Coming Home To The Fight.

Scene: Sunday afternoon, in a good-sized home in La Jolla, California. Tiffany Rivers is sitting back on a large, leather couch, with the plasma TV tuned to the Chargers-Colts game, and one ear to the phone, chatting with an old friend from North Carolina State. Her three daughters are playing in front of her.

Tiffany: I just hope he’s okay, Luce, I mean, that didn’t look good, getting his knee all kinds of out of joint after throwing a touchdown pass. What’s amazing is they might just still pull this one off.
Lucy (on phone): Get through this and the defense stops ’em, hopefully.
Tiffany: Yeah. (Watches 4th down play.) C’mon, hit him! (Watches Dallas Clark tip the pass). WOOOOO!!!! We win. Hell yes!
Lucy: That’s incredible, Tiff!
Tiffany: I know! Phil’s gotta be thrilled….oh, Jesus.

(Rivers is arguing with drunks in RCA Dome on national television, talking trash, as Jim Nantz and Phil Simms. Tiffany’s eldest daughter is watching.)

Halle: Mommy, why is Daddy screaming at the people up above in the stands?
Lucy: Tiff, I’ll call you back. (Click.)
Tiffany: Halle, go get Mommy that bottle over there, will you?
Halle: Yes, Mommy.

(Walks off to kitchen, returns with bottle of white wine.)

Tiffany: Thanks, hon. (Pours glass of wine, sips, talks to herself.) It’s like I got the child I never wanted before I even got pregnant.
Halle: What was that, Mom?
Tiffany: Earmuffs, sweetie.

Fade to: The next day. Philip and the team return from Indianapolis, high on the adrenaline from the victory. Philip pulls up into the spacious garage, heads up the walkway, and opens the door.

Philip: Hey, hon, I’m back! Freakin’ incredible game. (Tosses bags into the corner.) Billy and Norv just pulled that one out of their butts completely. Tiff? Where are you, babe?]

(Tiffany walks in from the kitchen, pissed.)

Tiffany: SIT. YOUR. ASS. DOWN.
Philip: What did I do?
Tiffany: How can you embarrass me like that on NATIONAL TELEVISION? I mean, I have the rich old haughty bitches all around this block snickering at me when I take the kids to the park. They saw you acting up like that on Sunday and that’s all I’ve heard about since!
Philip: Babe, you know I’m just havin’ fun out there, it’s all in good fun.
Tiffany: You can have your fun without taunting the stupid-ass drunks in the stands, can’t you? First you go after those damn Broncos when you’re not even in the game, looking like a classless jerk, and now you’re taunting fans.
Philip: Tiffany, I’m the star quarterback for a team that has a chance to go to the Super Bowl. That won’t matter in a week. I gotta be me.
Tiffany: And what do your daughters think? What kind of example are you setting for them?
Philip: Uh….that’s completely different.
Tiffany: Oh, please.
Philip: Seriously! How am I supposed to channel that swagger that puts us over the top without showing it off?
Tiffany: You’ve been playing better. Maybe you should stick to that, especially this week. Now get that bum leg of yours up on the couch and shut up. Dinner will be ready in about 30. Jesus, I got a 12-year old before I even went and got knocked up.

(Tiffany walks back towards the kitchen., leaving Philip and his bags down in the foyer. He walks over to the couch, crashes down, props his leg up.)

Philip: Uh, hey babe…can you get me a beer or something?
Tiffany (from kitchen): You better ask somebody else!

END.

(Semi-unrelated update: maybe this video explains all of Rivers’ pent-up expression. Thanks, AA!)

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