The War for the NFC North

Battle of Detroit, 2010 

In a dirty trench, several Bears sit around a fire. SERGEANT KREUTZ, PRIVATE WILLIAMS, and CORPORAL GARZA cook some beans. PRIVATES OLSEN and AROMASHODU smoke cigarettes. CAPTAIN CUTLER eats a candy bar, while LIETENANT FORTE sits next to him. They are grimy, bloody, and bruised. 

FORTE: Captain, what’re you going to do when the season’s over? 

CUTLER: Dunno, Lieutenant. Probably work on my grenade throwing. How 'bout you?

  FORTE: I’m going back home and riding the buses all day, and at every stop, when those doors open, I’m going to get off the bus running. Just like we did back in basic training. 

CUTLER: Still looking forward to the next season, eh, Forte? 

FORTE: You’re not? 

CUTLER:It’s not that. It’s just … well, I’m just ready to go home for a while. I’m going to crawl in a hot tub and not come out until every bruise and bump is gone and I forget this season even happened.

AROMASHODU: You can just turn it off, like that, Captain? 

CUTLER: You have to, Private. Otherwise you wind up like Lieutenant Hester over there.

  Cutler points to a figure sitting in the corner, twitching every few moments.  CUTLER: (cont.)He used to be our best offensive weapon. Never seen anyone charge an enemy like him. But he started overthinking things and his nerves got the best of him. Now he’s just as likely to run backward as forward.

  There’s an argument among Kreutz, Williams, and Garza.

  GARZA:Hey, Sergeant, quit hogging all the beans. 

WILLIAMS: Yeah!

KREUTZ: (gulping down a ladle of beans) Pipe down.  I got seniority and I deserve a bigger share. When you ladies have been around as long as I have, then you can get more beans.

OLSEN: Besides, you guys don’t want to be full of beans like him. 

KREUTZ: Watch it, private! That’s the same smart mouth that got you busted down from corporal.

  OLSEN: Ooh, what you gonna do, Sergeant? Send me to the bottom of the NFC North to fight the Lions?

KREUTZ: How 'bout I break that jaw of yours? 

CUTLER:Hey, knock it off, both of you. Look, we win this battle, and we can all go home. So just chill.

GENERAL LOVIE enters the trench, followed by the defensive unit: MAJOR BRIGGS, CORPORAL BOWMAN, and PRIVATE ROACH.

BRIGGS: Ten-hut!

The Bears don’t bother to get up. 

GENERAL LOVIE: At ease, men. It’s been a long season, and I know we’ve been through a lot. You have performed admirably, especially considering you have been outmaneuvered, outgunned, and outcoached. I’m very proud of you.

There’s a loud noise. Williams and Garza move away from Kreutz. 

GARZA: (waving hand under nose) Dios mio, Sergeant!

WILLIAMS: My word! We never had this kind of behavior at Vanderbilt!

KREUTZ: Yeah, well why don’t you write a letter to the Geneva Convention, Private College Boy.

  GENERAL LOVIE: Sergeant Kreutz! That’s enough out of you.

KREUTZ: Sorry, sir. Just offering my own personal interpretation of the season.

  GENERAL LOVIE: Keep it up and you’ll be out of this unit, Kreutz.

KREUTZ: (muttering under breath) That’ll be two of us.

GENERAL LOVIE: (composing himself) Now I just need you to muster up one more attack, against a group of Lions in Detroit. They’re a battered bunch, pummeled for years by offensive artillery and cut down by tough defenses. We should be able to overwhelm them. 

OLSEN: That’s what you said about the Cardinals.

GARZA: And before the battle of Cincinnati.

GENERAL LOVIE: I know, I know, but this team is different. These guys really stink. So let’s just get out and do our duty and this will all be over soon. Take your positions.

The Bears get ready to attack, massing near the trench walls. General Lovie looks at his watch, a whistle in his mouth.

GENERAL LOVIE: Wait for it…now! (blows whistle)

  The Bears go over the top, yelling and screaming as they charge Detroit. The Lions come at them as well. They are a ragged group of irregulars, but they fight ferociously and halt the Bears attack.

FORTE: Not again! They’re stopping us in our tracks!

KREUTZ: Not this week, pretty boy. Plug your nose and follow me.

Kreutz, grabs Williams and Garza, charging the Lions and knocking them over, allowing Forte and Aromashodu penetrate the Detroit defenses. Cutler pulls the pin on a grenade.

CUTLER: Aroma, catch!

  He tosses the grenade perfectly to Aromashodu, who catches it and drops it in the Detroit trench before it explodes.

From the flank, however, Detroit counterattacks. One soldier, MAJOR C. JOHNSON, gets behind the Bears defenders and drops a bomb on them. But Major Briggs rallies the defenders and beats the Lions back, allowing Cutler to toss another grenade to Aromashodu. Amid the smoke and explosions and cries of men, a whistle sounds. The men stop.

CUTLER: That’s it!

FORTE: Is it really, Captain? Is it really over?

General Lovie blows the whistle one last time.

GENERAL LOVIE: Season’s over, men! Season’s over!

Both the Bears and Lions throw down their arms and shout “Huzzah!” Groups of battered players come out of their trenches, hugging each other.

CUTLER: (embracing Major C. Johnson) Wow, nice moves there, major. Didn’t think you Detroit boys could attack like that.

C. JOHNSON: We could do that more often if we had better air support.

CUTLER: Hey, maybe you should fight for us … I could use a guy who knows how to catch like that.

C. JOHNSON: Yeah, but I already got a guy who throws to the other team.

They both laugh. They turn and see two other armies marching in the distance: the Vikings and Packers.

CUTLER: Well, maybe someday we’ll both be on a team that lives to fight in the postseason.

C. JOHNSON: Maybe, captain. Maybe.

They shake hands and go their separate ways, walking into the sunset.

General Lovie surveys the field of battle. He’s tearing up a little. One of his officers, COLONEL TURNER, stands by him. 

COLONEL TURNER: Is this the end for us, sir?

GENERAL LOVIE: Maybe, Colonel, maybe. But you know what they say. Old head coaches with Super Bowl appearances never retire. They just fade away … to college or back to being coordinators. But no matter what happens, I will miss these guys.

He sniffs with sadness, but his expression changes to disgust as he sniffs again.

Except Kreutz. I hate that guy.

-- BRANDON TRISSLER