Welcome back to the Weekend Watchlist, where Jason Kelce is in a (fictional) crisis. We’ve been tracking his story as he’s saved the world from an asteroid and become president of the United States before everything came crashing down. He then invited a documentary crew into his home as he prepared to serve time in federal prison.
Except none of that actually happened. (Duh.)
It was all just a dream.
The asteroid wasn’t real. Neither was the presidency, the conviction or the documentary. Jason hasn’t spent the past decade becoming the most famous man on the planet. He’s still just Jason Kelce, a retired Philadelphia Eagles center and media personality who, while famous, is still just the owner of an unnecessarily elaborate television setup.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t make the experience any less confusing. Jason has lived what feels like an entire lifetime in the span of a single night’s sleep, and he’s having some difficulty processing the implications.
What follows is his attempt to return to reality, a place that, as it turns out, has something more exciting waiting for him.
The following is entirely fictional. If you hadn’t figured that out by now, I don’t know what to tell you.
INT. KELCE BEDROOM — EARLY MORNING
Jason Kelce wakes up.
He is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His breathing is heavy. His eyes move around the room, searching for something that isn’t there.
He looks down at his hands.
No handcuffs.
He turns toward Kylie, who is still asleep beside him.
JASON: Kylie.
Nothing.
JASON: Kylie.
KYLIE: What?
JASON: Am I going to prison?
Kylie opens one eye.
KYLIE: What?
JASON: Am I going to federal prison?
KYLIE: What are you talking about?
JASON: I was convicted. Eleven years. They said I manufactured an asteroid. There was a trial.
Kylie stares at him.
KYLIE: Jason, it’s six in the morning.
JASON: So I’m not going to prison?
KYLIE: Not unless you’ve done something I don’t know about.
Jason exhales. He sits up.
JASON: Was I president?
KYLIE: Of what?
JASON: The United States.
KYLIE: No.
JASON: Did I save the world?
KYLIE: Jason.
JASON: From an asteroid.
KYLIE: You need to go back to sleep.
Jason looks toward the window. Outside, everything appears normal. No Secret Service agents. No satellite dishes. No documentary crew preparing to record his final days of freedom.
JASON: There was a documentary about us.
KYLIE: You were on television yesterday.
JASON: No, it was different. They were following us around. They asked me all these questions, and I kept trying to explain what happened, but nobody believed me.
KYLIE: Did you explain it?
Jason pauses.
JASON: Not very well.
Kylie rolls over.
KYLIE: That sounds about right.
CUT TO: LIVING ROOM — MORNING
Jason stands in front of his television setup.
Four screens. Four perfectly ordinary televisions. No classified government technology. No machinery capable of redirecting an asteroid. No evidence of the remarkable, catastrophic and occasionally embarrassing life he remembers living.
He picks up the remote.
He turns on the first television.
A sports program is discussing Miami and Notre Dame.
He turns on the second.
A graphic advertises Alabama at LSU.
The third displays the Holy War between BYU and Utah.
The fourth shows Georgia at Ole Miss.
Jason studies the screens.
He picks up his phone and opens the weekend schedule.
He scrolls.
And scrolls.
And scrolls.
JASON: Oh my God.
From the kitchen, Kylie hears him.
KYLIE: What?
JASON: Kylie, come look at this.
KYLIE: What is it?
JASON: I think this might be the greatest weekend of football that’s ever happened.
Kylie appears in the doorway.
KYLIE: You say that every weekend.
JASON: No, no. This is different. Miami and Notre Dame. Georgia and Ole Miss. Alabama and LSU. BYU and Utah. Oregon and Ohio State. Kentucky and Tennessee. All on the same day.
He scrolls again.
JASON: And then there’s the NFL. And soccer. There’s a whole weekend of Premier League games. And Barcelona is playing Atlético Madrid.
Kylie looks at the phone.
KYLIE: That’s a lot of football.
JASON: That’s what I’m saying.
KYLIE: Well, I’m glad you’re not going to prison.
She leaves.
Jason remains standing in front of the televisions.
Something about the room has changed.
A low, almost imperceptible hum begins to emerge from the speakers.
Jason looks up.
The televisions are no longer showing football games.
They are showing stars.
CUT TO: THE LIVING ROOM — SOMEWHERE ELSE
The room is perfectly white.
Jason stands in its center, surrounded by four enormous television screens suspended in the air. There are no walls, no windows and no visible ceiling. The floor stretches into an endless expanse of pale light.
He walks toward the first screen.
BYU and Utah are playing football.
He moves toward the second.
Miami and Notre Dame.
The third shows Georgia and Ole Miss.
The fourth, Alabama and LSU.
Jason turns around.
There are now eight screens.
Then 16.
Then 32.
Each displays another game. College football. The NFL. The Premier League. Games that have already happened. Games that haven’t happened yet. Football games from decades ago that Jason remembers watching as a child.
He walks through the room.
The screens continue multiplying, stretching into an enormous corridor of light.
At its end sits a recliner.
An elderly man occupies it, watching four televisions.
Jason approaches.
The man turns.
It is Jason.
Much older, with a long white beard and a Philadelphia Eagles shirt that looks like it has survived several centuries.
The older Jason says nothing.
He points toward a remote sitting on the armrest.
Jason picks it up.
The older man smiles.
And disappears.
Suddenly, the televisions begin moving. They rotate around Jason, slowly at first, before accelerating into a brilliant ring of light.
The sound of a crowd rises from somewhere beyond the room.
Thousands of voices.
Then millions.
Jason looks down.
Beneath his feet is the Earth.
He is suspended above the planet, surrounded by football games, watching the entire world pass below him. Stadium lights illuminate the continents like constellations.
A football floats into view.
Jason reaches for it.
The moment his fingers touch the leather, everything goes white.
CUT TO: KELCE RESIDENCE — MORNING
Jason is standing in his living room.
The four televisions are off.
Kylie enters with a cup of coffee.
KYLIE: Jason?
He doesn’t respond.
KYLIE: Jason, are you OK?
Jason turns toward her.
For several seconds, he says nothing.
JASON: I think I understand.
KYLIE: Understand what?
Jason looks toward the televisions.
JASON: Everything.
CUT TO BLACK.
