William Clay Ford and Matt Millen: Draft day strategy

Matt Millen: Dammit, I should have known. He's deep into the Chivas. Here we go again.

William Clay Ford: //drool//

MM: Mr. Ford, sir? I'm here to speak to you about the upcoming NFL draft.

William Clay Ford: //whistle//

MM: Sir? SIR? MR. FORD?!

WCF: //snort//

MM: MR. FORD! THE DRAFT!! THE DRAFT!!

WCF: //wheeze// Huh? Wha?! DRAFT?! What about the God damn draft?! I have an exemption! I'm 4 fucking F, my daddy took care of it! World war my ass! I'm not going to war to support that damn socialist Roosevelt! I couldn't give a shit if some Archduke has been shot! Scotch me, Jeeves! Damn communists are ruining this country! Next thing you know, we'll be dropping the gold standard!

MM: THE NFL DRAFT, YOU DAMN DEAF ASS OLD COOT! Uh, um...That came out wrong, sir. I meant to say, I'm talking about the NFL draft, Mr. Ford.

WCF: Oh, it's you, Russ! How's things with my footballers? You still don't have that drunk alcoholic Texan playing quaterbacker, do you Russ? He's giving my Lions a bad name, with all the late night carousing and whoring! That won't do. That won't do at all. We need another QB, Russ.

MM: No, Mr. Ford, I'm not Russ Thomas, I'm Matt Mill...Whatever you say, sir. Anyway...We traded Bobby Layne in 1958, Mr. Ford. Jon Kitna is our QB now. The coaches all agree that Kitna is their man for next year.

WCF: Who? Johnny Kika? Sounds Jewish to me! You know that won't do, Russ. We need a real quaterbacker, not some jewboy. Now what about this so-called draft. Sounds like a good way to get my footballers a new quaterbacker. OK, it's settled.

MM: Settled? But...

WCF: We'll draft a quaterbacker, as long as he isn't a hippie, a jew, or a colored boy.

MM: Sir, I've talked with the coaches, and we all agree. We're quite happy with our QB situation. We want to take a lineman with our first pick.

WCF: A lineman? A LINEMAN?! //hack// //spit// Christ almighty Russ, what in the HELL are you thinking?! Are you on the drugs? Linemen don't sell tickets! I told you, we NEED a quarterbacker. You're driving me to drink, Russ. JEEVES! SCOTCH! NOW! OR I'M CALLING IMMIGRATION!

MM: But, but, but...Sir, the last time you told me to specifically take a QB, we ended up with Joey Harrington. He set back the franchise 5 years! We became a league laughingstock! We need to build from the inside out, sir. We like Joe Thomas, a offensive tackle from Wiscons...

WCF: A TACKLE!? Didn't you hear me? No one buys tickets to watch some lard ass! You are NOT drafting a..a...TACKLE LINEMAN! That settles that. Now tell me Russ, who are the best quaterbackers coming out of the university system?

MM: There's two QB's that are at the top of our draft board. A stud kid from LSU, Jamarcus Russell, and...

WCF: Jamar-who? Did I hear that right? JAMARCUS? He a colored boy?

MM: Uh...Well...

WCF: Russ, you know that's not going to work. We all know that the coloreds are lazy. It's common knowledge that quaterbacker is too difficult of a position for the coloreds. I WILL NOT have a lazy colored boy as my quarterbacker! Case closed! Now where's my scotch?

MM: I don't know where your scotch is, sir. Since we now don't like Russell, the next QB on the board is a kid from Notre Dame...

WCF: Notre Dame? Are you talking about Hourning? Paul Hourning is available?! 23 skidoo, now there's a clean cut young man! And a Heisman winning Notre Dame lad to boot. He's going to sell lots of tickets, Russ! Say what you will about those damn Catholics, but they sure can produce good footballers! That's who you're drafting, Russ. No ifs, ands, or buts. Discussion over. Now have a drink. GOD DAMMIT! JEEVES, I HAVE IMMIGRATION ON THE PHONE! SCOTCH! NOW!

MM: No sir, his name is Brady Qui...Oh Christ, I give up. Yes, sir. I can draft Paul Hourning for the Lions.

WCF: Now that's what I like in my general manager. A yes man. That's why our family business is doing so well, Russ. What we Fords say, goes. You best remember that, Russ.

MM: Yes, sir. Can I have that drink?

WCF: That's the spirit, boy! //snort// Scotch is the nectar of the Gods, you know. JEEVES!

MM: I hate myself...