In case you missed it: Prelude Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
I’ve got the power…
The 1990 Snap! classic boomed through the powerful stadium speakers and echoed the menacing message across the empty seats and off the tremendous windows. I’ve got the power!
It’s getting, it’s getting, it’s getting kinda hectic…
Mark Sanchez stood with arms akimbo as a platform lowered itself in the center of the field, flanked by Rihanna to his right and the talented bear actress (who deserved to get more work) Honey Bump, to his left. With surprising hip-hop acumen, Sanchez lifted a mic and layed down the poetic rap verse with abundantly fertile masculinity.
So peace, get off my back. Or I will attack, and you don’t want that.
Rihanna briefly interrupted her lonely gaze out the towering glass windows to look in Mark’s direction. “Remind me again how any of this is going to help you start in the Super Bowl.”
Sanchez knew she was mocking him, and he had no patience for it. “If you’re still not interested in singing the chorus for me, I have nothing to say to you.”
I’ve got the power! The song repeated as Sanchez’s platform raised and he prepared to rehearse again. At least for the time being, nobody could deny this was true.
Jordan Howard’s Mazda Miata was naturally the first Bears vehicle to arrive at the hijacked stadium. Eric Kush sat in the passenger seat, having beat all the doctor’s estimates and recovered fully from his hamstring surgery in time to suit up for the Super Bowl.
“It’s a relatively simple device” Kush explained. “I just rigged up three cell phones with a laser disc player remote and the power supply for a George Foreman Premium Grill.”
“That sounds complicated,” Howard was skeptical as he pulled into the parking lot to find a row of hired thugs in black suits waiting to block their way.
“Don’t worry. All we have to do is get it within 5 feet of the security panel and the staff door will unlock. It’s foolproof.”
The high-end tires on Jo Ho’s drop-top Miata screeched as he pulled the handbrake and flipped the car around into a perfect parallel parking spot at the end of the row of thugs.
“I put it in one of my wife’s purses. Just don’t drop it.”
The all-time single-season touchdown leader looked down to see a brown leather purse with a white zipper. With the device inside it had an oblong shape and the whole package was just a little bit larger than a youth league football.
“I think I can handle this.”
Jo Ho grabbed the purse and both the Bears hopped out of the convertible. As the thugs approached, Kush opened a hole with a devastating pancake block and Jo Ho took one cut to quickly separate from the bewildered baddies. After a stiff-arm, a juke, and a rare spin move that made a final goon roll both of his angles trying to adjust, Howard reached the security panel.
Once he was in, he would have no difficulty opening the gates for the rest of the Bears.
Glennon’s orange station wagon pulled through the open gate. Things felt too easy as they drove through the empty lot and pulled in towards the field access.
They were. A large man in a black suit stood dead center of the entry. He opened his jacket to reveal the handle of a holstered weapon. He muttered some threatening words but the Bears couldn’t hear them with Glennon’s personal Glee cast favorites playlist blasting on the high-end stereo.
Kyle Long turned down Santana’s chilling rendition of “Landslide” and rolled down the window.
“What was that? We couldn’t hear you over the music.”
The man walked up to the window for better acoustics, “I said I can’t let you pass.”
Glennon leaned across the car towards the man and laid on the charm, “Look sir. We’re some of the Bears’ offense. We just wanted to drop in for a quick looksie and admire the field we’re going to be playing on Sunday. Could you make an exception for some first time Super Bowlers?”
“I know who you are. Boss says no Bears.”
“What’s your name, son?” White’s soft but powerful voice came from the backseat.
“Merc,” the thug responded.
“Let me guess,” Long quipped. “Merc Enary?”
“No. Merc Trestman. I’m Marc Trestman’s nephew. You don’t remember me, bro? I was at every game 2013 to 2014.”
“Oh yeah. You’re starting to look familiar,” Kyle cleverly played along. “Hey. Did I ever get around to giving you an autograph?”
“No bro. I was too shy to ask. I’d love one though. I don’t think I have anything to sign, though.” Merc desparately patted around his pockets.
“I guess I could sign your gun?” Long suggested with an innocent shrug.
“Would that work? It’s so black.” Merc unholstered his weapon to demonstrate that it was entirely black.
“Don’t worry bro,” Long responded. “My navy and orange marker can write on anything.”
Merc handed the all-pro guard his firearm and Long demonstrated his impressive marker by signing the hilt. The Navy and Orange showed up better than expected against the black.
Kyle returned the signed gun to Merc much to the dismay of the other passengers in the car.
“There you go bro.” Long smiled at his fan. “Also, did you know your gun is plastic?”
“Oh yeah,” Merc replied. “Boss doesn’t want anyone to actually get hurt. He’s your teammate after all. I still can’t let you—”
Merc couldn’t finish his sentence before Glennon drove forward onto the field. The four Bears stepped out of the wagon to see two large cages hanging over the gridiron with an ominous platform between them.
It’s getting, it’s getting, it’s getting kinda hectic…
The remaining Bears trickled into the stadium from all directions as Mark Sanchez’s performance began. His platform lowered slowly with the cages, and the NFC champions could see Rihanna and Honey Bump awkwardly moving back and forth to the music. Only Glennon with his eagle eyes could spot the ropes wrapped under their arms, tugging on them like tragically beautiful puppets.
I’ve got the power!
Sanchez didn’t hesitate when the beat came around to his moment.
Like the crack of the whip, I Snap attack. Front to back. In this thing called rap.
Even the most angry Bears couldn’t help but be impressed with the hot fire Mark was spitting. Maybe he did have the swagger to be a starting NFL quarterback, but it didn’t matter on the Bears. At this point, even Jay Cutler himself would have been sitting third behind the league MVP and his overqualified obscenely-promising rookie backup.
As the music died down, Sanchez’s Ice-T-like rap vocal changed to a sinister mocking tone.
“Welcome my Bears brethren. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this moment while you all were—let’s say ‘butt fumbling’ about Chicago following the bread crumbs of false clues I left you.
“I thought of all the reasons I could tell you I deserve to be the starter for the Super Bowl. Ultimately, I decided to just show you.”
Sanchez held up a gold football with a large red button raised above the laces as three Black-suited mercenaries walked out on the field below him.
“When one of my men catches this ball, he will press the red button. When he presses the red button, the cages around the world’s greatest celebrity and the world’s greatest bear actress will fall to the ground, leaving them hanging only by thin ropes.
“This, I am told, will be extremely uncomfortable for them. A discomfort that will bear heavily on your consciences if you fail to prevent it.”
The Bears’ secondary understood what was needed of them. Prince Amukamara, Kyle Fuller, and Cre’von LeBlanc each lined up in front of one of the goons in off-man coverage. Quintin Demps and Eddie Jackson stepped back into coverage.
“No safety help!” Sanchez screeched as he threw down the microphone. His voice mixed with feedback from the crashing mic pierced the Bears’ ears as the cacophony echoed through the stadium.
Sanchez dropped back three steps as his receiver’s began their routes. The Bears’ corner-backs had little difficulty keeping up with the hired crooks, with only Kyle Fuller leaving a small gap as his receiver cut wide for a deep out.
Sanchez took the bait: tempted to show off his arm strength, he fired an impressive spiral toward his receiver as he approached the sideline. The pass was perfectly timed for Fuller to jump in and smoothly pull the ball down into his arms. In his excitement, Fuller continued forward, running the whole distance to the goal line in an exhilarating pick six.
Once he reached the end zone, Fuller executed a beautiful moonwalk before spiking the ball. Multiple Bear’s screams combined into an echoing "Noooo" which floated towards Fuller as he spiked the ball down. But Fuller's motion was too far advanced for him to stop.
"What?" He asked with an inquisitive shrug. "We're allowed to celebrate now." The red button glowed as the ball bounced off the ground, and it was clear Sanchez's device had been activated.
As the cages fell to the ground, the team could hardly bear to see the extreme discomfort on Riri's face as she struggled against the rope or the devastating frown on Honey Bump's adorable mug as she swung back and forth.
"I found pruning sheers!" The Bears looked over to see Staley panting as he shuffled his way toward the field from the maintenance shed. Tarik Cohen ran to meet him, and escorted the sheers to Cody Whitehair with tremendous speed and agility.
Without hesitation, Whitehair snapped the shears back to Mitchel Trubisky, who held them just above the ground in perfect place for Connor Barth to swing his kicking foot underneath, launching the shears into the air as the blade opened and spun above the field.
The shears struck Honey Bump's rope as she swung towards Riri, cutting through all but a thread of the moving harness. The final thread broke at the apex of Honey Bump's swing, and the beautiful Grizzly soared through the air, catching on to Rihanna's rope with her powerful bite that accentuated her chiseled jawline.
The ursine thespian demonstrated incredible flexibility as she held on to the rope above with her paws and chewed swiftly through the lower rope to release Rihanna, who began a tumbling descent.
Mere Bear sprinted across the field when he saw the generational pop star begin her fall. Honey Bump could only support her massive weight for so long, and she soon began her own descent beside Rihanna's, catching the watchful eye of Kevin White who started his own sprint towards the Oscar-caliber actress.
Rihanna fell gracefully into Mere Bear's arms, landing perfectly with her Giuseppe Zanoti heels lightly resting on the turf. Her sultry wide-open eyes looked up at the powerful receiver, and their eyes locked in a gaze that was only broken by the thump of Honey Bump crushing Kevin White as her 400 pound fatty mass collapsed onto him and pinned him to the turf.
Although Rihanna's eyes followed the commotion, Mere Bear's gaze was frozen on the ruby lips of the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He leaned in towards Rihanna, who gently deflected his advance with a single finger.
"I'm sorry, Mere Bear," Rihanna had genuine sympathy in her angelic voice. "You may be the best receiver in the NFL, but I'm madly and completely in love with a woman who blogs about you. Never in my life has my heart been so full and at the same time so empty of doubt." Mere Bear maintained his pose holding on to empty space as Rihanna slipped away to find Staley and prepare for her half-time show.
"I'm okay," Kevin White gasped as the defensive line rolled 400 pounds of gorgeous off of him.
As Mark Sanchez's platform lowered to field level, he looked up to the control booth to see Eric Kush waving down to him. Surveying the field, it finally dawned on Sanchez that he had lost all leverage. His plot had failed. He had no chance to start in the Super Bowl, and he had caused distress to so many of the teammates he had grown to care for. Sanchez felt overwhelmed with regret and collapsed to the ground in tears.
The Super Bowl half-time show was a roaring success. Even unrehearsed, Staley's voice was the highlight of the show when he went an octave above Rihanna in an impromptu duet of "Higher."
Of course the Bears won the game. The final score of 34 to 10 was suspiciously tame considering how dominant the Bears offense had been all season. Some attributed this to an impressive showing from the Bengals stoic defense, but many others thought it was a gesture to herald in the era of Vic Fangio's 3-4 defense taking the torch from Buddy Ryan's 4-6 as the pinnacle of NFL defensive might.
I for one believe it was a tip of the hat to Walter Payton: topping off the Bears' undefeated season with a winning score of Sweetness' number was the ultimate nod to his importance in the history of Bears' offensive glory.
As for Sanchez, he got himself a starting job for the Packers after he finished his prison sentence and Aaron Rodgers finished his futile struggles against the new dynasty of the NFC North.
Mr. Biscuit did get traded to the Browns eventually--for the most draft capital of any trade in history. He was worth it too, even meeting the Bears in the Super Bowl on one occasion. Trubisky never found his way out of Glennon's shadow, but in his defense, neither did anyone else.
MG8 finally retired at 45--when he ran out of fingers to put his Super Bowl rings on. What can I say? The man is too classy to put jewelry on his toes.