When we last left you, the banquet party reached a crescendo with all the attendees dancing to Donna Summer’s “Last Dance.”
But the party doesn’t stop there. Not ready to go their separate ways, and wanting to drink more, all of them head over to the pirate ship deck in the endzone of Raymond James Super Bowl for a nightcap.
Thousands of them cram onboard.
It’s Super Bowl Eve. George Foreman grills goat meat for the masses. Dr. Peppers and Shamrock Shakes gush through the partiers’ intestines, creating blockages and acid build-up. Forest Gump chugs down 12 Dr. Peppers in a row and then starts running back and forth on the football field.
In the lower deck, Bill Belichick runs through his checklist one last time to make sure his strategy to stop Brady from his seventh Super Bowl is all buttoned up.
Five 100-inch flat-screen TVs hang on the walls. Each shows a live video feed of various places Belichick has been monitoring to steal information about the Tom Bradys and forward it to the Chiefs. There’s a camera watching the Bucs’ practice field, which is now dark except for Brady doing some walk-through mental work by himself.
Cameras also watch Brady’s locker room; Brady’s hotel room where Gisele, Tom’s wife, now watches “Tom Brady: A Football Life” on her TV; Brady’s equipment room where Belch already overinflated the balls to make them uncomfortable for Brady and get him caught doctoring the balls like in Deflategate and disqualified from the game; and a live feed of the Brady’s Gatorade jugs where Belch has inserted dozens of Dulcolax tablets so the players will need to use the bathroom in the middle of the game.
All these camera feeds are also set up in the Chiefs hotel rooms. So they’ve been gathering strategic intelligence about their opponents since Belch arrived in Tampa Bay 10 days ago.
Belichick rips off a world-shaking Belch, sits on his Lazy Boy chair, and says “OK we’re ready.”
Bill Walton and Ricky Williams, also reclining in LazyBoy Chairs, take all this in while smoking a joint and passing it to Belichick, who is wearing the same black winter ski cap worn by the Edge, the U2 guitar specialist.
“Oh for the love of all the football gods and goddesses who have ever made love,” says Walton. “This is a masterpiece. Here we are, smoking weed the night before the most momentous and malicious Super Bowl ever, witnessing a strategic plot of the highest level of sophistication by the game’s most revered schemer of all time, full of rank jealousy, desperately trying to prevent the quarterback he cut from winning. It’s got everything. Shakespearean tragedy, modern technology, pettiness, the Edge’s winter cap, and an entirely insane idea. Ricky, give me that joint. I definitely need to take a hit like no hit I’ve ever taken and over my luscious life.”
Up above on deck, the band that will play during the Super Bowl half-time show, The Fez, pumps up the crowd with this tune.
You can hear the feet stomping above, fireworks exploding, the pirate ship cannons exploding, men women, and children getting shot out of Elon Musk’s rockets to the other side of Florida.
Belichick, Walton, and Ricky start dancing, too.
“I love you guys,” says Walton. “Let’s all three slow dance simultaneously. It’s that kind of a night calling for that kind of intimacy.”
To be continued…
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