LONDON. TUESDAY, 10:45 AM LOCAL TIME. AN ALARM SOUNDS, ITS KLAXON SCRAPING THE EARS OF ONE JACKSONVILLE JAGUARS HEAD COACH.

URBAN MEYER: Oh, man. Oh, wow. Huh? What time is it? Well, we won a game. I knew if we just trusted the process, we would turn this thing around. Speaking of turning around, what’s–AH!!!

AGED BRITISH WOMAN: ‘allo, luv! ’bout time ye roused yesself. I was just about tah ‘ead off after this last cigarette. But now that yer up, fancy a proper English? Beans on toast? Yew didn’t ‘ave much of a probbem puttin’ yer beans on my toast last night, didja? Ha ha ha (cough cough cough)

MEYER: No. No. Not again! Shelley’s never gonna forgive me! I mean, she was fine with me jamming my hand up a coed’s ass while she stayed home with the grandkids posting on anti-vaxx Facebook forums, but that was after a loss!

WOMAN: ‘oo’s this Shelley? Yew nevah told me ’bout no Shelley. Wai’, ah yew married? Ah, it don’t ma’ah. I’ve ‘ad worse. Oh, but yer gunna be in trubbow wif the wifey, aint’yah?

MEYER: Oh God, please leave. Just… whatever you want. Here’s $5,000. What’s that in pounds? Just take it and go. Don’t tell anyone. I’ve gotta call Mr. Khan.

JACKSONVILLE, 5:53 AM LOCAL TIME. A PHONE RINGS IN A WELL-APPOINTED OFFICE OVERLOOKING TIAA BANK FIELD.

MEYER: Mr. Khan? Umm, hi. I tried to call your hotel room but someone named ‘arry Kane answered? Did you leave London early?

SHAD KHAN: Oh, hi Urban. Listen. We’ve been meaning to talk to you. I think it’s time we part ways.

MEYER: Did… did you leave me in London?

KHAN: Urban, your salary is $12 million. I think you can handle booking your own flight.

WOMAN: Oi, luv, you might want’a ‘ave ‘ousekeepin’ come up ‘ere. I don’t wanna say wha’ I did in the loo, but it ain’t fit fer a queen.

MEYER: Please leave! Mr. Khan, I don’t understand! We just won! We promised our fans we’d turn things around and we are! And we didn’t even have to beat the Texans to do it!

KHAN: I keep telling you that the Texans don’t exist, Urban. Stop with that nonsense. Hold on, my son is here.

TONY KHAN: (shits pants, talks about wrestling, ignores Fulham)

KHAN: Anyway. We were willing to look past you being elbow-deep in a coed’s crack after losing to the Bengals. But the bender you went on last two days? Too much, my friend.

REWIND TO LONDON. SUNDAY, 11:17 PM LOCAL TIME. ONE OF SEVERAL PUBS UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO RECEIVE URBAN’S PRESENCE.

MEYER: WOO-HOO! WE WON, BABY! THIS FEELS JUST LIKE FLORIDA AND OHIO STATE, BUT WITH WAY FEWER CRIMINALS AND WAY LESS SEXUAL ASSAULT! AND NO STUPID FULLBACK QB TRYING TO TELL ME ABOUT JESUS!!! PINTS OF LAGER OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU TOOTHLESS SHIT-BAGS CALL IT ON ME!!!!

BAR PATRONS: (cheering)

MEYER: FUCK ENGLAND! FUCK YOUR SHITTY HOT LEAF WATER! FUCK YOUR SHITTY WEATHER! FUCK YOUR STUPID ACCENTS! GIVE ME SOME COCAINE AND PUSSY!

BAR PATRONS: (booing)

TRAFALGAR SQUARE. MONDAY, 12:38 PM LOCAL TIME.

MEYER: (Donald-Ducking it on a statue of George IV): COKECOKECOKECOKECOKECOKEMOREPUSSYMOREPUSSYMOREPUSSYCOKECOKECOKECOKE

BRITISH BOBBIES: Sir, if you don’t come down, we’re going to have to speak to you in a very stern manner. And you. Don’t. Want. That.

WOMAN: (knowing what “opportunity knocks” looks like) ‘here now, fellas. That ain’t a way ta trea’ a special guest, innit? Look, I’ll take care ah ‘im. Leave it to me, will ya? ‘ere’s some cigarettes fer yer trubbows.

MEYER: OH BABY, I’M GONNA DO TO YOU WHAT SHELLEY WOULD NEVER LET ME DO! I HOPE YOU’RE FLEXIBLE!!! PREPARE YOUR ANUS!

(pictured: Urban Meyer, mid-cocaine-fueled frenzy)

LONDON. TUESDAY, 11:01 AM LOCAL TIME.

MEYER: What am I going to do? I can’t just go back home to (gags) Jacksonville (vomits a little) without a job! I know! I know! I’ll go back to college football! That’s where I’m the big boss and those teenagers do whatever the fuck I tell them! Gotta start looking up numbers. This is gonna take a little while.

LOS ANGELES. TUESDAY, 1:19 PM LOCAL TIME. THE PHONE RINGS IN A WELL-APPOINTED OFFICE OVERLOOKING LA MEMORIAL COLISEUM.

MIKE BOHN: (looks at caller ID) Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

BATON ROUGE. TUESDAY, 3:27 PM LOCAL TIME. THE PHONE RINGS IN A WELL-APPOINTED OFFICE OVERLOOKING TIGER STADIUM.

SCOTT WOODWARD: (looks at caller ID) Oh, absolutely the fuck not, but in Cajun.

LONDON. TUESDAY, 10:45 PM LOCAL TIME. 

MEYER: I just talked to Shelley. It’s over. She’s finally had it and she’s going to leave me. Nothing left to do now but throw what’s left of my life away. Is there a Papa John’s around here?

WOMAN: Look, if you wan’ta bring anuvva John in, it’s gonna cost ye extra. But I’m game if yew ahh.