Tom Brady Appeals Ballghazi: A Short Play

The scene is NFL headquarters, high atop the highest skyscraper. Commissioner Roger Goodell sits at an ornate desk carved with arcane symbols. As he sips from a golden goblet, in walks a sheepish Tom Brady.

Goodell: Greetings, Mr. Brady. Are you here to try to convince the powers that be to show some clemency?

Brady: Yes, sir. But ... shouldn't there be others here for my appeal? An arbitrator or someone from the NFLPA?

Goodell: You fool! You have meddled with the primal forces of nature and you will atone! None of the others can help you! I am the judge! I am the jury! And I am the executioner!

Brady: That's not the way it ...

Goodell (yelling): Silence! (lightning flashes and thunder booms) I ask the questions here. How can you expect leniency after the grave ball deflation accusations against you?

Brady: I don't know about grave, sir. I don't think we beat the Colts by 38 points just because the PSI in the balls was slightly lower. Besides, other teams have played similar shenanigans with footballs over the years and not faced such stiff sanctions. The financial penalty against the Patriots is well over the recommended amount. Why did the NFL ...

Goodell: Foolish mortal! I am the law!

Brady: Fine, but we should have some consistency. My suspension is four games. Ray Rice's initial suspension for beating his fiancee was only two. We're talking about deflated balls here, Mr. Goodell, not a brutal assault.

Goodell stands up, turns his back to Brady to look at the storm outside his window. He absentmindedly spins a large globe.

Goodell: I do not have to justify myself, Mr. Brady. I ordered the sky to release its thunder. I drowned the last whale. I pinned the sun down and made it cry uncle. I can do whatever I want. Apres moi, le deluge!

Brady stares in bewildered silence.

Goodell: And how, Mr. Brady, do you explain why you did not surrender your phone when I ordered it before? Surrender it now or your fate is sealed and your penalty is set.

Brady: Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I won't do that. My phone has a lot of sensitive information and I'm not going to trust it to the NFL. With all due respect, sir, you don't have a warrant to seize my phone.

Goodell throws his goblet to the floor. Thunder peals and lightning burns.

Goodell: You son of a bitch! How daaaare you defy meeee?!

Brady (flustered): I do ... I do have rights ...

Goodell: You insignificant gnat! You have nothing! Your career, your very life, only exist because I will them to be so!

Goodell pushes a button on his desk.

Goodell: Appeal denied, Mr. Brady. For your impertinence, I am increasing your penalty. Ten years in jail.

Police officers burst into the room, tackle Brady and handcuff him.

Brady: Ten years! This is insane!

Goodell: Just for that, let's make it 12. I know how you like the number.

Goodell laughs maniacally as the police lead Brady to a maximum security prison.