The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to a certain National Football League coach are entirely intentional.
It’s game day in Denver.
A certain coaching legend already has his game face on as night edges into dawn.
A punchy rock riff has jarred the coach from his sleep. It’s Bon Jovi playing on the iHome alarm clock his girlfriend got him for Christmas.
“Livin’ on a prayer,” the coach warbles as he fumbles to turn it off.
“Uhhhhhhh,” he grumbles. “Can never figure out clocks.”
He squints at the hour. Plenty of time to watch some game film on the large-screen TV a hotel worker had brought him Saturday night.
“Excellent bellhop,” the coach thinks. “Size, speed, gets across the room, real good hands.”
His stomach growls. He calls room service. A voice asks if he’d like toast, English muffins, or a bagel with his breakfast.
“It’s a piece of the puzzle,” the coach answers, his gaze fixed on Peyton Manning dodging a furious pass rush. “It’s a big puzzle and there’s a lot of pieces. I don’t know. It’s one of many things.”
Breakfast arrives. Coffee, eggs — with muffins, bagels, and toast.
“Really strong in all three phases of the meal,” he observes. “Three kinds of bread. I’ll have to get them in the system and see how it goes. I’m going to give them all the same opportunity, and evaluate what they do. I can’t make any predictions or projections.”
The server inquires if the coach will need anything else before he checks out.
“I don’t have any comment. We’ll talk about the meal and the food on this plate,” the coach snaps. “I’m focusing on this meal.”
The coach hits the shower. It’s one of those confusing single-lever hotel faucets. He calls his director of football research, who walks him through the steps of turning on the water and regulating heat.
“That’s what practice is for,” the coach admonishes himself. “There are all these things to correct in practice; that’s why we practice.’’
The coach keeps the shower curtain open so he can watch another large-screen TV a hotel staffer had set up on the sink Saturday.
The guy had asked what the coach planned to watch.
“That’s between myself and the team,” was the coach’s retort.
But the TV works well. The intricacies of Denver’s pass coverage are easily discernible through the shower spray. The hotel guy had done a good job.
“He’s just a good, solid, all-around technician,” the coach muses.
Time to get dressed. The coach considers his wardrobe. There are pants, underwear, hoodies with sleeves, hoodies without sleeves.
“Uhhhhhhh,” he ponders. “I don’t know. It’s a jigsaw puzzle. It’s a lot of pieces that go together.”
He calls his loyal assistant, who is staying in the next room. The lackey picks out an outfit. But there’s something missing. The coach forgot to pack socks.
“You do a good job doing what it is that you do,” the coach tells the valet, slipping a shoe over a bare foot. “In the end, we came up a little bit short. Not too much more to say than that.”
Downstairs, the bus is waiting. The driver asks if the coach would like him to drive past the Denver Mint on the way, or maybe stop by one of the city’s new legal marijuana shops.
“This is a business trip,” the coach snorts. “Probably not the exciting answer you were hoping for.”
On the way to the stadium, the police escort runs a red light, leaving the team bus behind.
“We just got outdriven,” the coach reflects, gazing at the window as some sort of bug traces an out pattern across it.
“I wonder what it is,” the coach asks himself. He answers his own question. “It is what it is.”
David Filipov can be reached at David.Filipov@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @davidfilipov.