Welcome to our exclusive look at the the secret NFL lockout negotiations between the owners and the NFLPA. If you need to get caught up on the action—here is part one. As a small note, I should probably tell you that I am making every sentence of The Locked Out Lockout up. If anything I describe below actually happened it is purely coincidental. Also, if you don't have a sense of humor you can probably just skip this one.
When we left off the action our participants were just arriving to the secret meeting location. Roger Goodell and Jerry Jones were just about to enter the secret base....
Goodell and Jones walk into a big, open round room. There is a table big enough to seat 50 in the middle. The walls are littered with screens. Below the screens are keyboards, flashing lights, knobs, buttons and alarms. There is a counter off the wall and stools underneath all the way around the round room.
Jones is the last of the scheduled to be in attendance owners to arrive.
"Cowboy!" They call out. "It's about time." Jones goes around for the greetings.
"Big Cat!" Jones says to Panthers owner Jerry Richardson as he pats him on the shoulder. "Good to see that ol' pacemaker is keeping you well."
"Wonder Mara!" Jones waves to Giants owner John Mara. "Keep that golden lasso holstered around me."
"Playa!" Jones fist bumps the Steelers Art Rooney II—who is the youngest member of the group, "How's it goin' you crazy cracka?"
"Don Krafteone!" Jones says while kissing Robert Kraft's extended hand.
Together these men form the nucleus of SOWGI (pronounced soggy). That stands for Super Old White Guys Inc. The incorporated was needed to avoid any individual of the group being liable in lawsuits. The secret deeds of the group are tales for another time.
"Hey guys." Goodell says from the corner. "Roggie!" The owners let out with forced enthusiasm.
"Oh, come on." Goodell says while stomping a foot. "I am the Comissionator! Everyone else is called by their super names. Why can't I?"
"Shut up, and go check the monitors before we meet," Kraft yells at Goodell.
Goodell looks at the ground while mumbling, "Well I am keeping on my jacket." He sits in front of a big bank of monitors, "Everything is looking all right. NFL chatter is a little...oh my god!" Goodell says with fright in his voice.
"What is it?" Kraft asks.
"Brett Favre just Skyped us his cock on the Eiffel Tower with a beret on its head."
A collective "ugh" filled the room
"I better take a look." Wonder Mara says while leaping from his seat.
"Jesus Christ, Mara," Jones yells. "Don't you spend enough time looking at that kind of thing."
"What? I better make sure it is his. You know...in case he wants to come back again or something."
"Just sit down. How the hell did Favre find us anyway?" Jones asks while shaking his head. "Ah, forget it. Roggie, how are the NFL Power ratings?"
"They are sinking. More people watched the NBA finals than the NFL Chanel last night."
"Ow!" The members of SOWGI moan while grabbing their lower backs. "Damn it, Roggie! That makes our bottom lines hurt." Jones grimaces.
"Gentlemen, don't worry," Kraft says in his usual calm tone. "We will get a boost after today. We will simply release a statement that we have been secretly negotiating. That should be enough to lift the interest of the sheeple."
"Wait, wait, wait," Jerry Jones butts in. "Why did I go to all the trouble to disguise myself if we are just going to tell people we are meeting?"
"Because you got a big mouth. We need the shock for the ratings boost," Kraft says while getting annoyed.
"Yeah, you're right. Let's get this meeting started. Rooney is going to take me clubbin' after this." Rooney raises the roof with his hands. "Roggie, are the servants looking antsy in the meeting room?"
Goodell checks the monitor that looks in on DeMaurice Smith and his small group of players. "Well, it looks like Smith is talking to himself. Mike Vrabel just snuck a coaster and a pen into his pocket. Kevin Mawae and Jeff Saturday are head butting each other."
"Alright SOWGI, let's do this thang." Art Rooney proclaimed while taking off his gold chains and blasting some Frank Sinatra with the treble turned up. They began to walk in slow-mo to the meeting room. Wait, it's not slow-mo. They are just too old to walk faster.
The atmosphere in the room was awkward. The greetings were short. They sat down to the table and stared icily at each other while ignoring Roger Goodell's speech about the nature of negotiations.
Robert Kraft reached down, pulling out a binder, and slid it over to DeMaurice Smith. "Here's our new offer, De. As you can see we have made many concessions." Saturday and Mawae flanked Smith while standing with their arms folded.
"I'm not De." Smith snapped at Kraft while trying to hide the southern drawl. "I am no longer a singular entity, and who is this offer to? Me personally?"
"No, it's to you as the head of the union. That is for all the players. All the players that are a part of the player's union."
"There is no union. I don't even know who you are talking to. I am not even an I. We are just a collection of non-unified atoms. Hell, I am like five people. But we will all look over you concessions anyway."
At this point, Goodell was mumbling to himself and thumbing through his note cards, "If they'd listen to my speech we could get back to football. Someday they will regret not listening to the Commissionator." Mike Vrabel was picking his pocket.
"There are no concessions in here." Smith says while looking up from the paperwork.
"Sure there are, De." Kraft says while leaning in closer. "Look, right there it says we will not make players play for only the luxury of waving their fees for a higher education. They can now choose to make a salary, or go for their doctorate."
"That wasn't part of the original agreement!"
"I know. We are conceding that. We are also conceding that when you do agree to this agreement that we will not change the terms of said agreement."
"You couldn't anyway!"
"We are conceding that."
"You also raised the percentage of the profits the owners will receive from your original offer."
Yes. We made that concession to ourselves. See, we are full of concessions. It would be really foolish of you to pass on our generosity."
"I don't know, boss," Kevin Mawae says to Smith. "That is a lot of concessions. Maybe we should take it."
"No, it's not. It's not any! And I am not your boss!" You are an independent entity!"
Jeff Saturday rubs his bicep, "My brain hurts."
"You see, De," Kraft says getting out of his chair. "Your own players know the desertification is a sham. It is only a matter of time before the courts rule in our favor. You have no power. You need to concede that fact. Concessions are a two way street, De. These guys can't miss out on paychecks. Look at Vrabel! He is trying to fit the wall mounted clock into his breast pocket."
Vrabel stops and tries to act like he is polishing the clock. Smith can only hang his head and shake it. Saturday drops into his center stance to try keep his brain from hurting, while John Mara fumbles with his phone to try and take a picture of Saturday. Jerry Jones lets out an evil cackle with so much force it knocks him and his chair backwards to the ground.
And with that they concede to call it a day.