Drama in locker room B: when the screenwriters jump onboard, maybe then we'll see a morality play in college sports.

SCENE: IT IS AUTUMN, SOME MONTHS INTO THE FUTURE. WE ARE in the men's locker room of a university campus football stadium, somewhere in the U.S. A tone mate figure dad only in football uniform from the waist down sits--knees spread, back stumped--on the long stretch of bench running before an endless wall of Lockers. His forehead rests heavily in his hands, which are propped up by elbows on wide-set thighs. His face is hidden from our view. Helmet and other gear are strewn on the bench, to his side. Sweat runs down his back. There is no one else in sight.

Gradually, in the distance, we hear faintly the sound of two male voices getting closer. Someone is coming. The talk ceases abruptly; we can tell that the two are parting. Shortly, we see a sole figure dad in khakis and golf shirt, enter from the right. It is the coach. He is standing off to the fight of the young man on the bench, and behind him.

Coach: I thought you'd be here. Look, Ben, we have to talk about this.

Ben: (A long pause before he speaks; head still in hands; words, when they come, directed at the floor.) I don't have anything to say.

Coach: That's not good enough. Look at me, Ben. (Ben drops his hands to his knees, and turns his, face to look at the coach.) You can't stomp out of practice every time you hear something you don't like. Every time the going gets a little rough.

Ben: A little rough? (He is incredulous.) You're asking me to lie, Coach. That's not 'a little rough: I don't lie.

Coach: (Coming up behind the young man, he moves around the bench, and stands in front of him. Ben's eyes follow him as he moves.) Everyone lies, Ben. That's life. That's the real world. That's part of growing up; part of the game. You're either in, or you're out. That's how life works, kid.

Ben: (He shakes his head.) That's not how it works for me, Coach, and I'm not gonna lie to save some other kid's butt. Some perverted kid who shouldn't even be at this school, or praying ball. That's not what I'm here for.

Coach: (He moves closer to Ben, and looking down at him, spits the words that follow.) listen, you--you're here for the team, and this school is paying for you to be here for the team, and you'll say what I tell you to say, if that's what it takes to protect the team and your teammates. Do you get me?

Ben: (He looks away, jaw tensed. There is heavy silence hanging in the thick air between them. Then, Ben rises slowly until his own face is only inches from the coach's. He fixes the coach steadily with his eyes.) This is what I 'get" coach: I 'get' that I'm here to work as hard as I can to get decent grades and pray football. You can 'get' that I'm not going to lie to the dean. And I'm not going to tie to the press. And I'm not going to cover up something that smells rotten. And if that means I lose my scholarship, then I'll find another way to get my education, and you can just go--

Coach: (He grabs Ben by the shoulders.) You little jerk! Do you think I'm going to [et you ruin my career and take this whore athletic program down with you? DO YOU? (He shakes the boy violently. Ben wrenches out of the coach's grasp and pushes back, hard. The coach slams back against the lockers and slides to the floor. He is seething. Ben is frozen.)

Ben: Coach--

Coach: (His voice comes as a low grumble.) I make almost two million dollars a year, do you know that? You little prissies will graduate and be lawyers and doctors and whatever the hell you want, and you'll have your beamers and your big houses and your stuck-up kids. But nothing was handed to me, nobody ever gave me a free fide. I made it the hard way. I found the chink in the system and I got here by street smarts and work that was harder than you can ever imagine. (Slowly, he gets to his feet, brushes his trousers off, and collects himself. He stares hard at the adversary across from him.) You want an education, Ben? Here's a lesson for you: You keep your mouth shut, and the team will keep their mouths shut, and eventually, we'll win. Then the program will go on--and it will keep going on--long after the press has gotten tired of the story and forgotten all about us. And we'll keep recruiting the best players anywhere, and they'll keep us on top of the division, and the good old boys who shell out the green to see this team on top will keep emptying their pockets, and the school will keep being able to pay the way for rubes like you who come here with little stars in their eyes thinking the world is a fair and safe place. Well, I'm here to tell you it's not.

Ben: (Looks back at the coach, then leans over to pick up his helmet by the mask. He straightens up, and when he speaks, his words come clearly and softly.) It may not be now, Coach, but it's going to get better. And you know what? When it does, I sure hope I can say I was one of the ones who helped it along. How's that for an education? (He gives the coach one last look, turns, and helmet in hand, he walks from the room.)

Camera pulls back, and coach, left standing, gets smaller, and smaller, and smatter. Fade out.