You see that? That’s an exclusive free gift from Archeology Magazine. A free copy of their special Egypt edition (is someone in the Archaeological Institute of America a fellow Yu-Gi-Oh fan?). They don’t send that to just anyone. I can connect the dots. Harrison Ford is 73 years old. Doesn’t have a whole lot of digs left in him. This can only mean that the Archaeological Institute of America (hereby the AIA) has tagged me as his replacement to be the face of the Archaeological world. Frankly, it’s about time. I’ve long been a titan in the fields of research, surveying, excavation, careful brushing, recording, cataloguing, and playing the Uncharted games. If you have any doubts, go back and take a look at all my history papers from like 5th grade through college. I blew the roof off the Peloponnesian War at least four months before 300 made that era en vogue again. I’m the natural heir to the cool archaeologist throne. I just hope Spielberg is on board with this decision, too, so I can get some of that sweet Disney money.
The obvious question is what’s my next move? I can’t rest on my laurels now that I’m at the top. Indy uncovered crazy artifacts and solved millennia-old mysteries on the regular. How can I live up to that? I’ve got to find some good stuff ASAP. So what direction do I go? Find what brought down the Mayans? Tackle Stonehenge? Find the murder knife used by Jack the Ripper? The Bermuda Triangle? I was thinking the most lucrative option for both me and the movie studio would probably be finding Atlantis, but the more I think about it, the more I realize the only thing to do is to find Tom Brady’s lost Super Bowl Jersey.
As I’m sure you all know, Tom Brady’s jersey from last Sunday’s epic Super Bowl comeback was stolen from his locker. Considering the historical weight of the accomplishment, it could be considered one of the more important artifacts in American history. And, as of now, it’s still missing. I can’t let that slide. I can’t think of a more perfect case to start my career as head of the AIA. It has everything: Deception. Intrigue. Adventure. The opposition of a fascist organization. And, dare I say, a touch of the supernatural?
I’ll start by taking the film crew down to Houston, more specifically NRG Stadium. I’ll scour the locker room, grill the entry level Texans employees and random stadium custodians, and gather evidence. On my third day in Houston, I’ll get a hot tip: someone heard someone saw a jersey deep in the Mexican jungle. This is where the action picks up. I’ll make my way into Mexico. Locals will start warning me about a sacred temple in the heart of the rainforest. Legends of a bandit who brought a certain artifact to its doorstep, only to disappear from the face of the Earth. Without the Nazis or Soviets to compete with, I may have to hire mercenaries to try and kill me, unless the NFL sends its Gestapo after me. After finding the entrance of the ancient temple, I’d be captured and detained by my ruthless adversaries. After using my wit and guile to befuddle the low-ranking henchmen keeping watch over me, I’d sneak into the temple. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t much of a temple, but instead was a large courtyard with a pool at the center, with the jersey magically suspended above it. I hear some of the henchmen murmuring: it’s the Fountain of Youth. Then, the leader, be it some European mercenary or Goodell himself, would make an impassioned speech about how drinking from the Fountain would allow him to conquer the world. Once he took a sip, the spirits that guarded the temple would punish such an impure man for drinking the water, and he and his acolytes would be graphically killed. When I approach the Fountain, the jersey descends into my waiting arms. I look at the water, tempted by the possibility of eternal youth.
Cut to Gillette Stadium, where I’m shaking hands with my hero Tom Brady. He holds up the jersey as everyone in the room admires it. He thanks me and jokes he’ll have to wear the jersey everyday in the offseason to reap the rewards. Speechless, I mostly just mumble and make guttural noises until the meeting ends. A representative from the AIA comes up to me and starts asking about what I saw. Downplaying everything, I casually mention finding the Fountain of Youth. He jokingly asks if I drank from it, then scoffs and walks away before I can answer, skeptical about my appointment as leader of his organization. Walking out of the stadium, I overhear a pair of reporters discussing what they had just witnessed. One of them mentioned that I looked rather young for someone so accomplished. I look into the camera and the movie ends.
I think that’ll set the tone for my pop-archaeoligcal career. I’ll quickly established that I only do the flashy projects, so I won’t have to dig up random bowls in Cambodia. I’ll be like the Undertaker: only show up for the biggest moments and receive all the credit. It’s a perfect career. I didn’t want to end my blogging career so suddenly, but I almost have no choice.