It was a cold day in Jacksonville. The clouds blended in with the snow. Children were outside building snowmen. Protesters were outside various retail stores for their use of "Happy Holidays!" instead of "Merry Christmas". Three men in Broncos gear stood outside Dave Caldwell's home holding signs that read "Why not?". In the midst of all the Christmas spirit, our hero was inside his home. Writing.
They say you don't exist, but that's a lie. I've seen a lot of things. There's no way you don't exist. I am writing you today to ask for you to return what's rightfully mine. It feels unfair tackling my problem this way, but coach Gus just can't take a hint. "Hey coach, just letting you know that Chad wears onsies. Not messing with you. I'll be refreshing the depth chart now, cya." "Hey coach. I'm healthy now. Very healthy. I've been listening to a lot of Drake. I know what YOLO means now."
None of my attempts worked. He seems quite dense. Anyway, that's all I want this year.
As our hero began sealing his envelope, he heard a knock at his door.
Hey Blaine. I'm the Jaguar quarterback of Christmas past. They woulda sent Brunell but he kinda screwed that up with those comments he made recently. What's up with that letter, man? You really think you deserve that job?
For real, though? Have you seen yourself play? Your last game, not only did you miss three open receivers, but you threw a pick. Alfie wrote about it here.
Blaine sighed. "What was that whole thing about anyway. Ghost of Jaguar past? Bleh. I need to take a nap."
Blaine closed his eyes. As he nodded off, he heard another knock at his door.
I'm the Jaguars quarterback of Christmas present. I saw the letter. Wow, dude. The thirst is real. How many 300 yard passing games you have again? Like one right?
Against the Packers. They were a good team.
This is why you shouldn't be the quarterback. Your wonderlic is clearly lower than mine. You just said keep it three hundred like the romans when it's spartans. I'm sorry. Dumb people aren't allowed in this house. Goodbye.
Blaine sighed again. "What is with today? Being visited by ghosts outside a game and having my play scrutinized...so lame." Blaine dozed off again, and another knock is heard from the door.
Hi. I'm the Jaguars QB of the future. I could be Teddy. I could be Carr. I could be Fales. I'm here to talk about that letter. You're probably not going to be here next year. Or anywhere, really. Actually, nevermind. Brady Quinn got a contract after his time in Cleveland cause of his looks. You'll be fine. Just not in Jax.
You're the ghost. You're dead. You died immediately after the Rams game.
Directed by M. Night Shyamalan.