Let me be clear about this, NFL and the organization formerly known as the NFLPA. If the season is canceled, I will pursue you to the ends of the earth. You will not be safe in the arms of your lovers. You will find no refuge among the jungle tribes of the Amazon. Your concrete bunkers deep below Vladviostok cannot protect you.
Certainly, you say, a helicopter gunship will put an end to my chase across Europe? You would be wrong. I eat helicopters for breakfast. All it takes is a rocket-propelled spoon and a huge bowl. Don't count on your bodyguards to help you, either. I neutralize six bodyguards before I even hit the snooze button on my alarm clock.
If there should be no season, I will have a lot of time to dedicate to sharpening my craft. Did you assume that years of beer and lolling on couches would sap my ability to chase you down like an enraged Curtis Lofton? Oh, how mistaken you are.
What happens when I catch you? Easy. I will put all of you in a stadium, and you will play football. Yes, even you, Al Davis. The thought of playing tackle football with Al Davis should be incentive enough to return to the table and kick off negotiations again. If you choose to ignore this warning, get ready to hear my squeaky footsteps haunting your dreams. My sneakers are kind of old.
Get it done, damnit.
The above was meant as satire. I am way too lazy to pursue anybody. Just so you know.