A short play…
St. Petersburg, Russia, 2005. Russian President Vladimir Putin stands in his office, admiring the Super Bowl ring “given” to him by New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft. An aide enters the room.
Putin: Hey, Boris, check out my sweet new ring!
Aide: Ah… Em… Mr. President, I’m not entirely sure that belong to you.
Putin: What you saying? You trying to tell me this isn’t my ring? (Reaches toward giant red button on his desk.) Because you know what I do to people who call me a liar…
Aide: No, no, Mr. President! Is your ring! Is your ring!
Putin: (Takes hand away from button.) Yeah, it’s my ring.
Aide: It’s just…
Putin: (Annoyed) What??
Aide: Mr. Kraft, he’s still here. He say he’s waiting for his ring back.
Putin: He what? Did you tell him it’s my ring now?
Putin: And what he say?
Aide: He say must be some mistake. That he only give it to you to hold onto for pictures.
Putin: But is so shiny…
Aide: I know, Mr. President, I know. Shall I send him in?
Putin: Yeah, yeah. Should I take off shirt?
Aide: … Why?
Putin: I dunno. Be more imposing.
Aide: No, no, leave shirt on. You plenty imposing as is. (Opens door.) Mr. Kraft?
(Robert Kraft enters the room.)
Kraft: Hello, Mr. President. Sorry to bother you, but we’re getting ready to leave, and I just wanted to get my ring back from you.
Putin: What ring?
Kraft: Uh… My Super Bowl ring?
Putin: Super… Bowl?
Kraft: Yeah, you know. The giant diamond-encrusted ring I gave you as a joke to wear for our photos?
Putin: I no remember ring. (To aide) You remember ring? (Reaches for giant red button.)
Aide: Nope! No ring!
(Putin smiles, removes hand from button.)
Kraft: Now, Mr. President, don’t be silly. You know I gave you that ring to hold. And I know it’s a great ring.
Putin: (Softly, to himself) Is so shiny…
Kraft: But I have to get it back, our plane leaves in an hour.
(Putin stares icily at Kraft. After a moment, he picks up a phone on his desk. He speaks Russian into the phone for a minute and hangs up.)
Kraft: What was that all about…?
(Putin smiles thinly as he continues to stare at Kraft. The door opens and Kraft’s assistant pops his head in.)
Assistant: Mr. Kraft, we’ve got to go! I just received a call, Tom Brady’s knee just blew up!
Assistant: Yeah, LITERALLY blew up!
Kraft: But what… how…?
(Suddenly he looks at Putin, who continues to smile thinly. Kraft can see his own fear reflected in Putin’s black, shark-like eyes. He slumps.)
Kraft: Goodbye, Mr. President. Thank you for your hospitality. And… enjoy your ring.
(Kraft exits dejectedly.)
Putin: Call George Steinbrenner. Is time he visit the Kremlin.