A logical extension of February’s post on the subject, really. Scene: an unnamed hospital in the Los Angeles area, likely Cedars-Sinai. The newest daddy in the NFL is taking phone calls on his cell while outside the glass and peering at his newborn son.
Tom: Now, who’s Daddy’s little fantasy QB of the future? Yes, you are! That’s right! You are gonna be throwing it downfield with ease, kiddo. (Cell phone rings again.) Hello?
Matt: Hey there, Tommy! Congratulations, dude! I’m drinking in your honor! This is the best thing that could have ever happened to you.
Tom: Oh, I know; it’s awesome.
Matt: Kid got a name yet?
Tom: No, Bridget and I are still going over it. Got any advice for me, I mean, what did this feel like for you?
Matt: Greatest moment of my life, being a dad. It really focuses you, tells you what’s really important in life, you know?
Tom: Oh, definitely. (Hears noise in the background.) Where the hell are you?
Matt: Dude, I got into town a couple hours ago. I’m actually a few minutes away and the party is ON. Wanta join us, or do you want me to come over to the hospital?
Tom: Isn’t it your weekend with Cole?
Matt: Totally, but not until tomorrow, so, y’know…
Tom: Brynn’s gonna be pissed if she shows up with the kid and you’ve got someone over.
Matt: Dude, for what I’m paying her a month, she can deal. Besides, this girl will be gone in the morning, won’t you, sweetheart? (Semi-audible “you bet” in the background).
(Tom’s cell phone rings again; caller ID reads “Urlacher.”)
Tom: Matt, I’ll catch you later. Got another call.
Matt: Peace, dude!
(Tom flips over.)
Brian: Congrats, Tom. Boy or a girl?
Tom: It’s a boy. I’m so proud. Bridget’s doing okay.
Brian: Awesome, dude. You always remember every kid’s birth.
Brian: Just don’t let Bridget start controlling the kid too much, man, honestly.
Brian: I’m telling you. With your schedule, she’s gonna turn him against you, might not raise him right, might just raise a fucking pussy without you around.
Tom: I think Bridget’s a bit more mature than that, Brian.
Brian: We’ve all been there, man. Look, just trust me — get someone to handle this, nip it in the bud early.
(Text message tone sounds. ID reads “Gisele.”)
Tom: Brian, I gotta take this. I’ll talk to you later, OK?
Brian: All right, man. Again, congratulations.
(Tom opens the text.)
Message from “Gisele”: “ok, the stupid kid is born, so DITCH THE BITCH ALREADY!!!”
(Tom closes the phone, sighs, and looks through the window again.)
(Author’s Note: I actually wrote this about an hour ago, then, this KSK post floated into my Google Reader, thus making me feel completely inadequate as a human being and writer, but I decided to finish this anyway.)