INT. NFL HEADQUARTERS – DAY

A burly ginger-haired man races along the carpeted floor between a set of cubicles, his arms and legs pumping.  As he passes over a line of bright blue masking tape, an NFL employee – TYLER – holding a stopwatch clicks the button, and grins widely.

TYLER: That’s amazing, Commissioner Goodell! 5.32 seconds, your best time yet!

ROGER GOODELL: Thank you, Tyler! I’m coming for you, twenty two year-old Tom Brady!

As Goodell steps into his office, another NFL employee – SHANE – sidles over to TYLER’s side.

SHANE: Jesus, does he have every single player’s combine times memorized?

TYLER: Nah, just the ones he thinks he’s creeping up on.

SHANE: What was it, really?

TYLER: 5.94.

SHANE: Oh wow, he finally broke six!

TYLER: Fucking Jayson, telling him that he ran a 5.53 when he ran it for St. Jude’s. Now every goddamned year I gotta drop another five hundredths from his time. One of these days he’s gonna insist on running it at the combine course and then we are FUCKED.

SHANE: He can never know the truth.

TYLER: [nods solemnly]

CUT TO: INT. ROGER GOODELL’S OFFICE – DAY

ROGER GOODELL has settled in at his desk.  He takes a deep breath, releases it, and punches the intercom button on his desk phone.

GOODELL: All right, Kelsey, it’s time to hear proposals. Anything I should know about before we get started?

KELSEY [via intercom]: Just one thing, Commissioner Goodell.  A package of several DVDs arrived.  There was a note included that claims they provide conclusive evidence that Dan Snyder was definitively engaged in sex trafficking, and that…

GOODELL: Toss them in the trash.

KELSEY [via intercom, after a long pause]: Are you really sure that it’s a good idea to…

GOODELL: [slaps forehead] Of course, of course, what was I thinking? Someone digging around in our dumpster could get their hands on them, and then where would we be? Put them in the microwave for…oh, a minute should do it.  Long enough that you see sparks coming out of them. Got it?

KELSEY [via intercom]: Sure, I’ll just, uh, get Jeff Pash to sign off on that and in the meantime how about I send in your first guest?

GOODELL: Go for it. Unless it’s…

— [door flies open] —

GOODELL: [under his breath] Oh, for fuck’s sakes.

PETER KING: Hey there, buddy!

GOODELL: [sighs] Hello, Peter.

PETER KING: It’s been too long, pal! We need to hang out more!

GOODELL: I had lunch with you three days ago, Peter.

PETER KING: I know, and it feels like we’ve been apart for three months!

GOODELL: [rubs the bridge of his nose]

PETER KING: Before we get started, I’ve got a pigskin here with your name on it! [holds the football out so Roger Goodell can see his own name as “Commissioner” on the ball] Ha ha ha! Want to toss…oops!

PETER KING fumbles the football, which rolls across the floor and underneath a trophy display cabinet.  PETER KING gets on his hands and knees and roots around and emerges holding the ball, which he promptly fumbles again.

GOODELL: I’m sorry, Peter, I really don’t have time for small talk today.  A number of people are dropping by with proposals on how to handle the abandonment of the Bills-Bengals game on Monday night. I’m told that you’ve got an idea on how to handle the playoff seeding and home-field advantage implications?

PETER KING: I sure do.  Just give me a second here…

ROGER GOODELL rubs the bridge of his nose again as PETER KING opens a document tube that he has slung around over his shoulder and pulls a large piece of paper from it.  He unrolls the document and displays it proudly.

GOODELL: Oh Jesus, not this again.

PETER KING: Just hear me out!  We can take over some of the dorms at Wichita State, basically create our own little Olympic Village, and have ALL the games there.  Every single one of them!

GOODELL: The NFC games aren’t even affected, you don’t…[rubs the bridge of his nose, gets up from his chair]…never mind.  Okay, Peter, it’s a fine idea.  I’ll consider it alongside the others I hear today.

PETER KING: Fantastic! Now one of the things I was thinking…

PETER KING prattles on as GOODELL puts an arm around him and hustles him out of the office.  Once successful, he returns to his desk and punches the intercom button again.

GOODELL: Send the next one in, Kelsey.

KELSEY [via intercom]: Right away, sir.

— [door flies open] —

HUNTER RENFROW: Oh, hi there Mr. Goodell. I’m told you’re looking for solutions to a perplexing conundrum.

GOODELL: That’s right, Hunter, what have you got for me?

HUNTER RENFROW: Okay, so I was watching Dr. Who last night – the one when the eleventh Doctor meets the twelfth Doctor, you know, The Day of the Doctor episode, the 50th anniversary one, where they go to the National Gallery and…okay it’s not important but it’s a really good episode and you should watch it when you have a chance but anyways I started thinking about probability, and how what are the actual odds that the four-dimensional paths of the same Time Lord in different manifestations would come into such proximity that…[realizes GOODELL is staring at him blankly]…all right, well, anyways, here’s my idea…

HUNTER RENFROW reaches his pockets and dumps a jumble of items onto the table.

GOODELL: Dungeons and Dragons?

HUNTER RENFROW: Well no, not Dungeons and Dragons, actually…I do have my own version of the game called Guardians and Gladiators, it’s really fun, you should join us sometime for a campaign but anyways no I was thinking you could take the win probability at the time the game was suspended, and then roll a die to see which team gets credit for a win.

GOODELL: [scratches his chin thoughtfully] So if the Bengals had a sixty percent change of winning, a roll of 1 through 6 on the ten-sided red one would give them a win, and anything from 7 through 10 would give the win to the Bills?

HUNTER RENFROW: In “the industry” we refer to it as D10, but sure!  Although I should point out that the “ten” on a ten-sided die is actually a zero; that way you can use two rolls in succession to generate an actual percentage. So if the actual win probability is, say, 57% and the first roll is a five, you can roll again and if it’s a seven or lower then the Bengals would get the win.

GOODELL: I see.  So…why did you bring all those other dice along if all we’d need is the ten-sided die?

HUNTER RENFROW: [blinks at him] I always have all my dice with me.

GOODELL: All right, Hunter.  You’ve given me something to think about. [punches the intercom] Kelsey, who’s next?

— [door flies open] —

STEVE KEIM: [holding up a 12-pack] Two words: Boat Race.

GOODELL: Steve, aren’t you supposed to be…

STEVE KEIM: BUT…wait for it…we use local beers!

GOODELL: And piss off our sponsors at Anheuser-Busch? No. [punches intercom] Kelsey, send in the next one please.

— [door flies open] —

Coach ANDY REID enters holding a gigantic platter of baby back ribs.

GOODELL: No, Andy, we’re not settling this via eating contest.

ANDY REID: Eating contest?

GOODELL: [punches intercom] Next.

— [door flies open] —

LARON LANDRY: Arm wrestling.

GOODELL: NEXT!

— [door flies open] —

KEVIN McCARTHY: Let’s put it to a vote!

GOODELL: NEXT!

— [door flies open] —

DREW CAREY: Plinko!

GOODELL: Ugh, no.

DREW CAREY: But…Cleveland…

GOODELL: Please take your gigantic peg board and be on your way.

DREW CAREY vacates the office as ROGER GOODELL sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose again.  He runs his hand through his soulless ginger hair, and punches the intercom button one last time.

GOODELL: All right, Kelsey, looks like we’re down to my least favorite option.

KELSEY [via intercom]: The one that costs money?

GOODELL: That’s right.  Please send him in.

— [door flies open] —

GOODELL: Thanks for coming in, Mr. Esterhaus.  I’ve got a narrative that I need you to script for me…