YOU'VE BEEN DOWNSIZED, MIKE NOLAN

by Ray, Flyers Fieldhouse

Mike Nolan: Y-You wanted to see me, Mr. York?

49ers Owner John York: Come on in and sit down, Mike. Can I get you anything? The usual?

(Nolan nods nervously)

York: Stacy, be a dear and get Mr. York two slices of white bread and a glass of milk.

Nolan: No crust, please.

York: I don't need to tell you that it's been a trying season, Mike. We rode in with high expectations. Perhaps too high. But we are a proud franchise. And 5-11 and just won't cut it here in San Francisco. These fans show up, no matter if we're winning or we're winning huge. Like Barry Bonds, they deserve a bandwagon to jump onto and claim they were there all along, and then ditch when it becomes boring again. Are you getting my drift, Mike?

Nolan: (gulps) I promise you, Mr. York, this team is going in the exact direction I pictured when I was hired. We are on the brink. Most of the pieces we need are there. (falls to knees and begins sobbing) Please don't fire me. You don't know what it's like. I had to start Trent Dilfer! The humanity! Pleeeeeease!

York: Dear God, boy, get it together. We're not firing you as head coach. That said, we are going to strip you of some of the liberties you once enjoyed here. For one, we are replacing you as general manager of this team.

Nolan: OK, I can handle that. I'm man enough to take my punishment and move on as a professional. Thank you, Mr. York.

(Nolan begins to leave)

York: Whoa whoa, we're not done here. We're also moving you out of your cushy office to somewhere that has a few less distractions. You've been moved to the ticket office. You'll have plenty of time to sit in that dank little room with those uneducated fools and think about what you've done.

Nolan: But I don't see how I'm supposed to get work done if-

York: Next ... you will no longer be allowed to show off in those prissy little designer suits you've been gallavanting around in. Real men wear nylon track jackets to work on Sunday.

Nolan: But that was to honor my father! He's dead, you know!

York: Sure is. Deader than nu metal. And do you expect that he's looking down and smiling at his legacy being carried on in this fashion?

Nolan: I like to believe he's proud of me no matter the record.

York: Wrong, my boy. Life is all about wins and losses, and right now your scoreboard reads "fail."

(Nolan begins to whimper again)

York: I'm also going to need the company car back.

Nolan: You never gave me one.

York: Really. Well, then I'll take whatever you drove here today.

Nolan: That's my personal car!

York: Heads must roll, Mike. The fans won't be satisfied until they see me driving around in whatever s**tbox you've been rolling in. Only then can the healing begin.

Nolan: I'm not sure I see how that-

York: Lastly, I'm going to need your first born son as a sacrifice. The sacrifice will be held publicly, but it will be done tastefully.

Nolan: Absolutely not! That is over the line, Mr. York. No way am I doing that unless I am reinstated as genera- ... wait, no no no. No sacrificing my son. That is final.

York: Would you settle for Trent Dilfer instead?

Nolan: Oh lord yes.