Dan Quinn was struggling to think of what was worse: sacrificing his players and coaches to appease ancient bird while his team was still losing to teams like the Miami Dolphins, or finding someone after everything worked out.
The Atlanta Falcons absolutely dominated the Dallas Cowboys. The team was swinging back after some bad losses. Every player did their job. Even Andre Roberts barely messed up. This had never happened before. And to be honest, Quinn has been having trouble squaring his brotherhood mantra with tossing one of his brothers into a pit of fire every week. “Brotherhood except for the worst performing person each week but we won’t discuss what happens to them but don’t be that person” has not been doing well in the locker room.
Quinn was going to finally put a stop to this nonsense. Could this bird really have control over football games? He mustered up every bit of courage he had, and walked up to Arthur Blank to tell him enough was enough.
“Hey, Arthur. Great tie by the way. That suit looks great. Anyways, I-”
Blank interrupted him when dragging up a giant bag. “I’ve got the sacrifice right here. It’s Jake Matthews. No more questions, I’ve got this.”
“Now what, I say what’s the big idea of tossing me in this bag to bring me to this firey glory hole gobbledegook,” said the 165-pound Jake Matthews in his trademarked Texan accent. Jake’s old, sunken eyes darted around, clearly confused what’s going on. “Great horny toads, I’m outside of Texas! Gotta burn my boots, they touched Yankee soil.”
“Jake, and definitely not Jerry Jones, it’s time for you to be judged by the fire,” said Blank.
“Stop, I say stop it boy, you’re doin’ alot of choppin’ but no chips are flyin’. I sure ain’t no Jake. I’m the meanest, toughest, rip-roarin-est, Edward Everett Horton-est hombre whatever packed a six shooter! And what in the, I say what in the name of Jesse James do you suppose that bird is,” said definitely Jake Matthews, scratching at his liver spots.
Jakes pale, blotchy skin, reminiscent of the crypt keeper from Tales from the Crypt, sizzled in the heat. His eyes went to Freddie Falcon, who, as always, stared unblinking at the sacrifice. “Be you the mean hombre’ that’s a-hankerin’ for a heap a trouble stranga! … well be ya?”
Blank had enough of this nonsense. He pushed the Yoda-esque Jake Matthews into the pit of fire. As always, the old, shriveled Jake Matthews can escape and bounce back next week, or has to live forever in the pit of fire, hunted by Freddie Falcon.
Jake Matthews shouted from the pit: “I’m a-comin’ over the wall after ya … and I’m a-comin’ in a-shootin’!”
Now that the sacrificed is finished, Quinn is on to Seattle.