Tournament of Everything Elite Eight: 2 Rose Bowl vs. 3 Bob Dylan

EXT. ROSE BOWL -- PASADENA, CALIFORNIA -- AFTERNOON

A man approaches the empty stadium. No one else is in sight. We see he has an acoustic guitar over his shoulder, and we notice he is taking out a harmonica. Yes, it's BOB DYLAN.

He stands in front of the rose bushes outside the south entrance to the stadium. He tunes his guitar as we see various shots of the stadium showing no one else, not even security guards or Midwestern pilgrims.

BOB DYLAN

You know why I'm here, don't you?

ROSE BOWL

[No reaction.]

BOB DYLAN looks up at the sign on the stadium's edifice, then walks into the empty stadium, emerging into the bleachers. He sits down and begins to play.

BOB DYLAN

You've got a lot of nerve
To say you are my friend ...

He keeps playing, and we see on the Rose Bowl's jumbotron a montage of images, mostly Rose Bowl highlights: Ron Dayne, Drew Brees, Matt Leinart, Steve Breaston and then ... players from Miami, Oklahoma, Nebraska. All the highlights are from recent games, none are from before 1999.

BOB DYLAN

... You just want to be on the side that's winning.

INT. ROSE BOWL

The stadium is completely empty. Sun gleams off empty bleachers. The paint in the end zones spelling out "Michigan" and "USC" is faded. The logo at midfield is still bright, with it's iconic blossom and the words "Presented by CITI" appearing as sharp as they were on Jan. 1.

BOB DYLAN

No I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace

BOB DYLAN

... I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes.
And just for that one moment
I could be you.

BOB DYLAN

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes.
You'd know what a drag
It is to see you.

BOB DYLAN stops playing and looks at the scoreboard. It has gone dark. He looks around, as if waiting for a response. Seeing none he shrugs, and slips his guitar off his shoulder. We hear a faint drumming in the distance. BOB DYLAN looks up. The drumming grows louder, it's in the time signature of a martial-style march. There's a blast of horns playing "Tribute to Troy" and the UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA MARCHING BAND comes stomping out of the tunnel to Dylan's left. He hears more horns and turns to see the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN MARCHING BAND pouring out of the other tunnel.

The bands are playing at maximum volume. BOB DYLAN looks bemused at first, then his expression grows concerned when they begin playing "The Victors" again at maximum volume. As the song ends, the bands have filled the entire field from end zone to end zone. They stop and turn to stare at BOB DYLAN. He looks around, clearly alarmed now. In each exit portal, members of every other Big Ten and Pac-10 bands, with several members guarding each exit portal from the seating bowl. He looks back to the field and notices the Michigan and USC bands have sealed off all the other exits.

The scoreboard flashes to life again. And words begin to scroll across it.

ROSE BOWL

Just who the hell do you think YOU are? How dare you come here and spit in the face of my Tradtion and Grandeur. I am an American Classic. Do you not know that I am The Granddaddy of Them All (TM)?

BOB DYLAN

Oh, I'm well aware. Listen, I think it's - ...

ROSE BOWL

Then SILENCE! You shall not be leaving this stadium until you answer my Official Rose Bowl Riddle. (Off camera, an impossibly deep drumbeat begins, growing slowly louder and faster in tempo). If you fail, I shall leave you to be beaten to a slow and painful death by the bands. (At this, several flag girls menacingly begin to sharpen the points of their flags. Michigan's euphonium squad takes nunchucks out of their back pockets. The USC flute players smack their instruments menacingly into their palms. BOB DYLAN tries to remain calm, but is clearlu uncomfortable.

BOB DYLAN

I was born ready! (He has to yell above the sound of the drum, which has become deafening.)

As he finishes, THE WORLD'S LARGEST DRUM, being towed by several members of the Purdue band, enters the field, sending USC band members scattering as it is beaten at a furious tempo. An unlucky few are crushed, their sunglasses sent flying in the air. No one moves a muscle. The drum stops suddenly. Somewhere in the distance, an oboe plays a note like a dog howling.

ROSE BOWL

Very well. The Great Rose Bowl Riddle begins!

ROSE BOWL (Cont'd)

Knock, knock.

BOB DYLAN

Uh, who's there?

ROSE BOWL

Interrupting Woodson.

BOB DYLAN

Interrupting Woods- ...

Before he can finish, CHARLES WOODSON, in full Michigan uniform, enters through a tunnel, runs down to Dylan's seat, steals his guitar, and runs up the steps and out another tunnel, clonking an Ohio State band member on the head with it as he passes.

BOB DYLAN

Hey!

ROSE BOWL

Tough titties. Knock, knock.

BOB DYLAN

[Sighing.] Who's there?

ROSE BOWL

Interrupting Steve Breaston.

BOB DYLAN [Sighing}

Interrupting Steve Breast- ...

He is cut off by the roar of a high-powered jet engine. A maize-and-blue blur flashes over the stadium, accompanied by a sonic boom. The shockwave ruptures one of Dylan's eardrums.

BOB DYLAN

You know, I didn't care for that. Now I'm deaf in my left ear.

ROSE BOWL

Such is the price you pay for trifling with a Bowl Championship Series (TM) bowl, mere human.

ROSE BOWL

Knock, knock.

BOB DYLAN

Who's there?

ROSE BOWL

Interrupting BCS.

BOB DYLAN

Interrupting BC- ...

He is cut off when a giant cloth sack with a dollar sign on the side lands at his feet with a massive "WHUMP!" sound, nearly crushing his toes. It splits open and gold coins spill out. Then a banknote flutters past his face. He watches it land at his feet. It's a hundred. He sees as another, and then another flutter past. More sacks of money are landing, leaving great divots in the field and concussing innocent trombonists. The grass begins to disappear beneath the spilled Sacagawea dollars and banknotes. The band members refuse to move, even as the money piles up over their spats and lands in the bells of their instruments. The sky is dark and quivering with banknotes blotting the sun like locusts.

BOB DYLAN

What is wrong with you? That's not even a riddle. That's the stupidest knock-knock joke I've ever heard.

ROSE BOWL

SILENCE! What do you mean? This is the best thing that's ever happened to me in my long and glorious history. Better than the first Michigan-Stanford game. Better than Charles White's fake touchdown. Better than Leroy Hoard's thrashing of Washington, better than the time freaking Northwestern made it here. Did I mention I was the first bowl game? I'm The Granddaddy of Them All (TM)! And now I'm also the awesomest bowl of all, because I have tradition and I never fail to remind people of it. People pay extra for tradition. It's like a blue-chip stock or a name you can trust.

BOB DYLAN

Oh, we pay for it all right. But if history and tradition mean anything to you, maybe you should actually embrace history and tradition, rather than using them as just another marketing tool. I'm sick of you telling us how wonderfully traditional you are every time you get a Big Ten vs. Pac-1o matchup, only to just watch you look the other way and stuff your pockets when it's time to invite the Oklahomas and Nebraskas and Miamis of the world.

If you want to be just another BCS bowl, that's fine. Call yourselves the Cingular Rose Bowl or the Run for the Roses Presented by Yum! Brands or something like that. Install seatbacks and cupholders and luxury boxes and just whore yourselves out on the street corner, you overgrown massage parlor.

You don't see the Fiesta Bowl promising anything but football and trans fats, do you? They've at least got honesty. Even the Orange Bowl isn't even played in the Orange Bowl anymore. Think about that. It's a shame, but there weren't enough luxury boxes, and maybe a bit too many minorities in the neighborhood. Got to move that up to that one stadium that keeps getting its naming rights sold. Yeah, Davie, Florida, -- the promised land. The place where college kids across the land, from Winston-Salem to Cincinnati, dream of when the season begins anew each fall. The Sugar Bowl was happy to be sponsored by an insurange companies as well as a phone company from Finland, and you know they can't get enough of their Gators and Razorbacks in Helsinki and Espoo, right, assholes?

ROSE BOWL

Oh, stop it, you shriveled up, ugly, old has-been. You're just jealous that you couldn't hold a concert in my press box, let alone fill my stadium with your fans. You keep playing whatever that new shit is. Why not trade on your name, play the greatest hits. People love tradition! They don't have to think too hard! They feel connected to something bigger. I'm not the fucking Alamo Bowl, you know.

BOB DYLAN

Yeah, but what's the difference (other than the referees, of course)? What sets you apart? You pimp yourself just as hard. Where's your integrity? Did Woodson steal that, too? You "leveraged" that like a goddamned Yard-A-Pult to get into the BCS's revenue streams. So own up. Stop hitting us over the head with your "tradition" and your United-States-Patent-and-Trademark-Office-filed nicknames and whatever that other crap is you want us to pay $125 a pop for. You're just peddling a cartoon character of your former self. You used to be something real. A shot of sunshine on a gray winter's day in the Midwest. (And I should know.) But now you're just a name-brand tanning salon, killing college football from the inside out, only no one pays attention to the slowly roasting internal organs because they're all excited to show off their skin's healthy glow (plus those killer lats; they're really starting to pop lately).

ROSE BOWL

Listen, I don't really think ...

BOB DYLAN

Hush up, I'm on a roll. Citi wants to "present" you so Bob and Teresa in Findlay Fucking Ohio will switch their checking accounts over from National City because they got the warm fuzzies watching Michigan get dickslapped by USC again. Or maybe young Emily the Undergrad from the University of Wisconsin will move to the big city and open her checking account with you because she loved going to games so much and now she misses her college years because she works in a company devoted to "building brands" and casting about for anything that can be peddled.

You're a sellout, Rose Bowl. And if there's anything Bob Dylan hates, it's a motherfucking sellout.

ROSE BOWL

Fuck you, Bob Dylan. What about Victoria's Secret?

BOB DYLAN

What about this? Scoreboard, dickface. How does it feel?

Bob Dylan 89, Rose Bowl 82 (5OT).