[From deep within Jacksonville Municipal Stadium, comes a tale of determination, prognostication, wine and cheese.] [Some Jaguars fiction, just for fun.]
The coach's door swung open and in walked Gene Smith, newly appointed GM for the Jaguars. Gene was a big fella and he immediately dropped himself like a lead weight into a black leather chair across from Del Rio's desk. Del Rio took the final sip from a glass of red wine, nibbled on a piece of cheddar and an apple. Then looked Gene right in the face.
“You're cutting the whole team, Gene. Plan on leaving me any players?”
Gene replied, “I'm just trying to cure your ills, Jack. We've gotta get rid of some of these disrespectful, team-killing sons-of-guns that this guy let creep in here.” As he says “this guy” Gene points to a dart board on the wall in Jack's office, which has a picture of Shack Harris' face tacked to it. A dart piercing his forehead.
“Ok. Well, Fred aside, the decisions so far, I guess...I agree with. But what about Sensabaugh?” Del Rio asked.
“Why, Jack? Are you in the market for a sawed-off shotgun or something? Or a Glock? Hey, I bet he'd make a good bodyguard,” Gene remarked with cynicism.
“I get your point. Fine, release him.” Jack stared off into nowhere.
“Ok, Jack. Enjoy the wine. We'll talk about Khalif tomorrow.” Gene stood up, grabbed a piece of cheddar, picked up a dart from Jack's desk, launched it somewhere near Shack's ear, then walked out.
Jack was left alone and with a sigh, opened his desk drawer. In the drawer, among other things, was his favorite mouthpiece from his playing days. Many a quarterback was taken down as Jack's teeth gnashed this sturdy bit of rubber.
“Cut anyone else Gene, and I might have to put this baby back to use.” Jack shut the drawer, poured a fresh glass of wine, and thought, blitz.