President Bruce Allen walks into a large, opulent boardroom and sits down. There are maybe thirty men there in nearly identical grey suits, all part of the Redskins organization. There is a painful silence and then spontaneously a low level executive starts to cry.
Senior Vice President Tony Wyllie pats Personnel Executive Doug Williams on the back.
Tony: We’ll get through this. Remember his vision is based on movement, like a T-rex. Just stay still and stay quiet and it’s not so bad. I have a mantra I like to repeat in my head during these meetings, ‘the check clears, the check clears.’
Doug: I hate you.
A business Vice President looks distantly out of the window. Outside, there was a tree-lined creek, but the trees were cut down to preserve the view. Instead a sanitarium was built for former Redskins executives. In the distance, an executive was tearfully defending letting Ryan Clark go.
Dan Snyder enters the room. Inexplicably, there is a fog about knee height that permeates the room briefly. Snyder is wearing a Magneto helmet which he takes off and places on the boardroom table.
He points to the ceiling. There is a bass relief of Joe Gibbs that spans the room.
Snyder turns his gaze to Marketing Director Mitch Gershman.
Snyder: This Twitter thing is a disaster, Mitch. We were supposed to get people behind the Redskins name, we were supposed to flood Harry Reid’s office and let those liberals know that only a large group of rich white men really know what’s offensive to Native Americans, and somehow the whole thing went wrong.
Gershman: I think its hackers sir. Roughly five people and they keep changing user names and accounts and making different comments so that it looks like 50,000 different people think that our position is indefensible. I genuinely believe it’s only a small pocket of resistance and that most people genuinely want a football team named after the color of a minority’s skin. I mean, every league has a team like that.
Co-owner Dwight Schar: I think it continues the proud American tradition of slaughtering Native Americans and running them off of their land and then naming things after them. I live in Mclean Virginia and I can’t tell you how many joyful hours I’ve spent with my children at Scalp-a-Frenchman-Park.
Bruce Allen notices A.J. Smith furiously working on his tablet.
A.J. Smith: Just working on some roster stuff while we get started. I’m thinking we trade RGIII, Alfred Morris and Trent Williams to the Browns for Josh Gordon, and then we re-negotiate DeSean Jackson’s contract so he can make Mike Wallace money. We trade away five years of first day draft picks to get Brandon Weeden from the Cowboys, we change our scheme to completely ignore Pierre Garcon, and we pick up Richie Incognito to replace Williams. I’ve been working the phone to get Ray Rhodes out of retirement to run our defense. What do you think?
He pulls out a piece of paper, with uneven crayon writing on it.
Snyder: I haven’t said anything yet.
Allen: I have so much confidence in you, I’m sure that it will be brilliant. I am literally trembling with anticipation right now. Well, anticipation and a strange reaction caused by Ambien, allergy medication and deep shame.
Snyder: We need to be ahead of the culture curve. I was at a Mandingo fight with Donald Sterling and he was telling me that more and more young people are actually co-habitating with colored people as opposed to simply exploiting them for sex and then avoiding them in public.
Snyder: Everyone has come down with flu this season. Really thought this was going to be the year for my team. Next year in the draft, I’m really going to look at Mandingos with healthier immune systems, we’re just not scouting that stuff.
He writes ‘Washington Mandingos’ in crayon on the paper underneath the list of other names and then looks at it.
Doug Williams immediately takes a drink of water so he can spit it out. Snyder’s eyes dart around as he tries to figure out where the noise came from.
Wyllie applies a secret nerve hold and Williams slumps into unconsciousness.
President of Business Operations Dennis Greene shakes his head.
Oh man, you sucked me in.
The check clears. The check clears.
The room goes dead silent. A laser sight appears on the young VP’s lapel and somewhere in the legal department an attorney prepares a case. Snyder’s look would kill an ordinary man, and the Vice President desperately starts to think of a lie.
There is a terrible pause.
Snyder has not blinked for a solid minute.
Vice President: Because I believe it’s already copyrighted by a roller derby team in Iowa. I don’t think it’s worth the litigation, sir.
Snyder: That’s fine, I’ve got plenty of ideas that I stole from homeless people without proper attribution. You know how there’s a football team called the fighting Irish, and it’s a drunken leprechaun in a green suit with its fists out and NO ONE is offended about that. I want to build on that.
What about the Genetically Inferior Frenchmen, or GIF?
Snyder: When you look at history the French had a Hundred Years War, then World War One, then World War Two, then Vietnam. So in a hundred and fifty years or so, all the Frenchmen that were healthy enough to qualify for the military have already been killed. All the men left were genetically inferior, the product of generations of cripples, madmen, pastry chefs and mimes that produced a country that exports men that look like Vincent Cassel.
Unseen to everyone else, Williams has woken up, and has creeped over the fire alarm which he pulls, setting off the sprinklers. No one moves as they look at Snyder, who puts on his Magneto helmet. He realizes that Williams is there for the first time.