::A familiar voice rings out from the back of head coach Doug Pederson’s press conference, and a familiar-faced, middle aged man begins to push his way through the assembled media corp, accidentally knocking Les Bowen to the ground as security desperately tries to contain the situation::

Hoying: Hey Doug, you little pissant, tell your gestapo SS guards to get their god damn hands offa me. I’m a legacy, fuck it all, I don’t deserve to be treated like this damnit. Do you dollar store LOSERS even know who I am, I used to run this town, get yer paws off of me for fucks sake….

::Hoying takes a wild swing at one of the Novacare guards, before Pederson tells them it’s okay and takes responsibility for the wild-eyed guest. Smiling, Hoying pulls Pederson into a meaty hug after the coach offers him his hand for a quick shake::

Hoying: I haven’t seen you since I was cleaning out my locker back in 1997 when old tons-of-fun Andy Reid shitcanned me for some young hotshit quarterback out of Syracuse and a has been nobody from Green Bay who smelled worse than all those cheeseheads combined. You son of a bitch, HOW YOU BEEN?

Pederson: That was me from Green B….whatever. I’m okay, Bobby. You look good. I didn’t recognize you in the new clothes.

Hoying: Don’t let the suit fool you, Doug, just smell this if you don’t believe it’s me.

::shoves two fingers under Doug’s nose::

Hoying: You smell that?! That’s your old lady, paid her a visit before I busted into this shindig. Fuck, this Novacare complex is harder to break into then a whorehouse on Easter.

Pederson: Bobby…it’s good to see you, but I’m kind of busy.

Hoying: You think I don’t know that?! That’s why I’m here. I’m here to offa you my services. Hear your prized stud colt had to be put out to pasture early this year and you got two peckerwoods trying to get you to the promised land? Napoleon Dynamite and Nate somebody?

Pederson: Foles and Sudfeld. Yes, I’m confident in Nick Foles, he’s my guy, Bobby.

Hoying: TO HELL HE IS! I took one look at him when I was rifling through the lockers half an hour ago and that boy is soft! He can’t take a punch, neither. Hell, one sucker shot to the jaw and that boy was out. You want him manning the helm of a Super Bowl caliber team? He’ll be limp wristing his way into pick sixes and a division round exit in no time. And that Somefeld fellow? Little pisser took off the second I flinched in his direction. Not what you want at the position, Douggy Pop.

Pederson: It’s what we have, Bobby. What are you suggesting?

Hoying: What am I suggesting? You’re looking at him, Dougster. Sure I may have a bit more snow on top of the mountain, but it’s not the snow on top of the mountain that counts, but the amount of snow you can still fit under your nose if you catch my drift, Dig Dougger! I’M TALKING ABOUT COCAINE HERE, DOUG-A-MITE!

::winks several times to Pederson::

Pederson: I got that, Bobby. You do know the media is still here? They all have their recorders out, they’re taking down everything you’re saying. Hell, it looks like you even knocked out Les Bowen when you came in.

::a moaning noise comes to from the corp, as a dazed Bowen pulls himself up::

Hoying: Bowen? Awww he’s fine, ain’t you Les?!

::Les gives a thumbs up::

Hoying: You see? Everything is fine. But again, Doug-E-Fresh, if you hitch me to this here buggy I’ll make sure you get this burro to the promised land. I’M TALKING ABOUT THE SUPER BOWL, DOUG.

Pederson: Yeah, I got that. Wait, is the team a buggy or a burro, you just said….

Hoying: I KNOW WHAT I SAID, AND I’M TALKING ABOUT GLORY, ABOUT TAKING A SEAT AT VALHALLA FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.

Pederson: Uh huh…sure, Bobby. Whatever you say. Why don’t you get your stuff and come inside, then we’ll talk, ok?

Hoying: YEEEEEEEEEEE HA! NOW YOU’RE TALKING, DOUG THE PUG. I’MA GET MY GEAR!

::Hoying jumps off the stage and smashes into Bowen, sending him careening across the floor again. Pederson watches as he leaves::

Pederson: Make sure he does not get back into this facility. What’s he doing out there, can anyone see?

::a security guard looks out the side door and hustles back in::

Guard: Looks like he’s doing donuts in the parking lot in a rusted out 76′ Camaro, coach.

Pederson: Alright, that gives us about 45-minutes. Everyone get the fuck out of here.