The Running Back (a new short story)
The Opossums had a pretty good record in the small-time, rinky-dink,
professional football league in which they competed. The NFL gets most of its players from
colleges but there are always some pretty good football players out there who
never get to college and NFL scouts never even hear about. Many of them drift to teams like the Opossums
who play in a small industrial city in Minnesota where the locals are glad to
be able to see a pro football game for ten bucks. The players get paid about $250 for each game
and show up for practice a few times a week for which they don’t get paid. Of course, most have other jobs in things
like construction to supplement what the Opossums pay them, but really, all the
players live for is the day when perhaps they would be noticed by a scout from
one of the NFL teams. Occasionally, one
might be passing through and might just be among the six or seven thousand fans
who come out to sit in the wooden bleachers at Opossum Park on Wednesday
evenings, when there was no football on TV, watching them play teams like the
Fargo Bears or the Duluth Red Reindeer. These
fans just don’t have the money to go to Minneapolis to see the Vikings, or to
Chicago or to Green Bay. They have to be
content with their Opossums who along with teams from seven other rust-belt
towns in the upper Midwest comprised the Northland Professional Football
League.
“Men,” Coach Lindquist called out.
“I wanna introduce you to the new owner of the Opossums. He just bought
the team from Jim Nelson’s estate, and he wants to have a few words with
you. I’d like you all to meet Rocco
Fields.”
“Call me Rocky,” an overweight muscular man in his fifties spoke
out.
“I always wanted to own a football team, and when I heard the
Opossums were up for sale, I grabbed them.
I played two years for the New York Jets a while back and I think I know
a little about the game. But I’ll still let
Coach Lindquist run the team. He’s a
good coach. But I do want to have some
input into what goes on around here.
That’s the fun of owning a team.”
Flash Watson was the best player on the Opossums. Twenty-nine years old, he had been playing
football at this level for ten years.
His education, somewhere in the deep south, ended in the third grade.
But he could run faster than anyone on the team, and maybe in the league. All he needed was a small opening to scamper
through and he would be off to the races.
But running backs were a dime a dozen and just as water reaches its
level, Flash had reached his with the Opossums.
When he wasn’t playing football, he did day work for a roofing company
and lived with his girlfriend and her four-year old. He was a happy guy, content to hammer
shingles and play football. Oh, yes, in
case I didn’t mention it, Flash was Afro-American, wore dreadlocks and had a
wiry beard reaching about four inches below his chin.
“Men,” Rocky continued.
“Like I said, Joe will continue running the team, but that doesn’t mean
I won’t be involved. You guys ever hear
of George Steinbrenner? Used to own the
New York Yankees baseball team. Loved that man!
Would’ve paid to work for him!
Knew what he was about! And one
thing he insisted on with the Yankees was that they be clean shaven. No beards, no hair hanging below the neck,
just a clean-cut American look! That’s
the one thing I’m going to insist on for you Opossums.”
Coach Lindquist interrupted, “George did allow mustaches, I recall. That okay with you, Rocky?”
“Sure. Mustaches are okay,
even sideburns, but let’s get on with today’s practice, Coach!”
After an hour of sweaty practice, Flash hung back and cornered the
coach in the locker room.
“Does what that man said mean I gotta get rid of my beard and
locks, Coach?”
“That’s what the man said.
You heard him. He’s the one that
pays us so I recommend you stop off at the barber shop pretty damn soon.”
“And what if I don’t,” Flash answered. What he gonna do to me?”
“Flash, baby,” Lindquist cautioned. “Just do what the man said to do. Cut your hair! You know you put your ‘X’ on a
two-year contract with us a couple of months ago, and we even are paying you an
extra $50 a game, but believe me, I don’t think he’ll waste a minute getting
rid of you if you keep the hair and the beard.
He could sell your contract.”
“What’ya mean? Sell me,
like he own me?”
“Yup. So far as playing
football for pay, he owns you. In fact,
a few of the other teams in the league have been calling. They like the way you run. I can tell you that if the beard and hair
stay, you’ll probably be playing for Duluth by next Wednesday. Flash, the one thing that happens in this
world all the time is change, and you gotta learn to live with it.”
“Duluth? The Red
Reindeer? Where it 10 below all winter long? Shit, no.
Not me.”
Watson stalked out of the locker room, a very angry man, mumbling
to himself. “Fuckin’ Duluth. I’ll show
them.”
That week’s game was with the league-leading Kalamazoo
Knights. They were the only team in the
league which had what amounted to a loose agreement with an NFL team. A few years earlier, the Detroit Lions had
drafted a bunch of linemen and defensive backs who, it turned out, they had no
need for. They traded most of them away
for future draft picks but were stuck with three or four that they had to get
off their roster. Quietly, they worked
out a deal with Kalamazoo to warehouse them, and that was the primary reason
the Knights were in first place in the Northland League.
Kalamazoo’s defense, which had been iron-clad up until their game
with the Opossums, was no match for Flash Watson. He ran for three touchdowns in the first half
and was back on the bench after running back the third quarter kickoff for
another. He also scored all their extra
points running through the Kalamazoo defense like a hot knife through
butter. When the game ended, the score
was 61 to 14, and Flash was responsible for 46 of the Opossum’s points. But he still hadn’t gone to the barber shop.
Next morning in his office, Coach Lindquist pulled Flash aside.
“Pal, I got some news for you! Pack your stuff and get yourself on a bus for
Duluth. I warned you and you didn’t listen. Rocky has traded you.”
“Even after the big game I played last night, Coach? Why would he do dat?”
“Rocky was very happy with your game. In fact, you were so good that Duluth tripled
the amount of money they were willing to pay for your contract after they heard
about what you did last night. Really, I
think he would have liked it better if you would have stayed with the Opossums
but with your beard and locks, he wasn’t going to back down. You know, that Steinbrenner thing. Flash, it’s all your fault that you’re going
to Duluth. Change happens and you
refused to change.”
Flash was about to curse at the coach when the door swung open and
a tall black man came in.
“Sorry to interrupt you guys, but my time is limited, really. Gotta get to the airport and catch a plane
and my ride is waiting outside.” Looking
at Flash, he continued.
“I’m Ned Smith. Work for
the Detroit Lions. I showed up last
night to look at some of our people playing with Kalamazoo. Injuries are killing us this season. We need a couple of linebackers fast, so I
was looking at the two All-American losers you played against last night. Recognized them, Mr. Watson?”
Flash shook his head.
“One of the guys you ran over last night was a runner-up for the
Heisman trophy three years ago. One disappointing
All-American from TCU. And the other
guy, the one wearing number 88, was All-Conference in the PAC-12. We’re bringing them both up to the Lions this
week; they both looked pretty good last night, except for not being able to
stop you, and frankly, we’d like to bring you along with them, Flash.”
With that he pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it, along with
a pen, in front of Flash Watson.
“Already spoke to Rocky.
Known him for years. It’s all
okay with him and he’s making a nice buck out of the deal, too. Just sign this, Flash, so I can get outta
here. It’s a temporary agreement until you
sit down with the team in Detroit next week.
We’ll work something out then.
And you can see clipped to it, there’s a check for $25,000 just to show
you that we’re serious and acting in good faith. Do we have a deal?”
“We sure do,” a smiling Flash answered. Turning to Coach Lindquist, he continued, “Man,
change sure do happen. Lotta change since
what you wuz tellin’ me a few minutes back, right, Coach?”
Lindquist smiled and lit a cigar. “Keep in touch, Flash.”
Jack Lippman
A Fine Column by Paul Krugman
A few weeks ago, Paul
Krugman wrote an interesting column in the New
York Times about the Republicans.
They’re at it again, trying to repeal and replace the Affordable Care
Act, and conceivably, they might succeed this time around. Otherwise, the Republican party is a bankrupt institution. To get elected, they have chosen to cater to
the lowest common denominator on the political spectrum, the bigots, the
gullible and the ignorant. To fund their
lies, and Krugman points out how lies have been an integral part of their
campaigns, used for the sake of “expediency,” they are funded by the very
wealthy who expect the G.O.P. to put a lot of money back in their pockets
through tax reform. The party has no
concern for the working person, minorities, the environment, the
infrastructure, health care nor the overall health of the economy, once it has
been milked by the wealthy.
The continued existence
of a political party in our country is not guaranteed.
The Federalists, the Democratic-Republicans and the Whigs, all of whom
elected Presidents, are no more, just pages in history books. The Republicans will join them. It is only a matter of time. But I am getting away from Krugman’s
brilliant column. PLEASE CLICK HERE TO READ IT .
JL
The Secret of Trump's Success
One thing that
continues to puzzle me about Donald Trump is how he managed to be successful in
the business world. He seems to lack real
communication and business skills and seems to depend on bullying and making vague
half-promises in trying to get things done.
It hasn’t worked in government and I am puzzled as to how it worked in
the business world where millions of dollars hinge on making a “deal,” as he
puts it. There are a lot of very smart
people in the real estate business and the companies which provide the
financing necessary for its operation. How
was someone with the limited skills the President seems to have been able to succeed
in that very tough arena, where campaign rally tactics just won’t work?
Originally, I believe that the stake his father started him off with was enough to give him initial
momentum on the road to success. I also
believe that his subsequent moves were orchestrated by a cadre of lawyers,
accountants, politicians and even bankers who were on the family’s, and
eventually his, payroll. Without them, I
doubt that he could have ever succeeded.
I also suspect that he grew to believe, erroneously, that he himself was
the reason for his success and started to do things on his own.
Once doing that, he
repeatedly failed. Trump University, the
Atlantic City casinos, the resorts that never got built all are evidences of
this. Finally, it seems he settled on putting up sufficient money to be able to associate himself with the projects of others, including hotels,
golf courses, his winery, his TV show, his beauty pageants, his clothing and food ventures and so forth, getting paid up
front, or getting a piece of the action, in exchange for the use of his name,
which from his earlier successes still possessed a cachet of sorts. It seems to have worked for him, but it doesn’t
come close to working in government, at which Trump is barely an apprentice. And after he leaves office, the value of his name will become a highly questionable commodity.
JL
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She steps on the gas, leaving the officer behind, unable to ticket her. 
