[Brian Kelly arrives home, sets down his briefcase and hat]
BRIAN KELLY: My, what an exhausting day of preparations. We've got a big primetime game Saturday against Stanford. I know they're not doing as well this year as we've come to expect from them, but I'd be foolish to expect this to be anything but a tough, hard-fought match.
[he opens the fridge] Hmm. We're out of orange juice.
[he closes the fridge, and fumes quietly for a moment] Well, this can't be my fault.
[he heads upstairs] We're going to have to have a talk about this.
[he pulls down the hatch that leads up to the attic, and clambers up the ladder] Where are you?
[there is silence, and then a whimper and rustling in the shadows. Kelly fumbles for the light] WHERE ARE YOU YOU ORANGE JUICE DRINKING SON OF A BITCH
[he finds the pull-chain for the light, and the attic is illuminated] [Kelly's eyes come to rest on a dim corner, where a man who looks remarkably similar to him cowers]
KRIAN BELLY: Please, Brian, I'm sorry
BRIAN KELLY: THE HELL DID YOU DRINK ALL MY OJ
KRIAN, terrified: You... you know I couldn't have done that, Brian. You've had me locked in this attic for years. I survive on mice and snowmelt. I haven't seen the light of day in so long I don't remember what it looks like, and-
BRIAN: [glowers menacingly]
KRIAN: ... you... you're right, I'm sorry I drank your orange juice, Brian.
BRIAN: You're goddamned right you're sorry.
KRIAN: It won't happen again, sir.
BRIAN: Is there anything else you're sorry for?
KRIAN: I... I... I'm sorry for calling 26 pass plays in the middle of a hurricane?
BRIAN: [nodding] That's better.
KRIAN: I'm always screwing up, aren't I.
BRIAN: You really are. I'm always having to cover for you. It's been this way since we were kids. My, when you were born, it was clear you were a problem. You didn't scream the way I did. Your face lacked the healthy purple tone one would expect to see in a baby who'd consumed the other triplet in utero and punched the doctor during delivery.
I told our parents to abandon you in the woods - having been born myself three minutes earlier. But fools that they were, they took pity on you.
KRIAN: Why did they give me a name that's just a cruel spoonerism of yours?
BRIAN: That was also your fault.
KRIAN: Oh. Right. I forgot.
BRIAN: And ever since then, I've been cleaning up your messes.
BRIAN: Like in 4th grade, when I was the lead in the President's Day pageant, and I was supposed to say "four score and seven years ago, our forefathers-" but I saw your stupid face in the crowd and said "[string of expletives]" instead?
KRIAN: I should've worn a bag over my head, I'm sorry.
BRIAN: And then in 8th grade, when you ruined my science fair project, costing me accolades I so richly deserved?
KRIAN: Usually people make volcanoes out of papier-mâché, it was just so hard for me to keep the baking soda in my mouth
BRIAN [glaring]: More excuses!
KRIAN: You're right, I should've been tougher. I'm not tough like you.
BRIAN: Or in 12th grade, when your breathing caused a butterfly effect that made me drop that pass in the state title game?
KRIAN: That one really seems like a stretch, but I apologize nonetheless.
BRIAN: Or just now, when you crapped my pants?
KRIAN: I... should not have done that?
BRIAN: No, you shouldn't have.
KRIAN: It won't happen again.
BRIAN: It's just so exhausting explaining away your mistakes, and your 2-4 record right now is really making things difficult for me. I don't know how much longer I can carry your ass.
KRIAN: Hey, um, I've been meaning to ask, I was just reading this old copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray that I found up here, and I was wondering why you didn't just make a deal like that, get a painting made that'd take all your sins and aging and all that for you?
BRIAN: I did, the painter did a goddamned terrible job. [he gestures to another corner]
[there's a lovely oil painting of a youthful, smiling Brian Kelly winning the 2003 Division II National Championship with Grand Valley State. He looks healthy and happy and the people around him all appear proud and excited to work with him]
KRIAN: Did... did you read the book before you talked to the painter?
BRIAN: You were supposed to read it for me, you bastard.
KRIAN: I'm sorry.