemen.

The velvet rope is drawn aside yet again as TREVOR’S companions hoist him up and carry him inside.  A familiar figure returns…

BOUNCER: Come on, RGIII, you think pity is gonna get you into this club?

A short time later…

BOUNCER: Mr. Clausen!  Get on in here, lemme kiss that Capital One Bowl ring [grabs “Jimmy’s” hand] HEY!  Wait a minute, here!  This ring says “Participant”!

“JIMMY CLAUSEN” scurries off into the night…

Later still…

BOUNCER: [withdrawing velvet rope] Ah, Mr. Marinovich.  Go on in.  But next time, please remember to come around the back.  We got a special entrance for folks who are making “deliveries”.

All glory to Low Commander of the Super Soldiers who did the photoshops, which are pretty much the only good thing about this post.