Goodell slowly rises from his chair. Hobbled and defeated there is little left to say as the tears begin welling up in his eyes. He feebly lashes out at Judge Berman, "I was just doing my job!" Collecting his things Goodell limps out of the office. His tears intesify as he tries to leave the building with grace, but every eye is turned towards him and filled with pity.
The Judge sips his coffee with a satisfied grin. He slowly turns to peek out his window to try and catch one last glimpse of his victory, but it is too late. One last peek at the files will do.
Berman storms out of the office barreling for the building's exit. He's already halfway to the front door by the time his formerly organized paperwork has settled itself on the floor. Around every corner he barely manages to keep himself from tumbling over.
He sees the Clerk at the front desk and shouts, "Where did Goodell go?"
"Who?"
"The big goofy idiot. Where is he?"
Nonplussed the clerk simply smirks and returns to fiddling with the papers at her desk only pausing to quietly chuckle at the NFL Shield someone managed to stick on the back of the judge's $7,000 suit.
Outside Goodell begins to quicken his pace as he lights a cigarette. His shoulders are raised and the tears are gone. He steps into the tinted limo, shuts the door and is greeted with a serving of his favorite Bourbon. The man inside raises his own glass and presents a toast, "Close one." Goodell returns the toast, "Please Mr. Kraft. I'm a professional."
