Ten minutes after the wheels were safely tucked into the belly of the chartered 757; Steve Spagnuolo left his seat in first class and walked back through the bulkhead into the main cabin. The beaten down hoard of players were all sitting under the weight of their sixth loss of the season. It was as quiet as a mouse, except for a clinking noise coming from the bathroom next to him.
"Josh you in there?" Steve whispered.
"Be right out," Josh replied.
The door opened a second later, and Josh exited with a cheesy grin on his face, and holding a baseball cap full of those little liquor bottles the airlines are so happy to sell you.
"What the hell ya doing in their Josh?"
"Looking for a big cup to pour all of these into," Josh answered, his beady eyes darting back and forth in his head like two marbles in a pie pan.
"They ain't the same thing," Spags said, pointing at all the different flavored bottles.
"Hey I don't need you coaching me on how to drink," Josh told him, "Your defense couldn't tackle a scarecrow!"
"Josh, I thought Jerry's Jumbotron was going to fall off the ceiling from all the points your offense hung on it!" Steve quickly replied, with more than a bit of venom.
"Hey, if you would quit changing my F-ing plays to 3 runs and punt!" Josh spat back, his face screwed up like he had just bitten into a mouthful of burnt sunflower seeds.
Josh headed into first class to ask the flight attendant for a huge cup to mix up his booze suicide. Spags followed him not wanting the upstart to get the last word.
"Your O-Line almost got Sam killed last time!" Spags yelled from behind as he hurried after Josh.
Josh turned back around, "You gave me guys that couldn't push their way out of a wet paper bag, four pillars of Paper Mache if you ask me."
"Billy picked em, I just play em!"
Just then Jason Smith came running in, "Coach put me back in the game!"
Josh and Spags just looked at him, like two cavemen trying to understand quantum physics. Finally Josh snapped out of it.
"What the hell you talking about kid?"
"I want to finish out the game coach!" Jason said with a nervous laugh.
"Go back to your seat," Spags said, "I'll call you before the next series."
Jason turned and went back down the aisle.
"That boy done bumped his head," Josh remarked, while pouring four little bottles of booze at a time into a Big Gulp cup the flight attendant had dug out of the trash for him.
"Yeah, if this keeps up we won't have any players left by game 16." Spags replied.
"TST says we won't last that long," Josh told him, as he poured an ounce of diet coke into his suicide drink."
"It ain't my fault those lummoxes can't do anything right!" Spags pleaded, "Billy picked em."
"Come on Josh; tell Stan it ain't my fault!"
"When monkeys fly out of my butt," Josh told him and took a big drink, "I'm gonna get your job next, and you know what?"
"I'm gonna turn it down, this team is worse than the one I put together in Denver."
Just then Sam appeared, "Hey coach, can we set up a ping-pong table on the sidelines next game?"
"I'm getting bored not running for my life every down, and maybe I can make the Olympics if I get some extra reps."
"What the F.....Get outa here Bradford!"
Sam dejectedly hobbled back to his seat, clunking along in his space boot.
Josh started laughing, "You ruined that kid for football, or else you never got him tested for a concussion after last game."
"Damn....I wonder how much my house is worth now," Spags said shaking his head.
The flight attendant suddenly appeared, "Mr. Spagnuolo, the pilot just got a radio message."
"A Mr. Kroenek asked that you and all the coaches meet him at Rams Park after we arrive in St Louis."
Josh and Steve looked at each other for a second.
"You have any more of those tiny whiskey bottles?" Steve asked, "I could use a dozen or two!"