(deep in the Montana badlands)

DR. MARK RICHT: I hate computers.

DR. GARY PINKEL: You're not machine compatible. Remember all those butt texts?

RICHT: Look, look here. It must be six, maybe seven feet high

PINKEL: Clowneyraptor?

RICHT: Yes, and in good shape, too. See that half-moon shaped bone in the wrist? It's no wonder these guys learned how to fly.

BRADY HOKE: That doesn't look very scary. More like a six foot turkey.

RICHT: Try to imagine yourself in Williams-Brice Stadium. You get your first look at this turkey as you drop back in the pocket. He moves like a bird, lightly, bobbing his head. And you keep still, because you think his visual acuity's based on money, like Cam Newton, and he'll lose you if you don't move for your wallet. But no. Not Clowneyraptor. You stare at him, and he just stares right back. And that's when the attack comes, not from the front -

RICHT: Well, ok, yeah, from the front. The point is, you are alive when he starts to eat you. So, you know, try to show a little respect?

(Suddenly, a helicopter swoops down over the dig site, threatening all the progress the team has made.)

PINKEL: Who the hell do you think you are!?

STEVE SPURRIER: Stephen Orr Spurrier, and yes that's S.O.S. cause y'all are in a heap a trouble now! I see you been spendin' my fifty grand but somehow ain't got a damn domestic brew in this fridge! See, I own an island, off the coast of Rico Suave or somethin'. Was gonna turn it into a golf course but ain't nothin' fun about pissin' on your own land. Instead, decided to make it, well, sort of a zoo. And I need y'all to come take a look at it.

RICHT: Why us?

SPURRIER: You a cop, son? You ask a lotta questions if you're not a cop.

(A cafe, somewhere in tropical climes)

BRET BIELEMA: Delany!

JIM DELANY: You shouldn't use my real name.

BIELEMA: Delany. DELANY! WE'VE GOT DELANY HERE! See, nobody cares. You're a goddamn basketball conference.

DELANY: I brought the $750,000 in Culver's gift cards. Fifty thousand more for every viable recruit you get off the island. If they all survive.

BIELEMA: Oh, I'll get them all. How am I supposed to transport them?

DELANY: The bottom screws open. It's got enough coolant for thirty-six hours. They can even check the top.

BIELEMA: What, no Ro-Tel?

(A helicopter, winging its way across the ocean)

DR. LES MILES: So, uh, you two, uh, you dig up old bones and you don't make em dance or do nothin', huh?

RICHT: We, um, try to.

SPURRIER: You'll have to excuse Dr. Miles. Danged fella don't say anything that makes sense, even for a football coach.

MILES: Chaos coach, Steve. See, Steve, isn't particularly fond of my brand of chaos, especially as it relates to his island project. Dr. Richt, Dr. Pinkel, you've heard of chaos coaching? Non-linear talk-speaking? Strange slurring of words?

PINKEL: No.

MILES: Dr. Pinkel, I refuse to believe that you are unfamiliar with the concept of word slurrin'!

(The group piles into Jeeps, tearing across the verdant landscape.)

MARK EMMERT: The amateur-only fences are in place?

SPURRIER: I done told you they were.

EMMERT: And the eBay trackers?

SPURRIER: Mark, just try to relax and enjoy the damn island.

EMMERT: This isn't a weekend excursion for me, Steve. This is a serious investigation of the stability of the island, and the athletic directors, who I represent, are very concerned. Forty-eight hours from now, if I'm not convinced, they're not convinced. We'll shut you down.

SPURRIER: In forty-eight hours I'll be accepting your resignation.

(Suddenly, the Jeeps come to a stop.)

PINKEL: This shouldn't be here. They stopped publishing Phil Steele back in the - what, what is it Mark?

RICHT: It - it - it's a football player.

MILES: You did it. You crazy son of a bitch, you did it.

RICHT: This thing must have a what, twenty, twenty-five foot wingspan?

SPURRIER: Mike Evans? Thirty.

EMMERT: We're gonna make a fortune with this place.

RICHT: How fast are they?

SPURRIER: Well, that Cam Newton ran a 4.59 at the combine. Click-clack!

PINKEL: Newton? You've said you've got a Cam Newton?

RICHT: Say again?

SPURRIER: Hell yeah we got a damn Cam Newton! Dr. Richt, my dear Dr. Pinkel. Welcome - to JurasSEC Park.

RICHT: They're moving in verts. They do move in verts. How'd you do this?

(The group is ushered into a theatre for a presentation on the science behind Spurrier's creation.)

PINKEL: That was just thirty minutes of a screensaver set to Allman Brothers music.

SPURRIER: Catchy, ain't it? Anywhere, here's our primary science fella, B.D. Wong. Y'all ask him whatever you want.

B.D. WONG: Oh good, you're right on time. I'd hoped they'd graduate before I had to catch the boat.

SPURRIER: Now B.D., y'know ball coach gotta be present for the graduation of every player on the island!

MILES: Well, except the ones who graduate in the wild.

WONG: Oh, they can't graduate in the wild. It's part of our population control. We control their eligibility from start to finish.

MILES: Steve, the kind of control you're attempting...it can't be done. If there's one thing the history of college students has taught us, it's that they won't be contained.

WONG: You're suggesting a group composed entirely of football players will...read?

MILES: I'm simply saying that life...finds a way.

RICHT: What species is this?

WONG: It's, uh, a Clowneyraptor.

RICHT: You bred Clowneys?

(We cut to the group outside a heavily fortified Clowneyraptor holding pen.)

SPURRIER: Now doggone it Dr. Richt, you can't just be skedaddlin' anywhere you please!

RICHT: What are they doing?

SPURRIER: Feeding them.

WILL MUSCHAMP: They should all be destroyed!

SPURRIER: This here's the game warden, Will Muschamp, from Texas. He's a little jumpy.

PINKEL: What's their growth rate like?

MUSCHAMP: They're lethal as true freshmen, and I do mean lethal. I've coached most things that can play defense, but the way these things move...

RICHT: Do they show intelligence? With the brain cavities we found we assu-

MUSCHAMP: These fuckers are smart as a whip, buddy. Gave the big one a Rubik's cube last week, and damn if he didn't solve it in two hours. You know how long it takes me to solve a Rubik's cube? FOREVER BECAUSE I KEEP EATIN' THE STICKERS BUT THE REDS NEVER TASTE LIKE CHERRY!

SPURRIER: Dammit we gotta get back to the main compound and eat lunch already! I can't take my pills on an empty stomach!

(Sitting around an elaborate dining table, the group begins to discuss the future of JurasSEC Park.)

EMMERT: ...so as you can see, the revenue numbers, even at the most conservative estimates, are just eye-popping. We can charge whatever we want for television rights and people will pay it!

MILES: The lack of humblebilitude that's being displayed here, well, it upcreases my fearing.

EMMERT: Thank you, Dr. Miles, but I think things are very different than we feared.

MILES: You're right, they're worse. Don't you see the danger inherent in creating a system where athletes are artificially deprived of any power whatsoever just so coaches and athletic departments can reap huge profits? A college football team is one of the most impressive forces on the planet, but you wield it like a kid who found his dad's gun.

EMMERT: It's hardly fair to hurl those accusations, when you consider all the food and special equipment we'll be provid-

PINKEL: No, I agree with Dr. Miles. How can you assume you can control an entire population like this? You picked these recruits because they look good. But these are living things that will defend themselves.

EMMERT: Dr. Richt, surely you must see the benefit of what we're doing here.

RICHT: Let go and let God?

SPURRIER: Screw y'all! Always rainin' on another man's parade. You're gonna take a damn tour of my island all the same, and I've arranged for you to have some company.

MILES: Company?

HUGH FREEZE: Retweet at RebelRuby7 Hey Coach Freeze Please Shout Out For My Half Birthday!

NICK SABAN: (spits) You ain't shit, buddy.

(The group divides itself amongst the brightly colored vehicles for the tour. Meanwhile, SPURRIER has retreated to the control room.)

MUSCHAMP: Weather service called. Big ole fuckin' storm out there, man. I'll keep an eye on it, though.

SPURRIER: I love a good hurricane. Means three extra free mulligans. James, start the tour program, wouldya?

JAMES FRANKLIN: Initiating main program sequence now.

(With a jolt, the tour vehicles lurch forward.)

VEHICLE SPEAKERS: Whoaaaaa, Nellie! Welcome to JurasSEC Park, a world with species that had long disappeared from the Earth, brought back for your enjoyment, ladies and gentlemen. It's the great great great great Granddaddy of them all.

SPURRIER (into radio): The voice you're now hearin' is Keith Jackson. Spared no expense!

JACKSON: To the right, you will see a herd of the first athletes on our tour, called Braylophosaurus.

RICHT: Braylophosaurus!

JACKSON: We now know Braylophosaurus is actually poisonous, throwing bottles at its prey, causing blindness and eventually paralysis. This makes Braylophosaurus a beautiful, but deadly, addition to JurasSEC Park.

SABAN: Hell, I don't see anything!

PINKEL: Where is it?

(The cars rumble forward, coming to a stop in front of the Cam Newton paddock.)

FRANKLIN (over radio): Hold on, we'll try to lure him out.

FREEZE: What's going to happen to the Liberty Bowl? He's going to the Liberty Bowl?

EMMERT: What's the matter, kid? You don't like ribs?

FREEZE: I happen to be a vegetarian.

RICHT: Cam Newton doesn't want to go to Memphis. You can't just suppress sixty-five million years of gut instinct.

MILES (into the car's video camera): Now, you do eventually plan to have football players on your football player tour, right? Yes?

(The cars continue down the electric track.)

MILES: See, the Cam Newton doesn't adhere to park schedule or NCAA bylaws - that's the essence of chaos football.

PINKEL: I'm still not clear on chaos football.

MILES: Ok, let's do an experiment. Let's say it's 4th and 12 from your opponent's 30. Your team is down 7-3 late in the first half. What do you do?

PINKEL: Kick a field goal?

MILES: No, you run a fake that loses two yards.

(RICHT suddenly jumps out of the moving vehicle.)

MILES: See! Nobody could have predicted Dr. Richt would just leave the car for no reason.

(PINKEL follows.)

MILES: And now I'm sitting by myself, talking to myself. That's chaos.

EMMERT: Are you sure it's safe for us to be out here? There could be boosters anywhere.

SABAN: ...but ideally we'd do away with the play clock altogether and it'd just be one offensive play per quarter, because then you don't have all this hurry up bullsh-

RICHT: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everybody just wait right here.

(They wait briefly, but then SABAN sets off after RICHT.)

SABAN: Whoa, Trifletcher Cox! Can we grayshirt it?

PINKEL: No, he's sick. It's pharmacological. I'll need to see some of his droppings to determine what's causing it.

MILES: Droppings? Player droppings?

(Back in the control room, MUSCHAMP is on the phone with the weather service.)

MUSCHAMP: Weather dick says we're looking at a mess of adversity to overcome. I think we better cut this tour short.

SPURRIER: You're sure?

FRANKLIN: It's not worth taking the chance, Steve.

(Meanwhile, back with the Trifletcher Cox.)

MILES: That is one noisy pile of shit.

EMMERT: Doctors, I really have to insist that we get back to the vehicles now.

PINKEL: I think I'm going to stay with her for a little while. You go ahead without me.

RICHT: You sure?

PINKEL: Yeah, it'll be good for building dramatic tension.

(Spirits in the control center are low.)

SPURRIER: So much for our first tour. Two no-shows and one sick Trifletcher Cox.

FRANKLIN: It could have been worse, Steve. A lot worse. Like, Doug Johnson bad.

BIELEMA: Anybody want any porn or something? I, um, uh, just figured I'd mix it up and get something new - maybe something with a taser or something. Oh, and, uh, I finished debugging the phones, because you said to do that, so some minor systems may go on and off for a little while but it's nothing to worry about.

(He presses a mouse button and hurries out of the room. As the storm builds intensity, the cars make their way back to the Visitors Center.)

RICHT: You got any kids?

MILES: Oh hell yes. Four. I love kids. Anything at all can and does happen.

(Suddenly, the car lurches to a stop.)

RICHT: Hey, what'd I touch?

(Alarms begin to go off on the control room computers.)

FRANKLIN: Whoa, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell. Fences are failing all over the park! Bielema said just a few minor systems!

MUSCHAMP: The Clowney fences aren't down, are they?

FRANKLIN: No, they're still on. Why would he turn the other ones off?

(Meanwhile, Bielema is racing down the muddy roads of the park, but he takes his eyes off the road for just a second too long and plows into a road sign.)

BIELEMA: SHIT.

(Frantically, FRANKLIN is trying to gain access to BIELEMA'S workstation.)

FRANKLIN: Access main program grid...access program security...access mainframe...

(But, suddenly, he is permanently locked out.)

BIELEMA'S COMPUTER: Ah ah ah! You didn't say the magic word! Ah ah ah! You didn't say the magic word!

FRANKLIN: "TITTIES!" Dammit, I hate this hacker crap!

SPURRIER: Call Bielema's people! In Iowa!

FRANKLIN: The phones are dead.

MUSCHAMP: Where did the vehicles stop?

(Both cars are stopped in front of the Cam Newton paddock. Suddenly, a dull but strong thud reverberates in the distance.)

SABAN: Did you feel that?

FREEZE: What is that?

EMMERT: Maybe it's the power trying to come back on.

FREEZE: Hey, what happened to the Liberty Bowl?

(The Cam Newton tears out the now-harmless electrical fencing, and a panicked EMMERT flees to the restrooms nearby.)

FREEZE: He left us! He left us!

RICHT: Where does he think he's going?

MILES: When you gotta go, you gotta go.

RICHT: Ok, keep your checkbook absolutely out of sight, Les. His visual acuity is based on currency.

(FREEZE, however, is tearing through the car's compartments, looking for...)

FREEZE: Aha! A roll of quarters!

(He starts throwing the coins at the Cam Newton, hoping to scare it off, but it only attracts the fearsome beast's attention.)

SABAN: No, you idiot! You need to use an intermediary, like some clown who owns a suit store!

(The Cam Newton begins attacking the car relentlessly, struggling to get at the coaches inside, until...)

RICHT: Oh dammit, Les, why are you waving around a laptop, too! He was LEAVING!

MILES: I like shiny things! Now go get the kids!

(MILES sprints towards the bathroom building, the Cam Newton close behind, until both come crashing into the structure, leaving EMMERT now fully exposed.

(Meanwhile, BIELEMA continues to barrel down the road, but he is increasingly worried.)

BIELEMA: I should have been there by now. Come on, Bret, you can make it, you can make it.

(Again, he loses focus and drives halfway off a steep embankment.)

BIELEMA: SHIT, BRET. Ok, just get down there, wrap the winch around the tree, and pull yourself down. You still got time, if you hustle.

BIELEMA: AHH! Ok, ok, nice quarterback! Hey, you're not so bad. I thought you were one of your big brothers. You look like you couldn't even beat Vanderbilt. You want to transfer?

(There is no response.)

BIELEMA: No wonder you're extinct. I'm gonna run you over when I get back down.

(BIELEMA begins to try and climb back up to his vehicle, but it's too late...)

BIELEMA: BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Back at the Cam Newton paddock, MUSCHAMP and PINKEL have arrived just after the rampage's conclusion.)

MUSCHAMP: I think this was Mark Emmert.

PINKEL: I think this was too.

MILES: Ugh...the strategy of the youth precedence of the offensive defensiveness...

PINKEL: Les!

MILES: Remind me to thank Steve for a lovely weekend.

PINKEL: Where's Cam Newton?

MUSCHAMP: He could be anywhere. With the fences down, he can wander in and out of any paddock he likes.

PINKEL: Look! The other car, down there! But where's Mark, Nick, and Hugh?

(Again, the distant boom of an approaching Cam Newton.)

MILES: We gotta get out of here, right now!

PINKEL: Shit!

MILES: Must go faster, must go faster!

MUSCHAMP: SEC SPEEEEEEEED!

(Finally, the car pulls away from Newton.)

MILES: Think they'll have that in the ACC Championship Game?

(Somewhere in the park, RICHT, SABAN, and FREEZE have climbed a tree to spend the night in.)

FREEZE: Mark, what are you and Gary going to do now that you don't have to dig up athlete bones anymore?

RICHT: I guess we'll just have to evolve, too.

SABAN: What do you call a blind football player?

RICHT: I don't know, what do you call a blind football player?

SABAN: An easy cut to get under scholarship limits, that's what.

FREEZE: What happens if the players come back during the night while we're all asleep?

RICHT: I'll stay up.

FREEZE: All night?

RICHT: All night.

SABAN: I knew I should have taken that damn Buffalo Bills job.

(In the Visitors Center, PINKEL comes upon SPURRIER sitting by himself at a dining table.)

PINKEL: Miles is okay for now. I gave him a shot of morphine.

SPURRIER: They'll all be fine. Hell, who better to get those kids through JurasSEC Park than a doggone coach? Did I ever tell you about my first head coaching job? Up in North Carolina, just a little raggedy thing. It was all bullshit, but people could swear it was real, "oh, Mommy, I want to see Duke football, can't you see Duke football?" But with this, I wanted to give them something legit. Something bad-ass.

PINKEL: But you can't think through this one.

SPURRIER: You're right, absolutely. Hirin' Bret was a mistake, that's for damn sure. We'll get 'em next time around, I'll tell you that. Come back next season hittin' harder and takin' better angles. When we maintain ball control -

PINKEL: You never had ball control! That's the illusion! And now people are dying, Steve.

SPURRIER: (sighs) You sure you don't want some of this? Spared no expense, but now it's all just gonna skunk.

PINKEL: Yeah, I, uh, shouldn't.

(The next day, an argument breaks out in the control room as to what the next move should be.)

SPURRIER: Shuttin' down the damn system's the only way to get things back and runnin!

FRANKLIN: Well you can find someone else to do it, because I won't. We've never shut down the entire system. It may not come back at all.

PINKEL: Would we get the phones back?

FRANKLIN: In theory.

MUSCHAMP: What about the training table contingency? We could boom the fuck outta 'em with that.

SPURRIER: That is out of the question.

PINKEL: Wait, what's that?

FRANKLIN: The training table contingency is intended to prevent the spread of the athletes should they ever want to transfer off the island. Unless they're continually supplied with food by us, they lapse into a coma and die.

SPURRIER: PEOPLE are dyin! Now shut down the damn system!

FRANKLIN: Anchor down your butts.

FRANKLIN: It worked!

MILES: What do you mean it worked? All the lights are still out.

FRANKLIN: The system's ready, but the shutdown must have tripped the circuit breakers. All I have to do is turn them back on at the maintenance shed at the other end of the compound. Three minutes, and I'll have power back to the entire park.

SPURRIER: Well get to movin! We'll all head to the bunker and wait for you.

(Five minutes pass, then ten. Then fifteen.)

PINKEL: He should have been back by now.

SPURRIER: This is just a delay is all. When Disneyland first opened, nothing worked.

MILES: Yeah, but Steve, if the Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the Pirates don't chop block the tourists.

PINKEL: Something's wrong. I'm going to the shed to get the power back on.

MUSCHAMP: Well you can't just stroll on down. I'm going with you.

(Meanwhile, RICHT and the kids have reached the perimeter fence.)

RICHT: Looks like we'll have to climb over.

SABAN: Are you kidding? That's way too high.

FREEZE: Oh don't be such a baby. I bet you I can get to the other side and sign a recruiting class before you even get to the top.

RICHT: Come on, it's not a race.

(MUSCHAMP and PINKEL are almost to the maintenance shed.)

PINKEL: There's the door. We can make it if we run.

MUSCHAMP: No...we can't.

PINKEL: Why not??

MUSCHAMP: Because we're being hunted. Straight ahead, in the bushes.

PINKEL: Oh god.

MUSCHAMP: It's alright. I've got him. Run. Towards the shed. Go! NOW MOTHERFUCKER!

(PINKEL sprints towards the door, too terrified to look back. He slams it shut once he enters the shed.)

PINKEL: Ok, Steve, I'm in. Tell me where to go.

SPURRIER: Alright, now we're gonna run Ace Right 366 Z Curl-

MILES: Oh, give me that.

SPURRIER: Hey! I know how to read a playbook!

PINKEL: I've found the breakers. Now what?

SPURRIER: You need to prime the system, and then switch each individual system on.

(At the perimeter fence, RICHT and FREEZE have made it to the other side, but little SABAN is still working his way down. Suddenly, an alarm begins to sound.)

RICHT: Nick, you're going to have to jump!

SABAN: Are you crazy?

RICHT: Look, I'll count to three!

SABAN: Okay...one...two...

(Unaware of Nick's injury, PINKEL is exultant.)

PINKEL: Mr. Spurrier, I think we're back in business!

(Out of nowhere, a Clowneyraptor bursts through the electrical tubing. It struggles to get free, and PINKEL screams and runs as fast as he can back out of the shed. RICHT, meanwhile, tries to revive SABAN with CPR.)

RICHT: No, Nick! Come on, breathe! Breathe

SABAN: ...three.

(MUSCHAMP continues to stalk the Clowneyraptor.)

MUSCHAMP: Now I've got your ass. Just hold still...

MUSCHAMP: Clever Gamecock.

(RICHT, PINKEL, SABAN, and FREEZE have all assembled in the control room.)

RICHT: You're sure the other two Clowneys are contained?

PINKEL: Yes. Unless they learned how to open doors.

(That's when they hear the handle turning...)

RICHT: Gary! The door locks!

PINKEL: You can't keep that thing out by yourself!

FREEZE: Wait a second - it's a TWITTER system! I know this!

FREEZE: Yes!

PINKEL: You did it!

RICHT: (on the phone) Mr. Spurrier? The phones are working. Now call the chopper.

PINKEL: It's coming through the glass!

(The group barely escapes through the ventilation ducts, only to find themselves in the atrium, flanked by two Clowneys.)

(The Clowney is about to pounce, when suddenly, the Cam Newton appears and snatches it out of mid-air, crushing it in its powerful jaws. Enraged, the second Clowney attacks the Cam Newton, giving the survivors time to escape. The Clowney is no match, and soon Cam Newton has won the battle.)

RICHT: Mr. Spurrier, after careful consideration, I've decided not to endorse your park.

SPURRIER: So have I.

THE END