Ext. Tuscaloosa Regional Airport. Two men, walking out the airport’s main exit.

Pete Carroll: Now John, do you remember why we came to Alabama?

John Schneider: Well, I know why I came to Alabama – the Grand Prix!

JS: The question is, Pete, why did you come to Alabama? To head on up to Montgomery to “investigate” W’s time in the Air National Guard?

PC: No, John. I want us to look at potential draft picks. Besides, that’s a dead-end.

JS: Hee hee – lookit this map! The track looks like nards!

PC: Dammit John. I’m really trying to build something here. I getting tired of starting 2-2 and people asking if I’m going back to ‘SC.

JS: You’re not seriously…

PC: Oh, gosh no. Ever since the Rams moved there, coaching in LA just seems so…dirty. And now that the Chargers are in Carson; well, that’s just a filthy fish tank. (looking around pensively) Do we have transportation?

JS: Don’t worry Mary, I called ahead for a ride.

JS: Ain’t she a beaut? And who doesn’t like chicken on the road?

PC: Geez John, I don’t think that’ll be a good look going onto the campus.

JS: Christ Pete, who are you worried about? The NCAA? Consider some of the shit that rolls in here on game days

If you didn’t give a shit back when you had Leinart & Bush, why would you care now? Saban sure as shit don’t care! Loosen up a little. Now, get in.

Both men enter the car, along with the “hostesses”, for the 30-minute drive to the University.

PC: Now John, here are the two fellows I want to take a look at: (hands John Schneider manila folders labelled)

• Marlon Humphrey – CB
• Cam Robinson – T

JS: Sure thing, after we hit the pool.

PC: What, at the hotel?

JS: No silly – the Don Gambril Pool on campus.

PC: You…want to go swimming?

JS: Dammit Pete, where’s your head? Get outside the box. There’s this kid – Connor Oslin; great name – graduating senior. Holds the school record in the backstroke…

PC: (mutters) Christ, not this shit again…

JS: …so he’s used to going backwards off the line. Figured he might develop into a guard.

PC: Yeah, John…about these projects…

JS: Now, he’s a tad undersized, so we’ll have to have Carlisle make him live in the weight room.

PC: Say, John, why don’t we save that for after the meeting with Satan Saban. If we have time.

JS: (sighs) Okay Pete, if you think it’s best. Now, who are the kids you want to see?

PC: Okay. The first one is Marlon Humphrey. His daddy was Bobby Humphrey; played 5 years in the 90s, so he’s got a pedigree. He’s a cornerback. Now, we’re still pretty strong in this area, but we can always use him as a backup to start, and let him develop under the LoB. Oh, and you’ll like this, he’s also a hurdler.

JS: Ooh, I like the hurdling thing. So, he’s not a lineman?

PC: No, John, but he might be the best player available when our pick comes, so I figure we’d best take a look at him.

JS: Okay, who’s the second kid?

PC: Cam Robinson. He’s a tackle, so more fitting our current priorities. He has good speed, but some balance issues.

JS: Balance issues? Like, he can’t walk upright?

PC: No, more like he’s still having trouble adjusting to his size, and the speed causes him to lose balance going forward. If he couldn’t walk the Browns would pick him first overall. His upside is that if he’s finally stopped growing, we can teach him balancing postures.

JS: (muttering) Maybe if he’d spent some time on the gymnastics squad…

Driver: We’re here, sir.

Hooters Hostesses: Yay, Gameday!

PC: Sorry ladies, not today.

Hostesses: Boo! **tee hee**

JS: But I’m sure Saban has you on speed-dial, so see you in September.

Both men exit the limo. It drives away, chants of “foot–ball, foot–ball” echo in the distance.

JS: Okay Pete, are you sure you’re ready for this? (opens door to stadium offices)

PC: No, but that’s what I’m paid for. Let’s go.

Both men enter the offices & approach a secretary, speaking forlornly into a telephone.

Secretary: May I help you gentlemen?

JS: Yes, please. We have an appointment to see Coach Saban.

Sec.: Certainly. Name please?

JS: Schneider, John.

Sec.: (scans screen) Sorry hon, no one by that name here.

JS: Maybe “Carroll, Pete”?

Sec.: (scans again) Sorry sir, not that name either.

PC: Excuse me, ma’am. How about “Fuckwits, Seattle”?

Sec.: (scans thrice) THERE YOU ARE! 10:19 to 10:27. You fellas must be important.

JS: How do you figure?

Sec.: He’s giving you 8 minutes. Normally, people get 6. He must really want to talk to you. Go on in.

Pete & John open the door, to see Nick Saban working at his desk.

Nick Saban: (into phone) N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y’hah; Yog-Sothoth, Yog-Sothoth… oh, hi Pete! (gets up to shake hands; extends hand wearing championship ring)

PC: Nick. (shaking hand) How’s it going?

NS: Fine. Just doing some last-minute recruiting. That’s the beauty of college boys – no salary cap. Can always use another lineman. On that topic, I take it that’s why you’re here today?

PC: Yes, Nick. We’d like to talk to you about Humphrey & Robinson.

NS: Fine boys, both of them. (picks nose to show off championship ring)

JS: That’s great. Nick, you’ve watched them develop. What do you thi–

NS: John, look – they’re both fine players, who will fit into any organization that chooses them. First-rounders; both of them. But John, I think you’re missing out on the real Crimson secret of Tuscaloosa. Something I haven’t divulged to anyone.

JS: Oh yeah? What is that?

NS: Not “what”, “who”. A kid named Graham Smith. He’s 6’4″ and 225.

PC: Hmm…he’s not on any of my sheets.

JS: (heightened tone in voice) Never mind that, Pete. I’m not fond of the name, but tell us more, Nick.

NS: Oh, you’ll love him John. (snickering) Real go-getter. Off everyone’s radar. A Junior, known for his attacks.

JS: (drooling) Yes. And…

NS: He’s…on the lacrosse team.

JS: ………

NS: (delighted disgust) Damn, son. Now the janitors are gonna have to clean that up, and I’ll probably have to hear from HR.

PC: (angrily) Fuck you Saban! Now I gotta spend a week talking him out of this.

NS: Oh, that’s a shame. And you cursed; bet you owe Cable a dollar now, huh? Well, I have to go. Nice to see you, Pete. I have to get back to planning another national championship victory I won’t have to return. (hands Carroll a chit that says “From the desk of 4-time National Champion Nick Saban” at the top) Make sure to get the secretary to validate your parking. Always a pleasure.

PC: You know we didn’t drive here, you cheap bastard.

NS: Oh, right. Well, then get her to call you an Uber. (Saban makes phone sign with championship-ringed pinkie & thumb) That’s what you coastal boys call a cab now, right? Thanks for dropping by, boys. Door’s always open.

PC: You rotten son of a b– Aww crap, where’s Schneider? (runs out of office)

Nick Saban closes his door while maniacally laughing.

PC: Ma’am, did you see where the gentleman I came with went?

Sec.: Well, sir, he asked where the lacrosse team was playing. I looked up their schedule and found out they are currently on the road playing an exhibition. But they’ll be back on Friday to play Ole Miss, so your friend said he would wait outside until they returned.

PC: Excellent. If you could call me an Uber to the airport, that would be great. (looks back at Saban’s office door, emblazoned with “National Champions” stickers) Coach Saban said the school would cover it. (goes outside)

Outside the stadium, Pete Carroll finds John Schneider feverishly entering text into his phone.

PC: Easy with that, John. You keep googling “Alabama boys” and you’re going to end up on a watch list.

JS: Not funny, Pete.

PC: You know Saban was jerking our chain, right? He knows your weaknesses; it comes from studying more tape than Belichick.

JS: Why would he do that, Pete?

PC: Because he’s an asshole, John.

An Uber pulls up

PC: (son of a bitch) See John? THIS is the real Nick Saban. Just a petty little man. Anyway, I think we can fit.

JS: Good. So, Pete, where are we going next?

PC: Where to indeed…(opens Google maps in phone) Ah hah! Driver – to the domestic terminal!

Uber driver: Sir, Tuscaloosa is a regional airport. It only has two entrances – the one labelled “Passengers”, and the other with “Colored” scratched out and “Employees” written over top. I assume you mean the first one?

PC: Exactly. Let’s ride!

To be continued…