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Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Sports Wrap-up

I arrived at LAX late Saturday afternoon. The flight was not unpleasant, aside from the usual small disturbances involving the Middle Eastern passengers, whom were beaten and bound, so as not to evoke fear from the fairer skinned travellers. I, being of dark hair and complexion, might have easily been mistaken for Arabic, yet I was allowed to go undisturbed, for, as one of the crew said to me, "Even if you are a terrorist, sir, to lose our lives to one so dashingly handsome and brilliant of mind would be an honor, not a tragedy." I assured the captain that I am a man of peace, unless you cross me, and all were safe in my presence.

Upon disembarking the aircraft I checked my cell; there were 842 unheard messages. It seems that my one night stand with Jessica Biel affected her more than I realized. "Damn," I said to myself, "Time to change my number again." I deleted the first couple of messages, but stopped on the third, hearing a male voice.

"Wow, sir, I can't tell you what an honor this is! My name's Pete Carroll and I coach the football team here at USC, uh, that's the University of Southern California, and my friend Will Ferrell gave me your number and said you'd be in town. I can't begin to tell you what an honor this is! Anyhoo, I was wondering if you'd do me the honor of giving the pre-game speech to my team this afternoon. I don't know, these kids seem to have lost focus a little and I can't think of anyone better to re-instill the winning attitude than you, sir."

Of course I would do it. There is nothing more rewarding in life than helping youngsters down the right path, and few things help people, both young and old, more than hearing me speak. I would have to put my original reason for being in the City of Angels, the Michael Vick story, on hold for awhile. I'm sure you're familiar with the Vick story of which I'm referring; that is the grand opening of Tasty Pit, the new Korean barbecue restaurant co-owned by Vick and the rapper DMX.

I called my new agent, Karl Rove (who I was able to lure away from his previous job with promises of unlimited power and intellectual stimulation), and told him to get me the gig.
K-Ro (pronounced "crow"), as he preferred to be called, informed me that kickoff was only a half hour away and he was sending a limo.

I arrived at the locker room ten minutes before kick-off, without a prepared speech but enthusiastic; these kids would remember this moment the rest of their lives and I would make it worth every second. I stood outside the door as Martha Stewart finished her warm-up set.

"Now remember, in order for my home recipe breath freshener to work, you have to take it at least thirty minutes after ingesting alcohol, but if used correctly, no police officer can detect the scent on you. Now get out there and kill those motherfuckers!"

The applause was deafening as Martha exited the locker room. She slipped her phone number in my shirt pocket and gave the international "call me" sign as she brushed past me. Before the noise died down I slipped through the door and stood before them. The din grew higher momentarily before my eyes told them to sit down, shut up, and listen.

"You're just boys. Pathetic little boys. Scared. This isn't a game. This is war. That's not a football team out there, it's the VC. It's Charlie. You're gonna go into their village, you're gonna rape their women, you're gonna kill their babies!" These kids were scared. I had em. "You're gonna do whatever you have to do to win this war!"

I turned to one kid, looked like the kicker,"You, you little puke, do you use steroids?"

"No sir, no!" he stammered.

"Why the hell not? You wanna be a fuckin loser?" I looked over at Coach Carroll; he had wet himself.

I kept it up for the next five minutes. When I finished, I looked the team over. It's amazing how much they had grown in the past few minutes. I knew they were ready.

"Okay, guys, teamwork and sportsmanship on three."

It's impossible to describe the sense of pride I felt watching those kids perform on the field of battle. Facing an opponent so strong, the mighty Vandals from the University of Idaho, those brave young men, children really, fought and scratched toward their collective destiny. The ultimate result: USC 38 Idaho 10. Only in Hollywood.

I walked out of the stadium, my feet barely touching the ground, and nearly ran over K-Ro.

"What up, bro?" I asked.

"Forget the restaurant opening," he said, "it's not happening. Mike Vick's in jail."

"Why?"

"Police found a body on his property," he said, "it was Snoop Dogg."

"Mother of God!" I said.

5 comments:

Doug G said...

What the hell is wrong with you? This is funny stuff!

Anonymous said...

Your hilarious

Anonymous said...

This is funny!

a cousin said...

Funny stuff!! You seem to have the family sense of humor alright!!

Mariel said...

Interesting to know.

 

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