Randy Lerner: Michael? Bubbly?

Mike Holmgren: Don’t you think it’s a little early for that?

Lerner: Old sport, it’s always happy hour somewhere!

Lerner pops the cork, pours two glasses, hands one to Holmgren, and raises his for a toast.

Lerner: To new beginnings.

The door flies open:

Mangini: Mr. Lerner, we need to talk … (seeing Holmgren and Lerner mid-toast) Oh. My. God.

Lerner: This isn’t what it looks like.

Mangini: (broken-hearted) What it looks like is you enjoying a toast with your new best friend!

Holmgren: Hi, Eric.

Mangini: Screw you, walrus-face!

Lerner: Eric, please! There’s no need to be profane in a situation like this. Michael and I were just having a good chat. Isn’t that right, Michael?

Holmgren: Yeah. We were just talking about me taking control of all football operations.

Mangini: (near tears) ALL FOOTBALL OPERATIONS? I thought we got rid of Kokinis so I could take over!

Silence.

Lerner: Things have changed. Last week, I had to meet with two angry season ticket holders. They smelled of stale beer and pork rinds. It was the worst moment of my life.

Holmgren: You actually met with those dickheads who arranged the Brown Out?

Lerner: (covering his ears) Ugh … the Brown Out … how those words torment me!

The door flies open:

Bernie: (slurring) BROWN OUT! BROWN OUT! BROWN OUT!

Holmgren: What the hell is Bernie Kosar doing here?

Bernie: (to Lerner) Redcoat, I accept.

Lerner: Accept what?

Bernie: You twisted my arm, but okay: I’ll be the new Browns General Manager!

Mangini: (to Lerner) WHAT? YOU’RE LETTING HIM BE G.M.? HE’S BANKRUPT!

Bernie: I’m bankrupt like a fox!

Holmgren: Randy, is this true? Is he going to be G.M.? (standing up) Because, in that case, I’ll have to reconsider your offer …

Lerner: No! We just brought him in as a consultant so he wouldn’t keep digging through our trash bin for sandwich crusts!

The door flies open:

Quinn: Who’s that talking about sandwich crusts?

Bernie: You stay away from my bin, rook.

Quinn: (noticing Holmgren) Hey, it’s the Oatmeal guy!

Holmgren: That’s it, I’m leaving.

Lerner: (grabbing him) NO! WAIT!

Just then, the door flies open. THREE GUYS enter, wheeling in a stretcher:

Mangini: Josh! Jesus, are you all right?

Cribbs: (to Lerner, weakly) Pick up … the phone … mother … fucker …

Suddenly, Randy Lerner’s phone RINGS. He picks it up.

Lerner: Y-y-yes?

Jerry Maguire: Randy … do you mind if I call you Randy? Randy, why is Josh Cribbs lying motionless on a stretcher in front of you right now?

Lerner: Who am I speaking with … ?

Jerry Maguire: You’re speaking with a guy who’s looking out for the well-being of the most explosive player on your team. You’re speaking with a guy who gets upset when foolish coaches put players in unnecessary bodily risk.

Mangini looks sheepishly at his feet.

Jerry Maguire: You’re speaking with a guy who thinks a fifth-year player who could start in four positions deserves more than the league minimum. You’re speaking with a guy who’s considering holding his client out until your shit-show of an organization gets its act together.

Lerner: (off Holmgren rolling his eyes) C-can I ring you back? I’m a wee bit busy …

Jerry Maguire: I’d love for you to call me back, Ran. You call me back when you’re ready for one thing.

Lerner: What’s that?

Jerry Maguire: Are you ready? Here it is: Show Josh the money. Show! Josh! The! Money! Randy, it is such a pleasure to say that! Say it with me one time.

Lerner: Show Josh the money.

Jerry Maguire: No, no. You can do better than that!

Lerner: Show Josh the money.

Jerry Maguire: Yeah! Louder!

Lerner: Show Josh the money!

Jerry Maguire: I need to feel you, Randy!

Lerner: Show Josh the money! Show Josh the money!

Jerry Maguire: I love the wildcat.

Lerner: I love the wildcat!

Jerry Maguire: Who’s your motherfucker, Randy?

Lerner: Josh is my motherfucker! Show Josh the money!

Jerry hangs up. Lerner, red-faced and frozen, still holds the phone to his ear.

Holmgren: Good God, you’re a pussy.