MNF Contest

Rules:

Steve Vahl issues the following challenge:

"OK, the last two contests have been centered around writing parodies of TV genres about which I know essentially nothing. So here's my suggestion for the next one.

After watching part of the Broncos-Packers preseason Monday Night Football game last night, I was struck by how dry the commentating seemed with just Al Michaels and Boomer Esiason. Dan Dierdorf (like Howard Cosell before him), while often annoying, lent a certain goofiness to the broadcast that made you feel you were watching an entertainment show, and not just a football game.

So the writing challenge I issue is this: Team up Al and Boomer with a third commentator. The third commentator may be a sports person or not, someone who is presently alive or dead, fictional or real.

To free things up even a little more for the writers, they may choose to have their fantasy commentating team broadcast Monday Night Football as if under the influence of some sort of truth drug or spell, so that the three say exactly what is on their minds, instead of the usual politically correct sports cliches. Pretend no network censors, of course.

The story will consist of what is said and what happens given the above guidelines. It does not necessarily have to include only (or even any of) the broadcast. It could deal with what happens before or after the show, or during commercial breaks. It could be the story of someone watching the above broadcast. I don't think I have to tell this crowd to "run with it."

Oh, and as the last, entirely random, requirement: At some point include the words "sponge cake".

That's my suggestion, anyway. I won't be hurt if you don't like it and choose not to use it."

 

But we will use it, to reiterate:

Al Michaels

Boomer Esiason

and the Mystery Guest

must speak the truth

Must say "sponge cake"

Have it to Cody by September 7th.

**************************************

GARY'S ENTRY

I could not wait to watch Monday football because I work that night. So here it is. I cannot feign my ignorance so I tried to use it to my advantage. Good Lord, what have I done?

 

--Gary

WRITERS NOTE: Forgive me. I know not what I do. --Gary

Somewhere within the game .

Al Michaels (AM): We re back from our break and it certainly is an exciting game. The fans are excited. The cheerleaders are excited. I just wish I could find it in my heart to care.

Boomer (B): That s right, and not only is it an exciting game, but my penis is hanging slightly to the left.

AM: It certainly is hard to believe you can even feel your miniscule member.

B: It won t be easy to talk with your mouth full.

Enter Homer, singer and poet from Ancient Greece

H: Thus the battle has begun, with toiling tongue this tale is spun. As bloody warriors throw the ball, so gaming hosts make the call.

AM: And so far the team in green is creaming the team in red.

B: You idiot. Didn t you do your homework?

AM: Look, I just read the cue cards. And someone forgot to write them.

B: Well, I don t know who s playing either. In fact, I never really understood this game.

H: Oh false and rumored treachery, this whore-gaming lechery. Two pawns of old with lions hide, are really morons in disguise.

AM: Who the fuck is this guy?

B: Wait a minute, it looks like the green team is throwing the ball.

AM: Oh, look! The red team has caught it. What s that called?

B: I can t remember, I think it rhymes with her deception .

AM: The big guy in red with the ball is running!

B: And the green guys can t wait to get in his pants!

AM: Running, running TOUCHDOWN!!

B: The crowd is going wild! And the green guys have lost interest. How soon love fades!

H: And now the game grows dense and thick, the offensive team tries ancient trick.

AM: Looks like the green coach is calling in a new offensive line.

B: These guys barely look strong enough to take all 8 inches of me.

AM: Well, not all of us are that lucky, Boomer.

B: Well this is unprecedented. The green coach is presenting a gift to the red team in the middle of game play!

AM: A first time right after the first down. It looks like a giant wooden horse.

B: Refs say its okay and regulation. Its not old growth.

AM: The red team has taken it behind the end zone. Which is exactly what I d do to them.

B: Knock it off, Al. Okay, the green offense has hiked the ball, Quarterback is poised

AM: Well it appears several receivers has climbed right out of that horse s ass, Boomer.

B: Unprecedented. And unfortunate for the reds!

AM: Ball is flying, green reciever is casually walking and TOUCHDOWN perfect completion.

B: Well, I think it will be awhile before the reds fall for that trick again.

H: Yet something evil lurks in stow, the crimson team has yet to show, a teammate fierce and full of sin, to complete this rhyme would be giving it away.

AM: Right. Okay, Homer. Looks like the reds are calling in a new Defensive Guy that Blocks Tackles. Whatever that s called.

B: Right. He s #7.

AM: Short and stubby fellow. Reminds me of your penis.

B: Once again it is the first down and the reds have the ball. The ball is snapped, and the Quarterback is searching

AM: The greens are going for the sack! #7 blocks and Good Lord!

B: It appears #7 has caught and eaten one of the greens! #56!

AM: According to this cue card, #7 is radioactive cotton gin.

B: Well, that is a dirty double cross. And it seems to have stopped game play dead in its tracks.

AM: Too bad for #56.

B: Yes, being eaten can ruin your whole day.

H: And sirens sing. And Gods will dance. And my erection is free because I have no pants.

 

AM: You call that an erection?

B: That s the softest erection I ve ever seen. Looks like sponge cake.

 

 

FIN

**************************************

BRIAN'S ENTRY

Al Michaels (AM): Welcome to another night of Monday Night Football. I'm here with my dull colleague Boomer Esiason and we're going to tell you a little bit about my pants. But first a few thoughts from Boomer Esiason.

Boomer Esiason (BE): Well Al, I'm very excited about the pants part and I'd like to discuss that further. Still, I've found that French Films are just not quite what they used to be. I feel that they've lost all their mirth not to mention their joie d'vivre. I think that if you keep in mind that children are the future of our world. With that in mind, as I said, keep in mind, I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition up here in the booth and that is none other than----

SUDDENLY THE BROADCAST GOES SHAKY AND SLIPPERY. THE SCREEN TURNS TO SNOW AND WEIRD SATELLITE NOISES. AFTER A FEW ANXIOUS MOMENTS, WE RETUN.

AM: Well, Boomer, that was really something, we had another earthquake. You know, when I was in San Francisco for the 1990 World Series and there was a big earthquake and I talked and talked about the all the fires and I won a Pulitzer Prize or at least, I think. I think that's what this is all about.

BE (hiding under the TV): I wish I had my PacMan game! That would fix everything!

THE WALLS SHAKE AGAIN AND FALL AROUND. SUDDENLY FIDEL CASTRO ENTERS.

FC: AH-ha! You all think that I am the new guest but I am actually an organ and tissue donor who's arrived here at the earthquake to teach you all a lesson.

AM: And what would that lesson be, Mr. Castro?

FC: Well, it's that I believe that I have not won enough videos in my life and I feel that I really never learned out to write properly and as such I want to meet that girl from the Levi's ad which has the "Whatever Lola Wants" song in it and she seduces these guys with paint.

She is so hot that I might give her my cigar if I could.

AM: Well, Mr. Castro, that's extremely interesting but I think that what really is at issue here is that you don't know the truth about sponge cake.

FC (incrediously): I don't?

BE (like a whiny kid): Yeah, that's right Al, sponge cake. Sponge cake. SPONGE CAKE!

FC: Shut up. Here, play your PacMan.

(He tosses him a lemon.)

BE: Oh, thank you!

(BE eats it . . . through his ass)

AM: Well Fidel, the truth is that sponge cake was a secret device created by the CIA to keep me in my pants.

FC (looking at the camera): This is stupid. Here, have a cigar!

FIN

**************************************

CODY'S ENTRY:

Cast:

Boomer Esiason

Al Michaels

Mystery Guest Chelsea Clinton

AL: We're back after one from 3Com Park with the 49ers on top by a score of 14-3 over the hapless New England Patriots. And we are joined in the booth by the lovely Chelsea Clinton, who attends nearby Stanford University.

BOOMER: I wonder if she would blow me.

AL: I thought you might be thinking that. But I'm pretty sure that if she were going to blow either of us, it would be me. Welcome to the booth, Chelsea.

CHELSEA: Thank you, Al. Just to clear up the confusion, I wouldn't blow either of you, but I'd let Al go down on me in a pinch.

AL: First and ten, Patriots ball from their own twenty yard line. The pass is to Ben Coates for a modest gain out to the twenty-five where he's tackled by Ken Norton Jr., which sets up second and five.

BOOMER: I'm pretty sure Drew Bledsoe is gay. Is it wrong to look at his ass?

AL: There's nothing wrong with the play-action pass, Boomer. It keeps the corners honest. Second and a long five from the twenty-five. Bledsoe drops back, and the pass is intended for Shawn Jefferson, but broken up by Merton Hanks.

BOOMER: Oh, and Pete Carroll is very upset, Al.

AL: You didn't actually notice why, did you. You're just saying it in that tone hoping that I'll elaborate for you, aren't you.

BOOMER: Yes, that's correct. I was peeking at Chelsea's tits. I didn't see the play. I love her tits, Al. More than Drew Bledsoe's ass.

CHELSEA: I've got to disagree with you there, Boomer. And don't think I'm not used to being ogled! I have a very ordinary body, and it's only the auspicious circumstances of my upbringing which makes me alarmingly compelling. Boys fantasize about me and it makes me very uncomfortable.

AL: Pete Carroll doesn't get the interference call he was looking for. Keep in mind that this season in the NFL, there is a limited-use instant-replay challenge system although it wouldn't have been applicable in this situation.

BOOMER: I would've used it.

AL: Third and five from the twenty-five and they hand it to Lamont Warren up the middle, and he goes nowhere and they'll bring in Lee Johnson to punt.

BOOMER: It's a fake.

AL: No it's not. So Chelsea, have I impressed you as the more desirable of the two hosts?

CHELSEA: To reiterate, I preferred you from the start, but only in a creepy lesser-of-two....

BOOMER: The punt is blocked!!!!

AL: No, it's not.

BOOMER: I knew I should've held my tongue until I was sure, but Chelsea can't resist my heads-up risk-all style.

CHELSEA: I'm worried that you may try to touch me during commercial.

AL: McCorders calls for a fair catch at the 40-yard line and we'll be right back after these messages from your local station.

BOOMER: I'm very good in bed. I practice a tantric exercise. Well, actually I didn't have the patience to learn it completely and the word "injaculation" frightened me and made me think I might be gay, so I stopped, but what I've learned to do is to contract muscles at the base of my penis --the same muscles used to control the flow of urine through the urethra-- at will to stop myself from coming too soon. Through a simple daily routine wherein I start and stop my urine flow fifteen times each time I have to pee, I've been able to achieve much greater sexual stamina and heighten my own arousal and sense of climax.

CHELSEA: It ain't in the hips, it's in the lips, wonder-boy.

AL: I haven't had an erection in four months.

BOOMER: Oh, Al, you should see a urologist. Sudden unexplained loss of sexual function can be symptomatic of cancer of the prostate! And then I'd be the number one guy!

CHELSEA: Yes, and they should determine if the cause of your impotence is physical before your penis becomes permanently incapacitated. For it is widely-held that nocturnal erections are critical to the continued health of the organ itself.

BOOMER: I hadn't thought of that, but you're exactly correct. The theory being that these prolonged episodes of arousal supply the tissue with a super-dose of oxygen-rich blood which must then sustain it through flaccidity.

AL: I'm going to die.

CHELSEA: I'm very smart in a dirty sort of way.

BOOMER: You're so hot. If I fucked you, I'd want to tell your father because I bet I could beat him up. I'd sweet-talk you at first, but really, I'd like to degrade you to inflate my own sense of self-worth.

CHELSEA: You're exactly like George Stephanopolus.

AL: 49ers ball from the 40. They're in their 3-wide set, which is the only time that you'll see Jerry Rice this year.

BOOMER: Good. That prick cost me the Super Bowl.

CHELSEA: Have either of you noticed that we seem to be unusually candid this evening?

BOOMER: Your mouth is so sexy. Say "chocolate."

AL: The pass, intended for Owens, is incomplete. Second and ten.

CHELSEA: No really, I don't want to say the things I'm saying, but yet they pop right out.

BOOMER: Choc....o....late....

AL: I've noticed it as well. I'm desparately in love with Chelsea, but must conceal my feelings. Steve Young changes the play at the line of scrimmage, and it's a quick draw up the middle to troubled running back Lawrence Phillips. Third and four.

CHELSEA: Al, you are entirely inappropriate for me, but I need to let you down easy because I need you as a buffer to the unwelcome frightening advances of Boomer.

AL: My heart is breaking and the 49ers fail to convert on a play-action pass that was well-read by Willie McGinest, who forced Young to throw the ball away.

BOOMER: Al, there's a case where Steve Young didn't really take care to conceal the ball on the fake. When I was playing, I was generally regarded as the best ball-fake artist who ever lived. Steve Young is a pansy.

CHELSEA: See, you're doing it.

BOOMER: I think you're both crazy. I'm just "on" tonight.

CHELSEA: Chocolate.

BOOMER: I feel the fullness and delight of my seminal vessicle. If you'll excuse me for a moment....

(EXIT BOOMER)

AL: Fourth down, and the Niners punt to Terry Glenn. It's a terrible punt off the side of Shayne Edge's foot that goes a measly twenty-two yards and skips out of bounds at the thirty-four.

CHELSEA: Pretty good starting field posistion for the Pats. The Niners never seem to have a kicking game, and one day, it's going to hurt them.

AL: Well, you could argue that it already was a factor in the '97 playoff game with Green Bay....

(BOOMER RETURNS)

BOOMER: So I've had a chance to think about it and I think that Chelsea's correct.

AL: Did you know that she follows football? She's perfect for me. I'm so lonesome, and find myself overcompensating for a lack of human companionship with a nearly-compulsive habit of buying dogs. I have eighteen dogs, and the poop patrol is exhausting.

BOOMER: I wish I was hung like a dog.

CHELSEA: So what should we do? Stop the broadcast?

AL: Would you love me if I said yes?

BOOMER: Forget it Al, you don't have a chance. She's damaged. I can smell it on her, and eventually, the compass points North, and there I'll be. All I have to do is show it to her.

(BOOMER PULLS DOWN PANTS)

CHELSEA: Some compass.

(BOOMER PULLS PANTS BACK UP)

AL: And we're back, Patriots from the thirty-four. Bledsoe drops back and is sacked at the twenty-eight by the recently unretired Charles Haley.

BOOMER: I want to unretire. Who will have me?

CHELSEA: Chocolate.

BOOMER: If you all will excuse me....

(BOOMER EXITS)

AL: Second and sixteen. It's an end-around to Terry Glenn, who gains back what was lost on the sack, setting up third and eleven.

CHELSEA: Of course, the real value in the end-around is to keep the defense from over-pursuing by establishing a seed of doubt on future plays. Al, we've got to stop the broadcast.

AL: I want to be decisive and make you love me, but I am afraid of losing my job, and I'm not sure that your decision --precious as the sentiment may be to me-- is really the correct one.

CHELSEA: We have to invoke the Innermost Numbskull clause.

AL: You can't mean....

CHELSEA: Yes, as the host, you must challenge me to defeat you in mortal combat. Then, you have to yield to me, which means that I become the host and you become the sidekick, and Boomer....

AL: Since there can only be one sidekick....

CHELSEA: Yes, you'll have to kill Boomer.

(BOOMER RETURNS)

BOOMER: What did I miss?

AL: I must conceal Chelsea's plan to stop the broadcast. On third and eleven, Bledsoe connects with Ben Coates over the middle. They're very close to the first down, and now the officials are bringing in the chains.

CHELSEA: I think they made it, Al....

BOOMER: What plan?

CHELSEA: The Innermost Numbskull clause.

BOOMER: What's that?

AL: It's where I defend my hostship against a mortal threat from Chelsea, but I yield and am thus relegated to color commentator --or "Innermost Numbskull." As per ABC's post-Dierdorf contract, the "Innermost Numbskull Clause" states that Monday Night Football can only have one numbskull in the innermost ring of power, and I would --by right of rank-- be allowed to kill you and take your place. Patriots first down.

BOOMER: I'm coming for you, little man.

AL: Oh yeah, well I'm giving you the evil eye!

BOOMER: Right now?

AL: As we speak!

BOOMER: Hm.... Can't feel it.

AL: Oh, you'll feel it tomorrow.

BOOMER: Like a pleasant floating sensation? Is that what it's like? Kind of like a glass and a half of wine?

AL: Do not underestimate the power of the evil eye!

BOOMER: You're right, that's not it. I remember now, I had a glass and a half of wine in the limo.

CHELSEA: I know the real reason George Stephanopolus left the White House.

BOOMER: Oh, the drama! What did George S. do to poor little Chelsea? Whatever your little schoolgirl Oval Office sexual secret is, it can't possibly compare to mine.

CHELSEA: Oh yeah? Try me.

BOOMER: You first, I insist.

AL: Under pressure, Bledsoe drops back, then tucks it down and slides for a modest three-yard gain.

CHELSEA: Quarterbacks are pussies.

BOOMER: You'd better watch yourself, bitch. I'm a keg of dynamite --I'll go off if you're not careful!

CHELSEA: Chocolate.

BOOMER: SHIT! I'm coming right back!

(BOOMER EXITS)

AL: Second and seven. Patriots in I-formation. Shaw comes in motion, and the give is to Warren up the middle for one, maybe two yards. Third and a long five.

CHELSEA: Al? Talk to me, Al.

AL: Bledsoe in the shotgun, three-wide.

CHELSEA: Al, don't ignore me.

AL: The pass is deflected, fourth down.

CHELSEA: Al!

(BOOMER RETURNS)

BOOMER: All right bitch, bring it on.

CHELSEA: Don't call me bitch.

BOOMER: Just telling the truth.

AL: Good kick, McCorders backpedals and reels it in at the twenty, where he's met by Ty Law. No return.

CHELSEA: No one knows what it's like to have my family.

BOOMER: Boo-hoo-hoo. Poor Chelsea Clinton. Little cocksniffer had it rough, did she? "No one knows what it's like to have my family!" That's nothing. Get over yourself. Stand up and act your age.

AL: False start whistled on Derrick Deese. First and fifteen.

CHELSEA: What? What's your big secret? That you suck? Everybody knows you suck, Esiason! It's not a secret! I can't talk about what happened to me, and if we don't stop this broadcast, soon....

BOOMER: Oh, I don't even want to hear your little sobbing tale. What the fuck do I care why George Stephanopolous really left. Oh, the scandal! What'd he do? Pop your spring cherry in an antechamber while you muffled your screams in his cumberbund?

CHELSEA: No, he....

BOOMER: Oh, shut it. You want to know what I did?

AL: And it looks like Mariucci wants a time out.

BOOMER: Senior year in high school. We had just won state. I was going to Michigan on a football scholarship in the fall. Me and Kevin Wintergreen got a fifth of gin and a couple of sixers and headed out to Parson's farm, where Mike Parsons was having a party for the championship. It was cold, moonless, pitch black. Country black. You never get that dark near a city. There's all this extra light just flickering around here in the city. Light pollution, they call it. Can't use a telescope here. But out in the country, miles away from any city lights, it gets country black. So black that if you look at your shoes, you can't tell the difference between eyes open and eyes shut. All that you can see is the stars and forty feet of blacktop in your headlights. We started in on the beer, and we were roaring down County Road 22 at about 50 miles an hour. You don't think that's fast? Didn't I tell you it was country black out? We might as well have been doing a hundred. Next thing you know, we come around this bend and there's this other car, driving with its lights off in the other lane. We didn't even have time to swerve --we went right by it. But we freaked them out, and they swerved, and BANG, it goes right off the road. Well, Kevin hits the brakes and pulls us around. When the headlights caught the car, I'll tell you.... That's a fucking trauma. Fuck you and your fancypants press secretary. The girl who was driving was thrown right through the window, right into a tree. Now she's lying on the ground, and her whole body is cut up, and her clothes are all cut up, and she's just lying there, bent over wierd, and she's making this little hissing sound, like she's out of breath. You could see how weak her breath was in the little whisper of fog she was breathing. We got out of the car and went over there. Kevin's freaking out. He's like, "Oh, shit, oh, fuck, fuck me, my life is over!" And I'm yelling at him to shut up, but I'm thinking it, too --my life is over. And she's whispering. You know why she was whispering? Because her larynx was ruptured. She's whispering for me to help her. She's delirious. I can tell that she's slipping out. I told Kevin to go up to the car and get a blanket.

And suddenly, I was angry. I remember just being furious with her --why didn't she have her lights on? She was going to die, I just knew it, and then there would be consequences. I mean, we probably wouldn't go to prison or anything, but back then, it wasn't like today --I would've lost that scholarship. No question. And I remember just looking at her and being so mad because she was as much to blame for what happened as we were. More. We were just driving a little fast, but we weren't drunk or anything. If she'd had her lights on, we would've seen them poke around the bend and we would've slowed down. Absolutely no question, we would've! And we didn't even go out of our lane! How come she didn't see us coming, huh?! I mean, fuck: we weren't that far out of line, but now we were really going to be fucked for it. Fucked.

And then it hit me how we could get out of it. Kevin came back down and I said, "Look, man, we don't deserve this. She didn't have her lights on, man. We didn't even leave our lane."

And he said, "Yeah, it was an accident, man."

And I said, "But you know no one's going to believe all the crazy things like her lights and how we weren't in the lane, I mean not after they find the beer, right?"

"Fuck, I don't know, man. All I know is we're fucked."

"Right. So here's the deal. We didn't leave any skid marks. No one will ever know that we didn't just find her out here."

"Shit man, I don't know about that...."

"Come on, Kevin, open your eyes! She's not going to make it. We'll be charged with something. Manslaughter. You know and I know that we don't deserve it. She didn't have her lights on, man. No way this happens if her lights are on."

"I don't know...."

"Look, all you've got to do is get up the road, ditch the beer and call for help. But ditch it good. When you call, you just say to come quick. Just be panicked and hang up after you tell them where it is, then come back here. If she lives, then we're in the clear because she can confirm it was an accident, but if she dies before they get here, then we'll just say we came around the bend and saw her in the ditch. Leave me the flashlight. I'll stay here to flag them down. We don't have time to argue about it. You'll still be doing the right thing. You'll be getting her help."

"Are you sure?"

"It's the right thing. Do you deserve to go to jail for this?"

"No."

"OK, then promise me you'll do it this way."

"I promise. Yeah, I'll do it"

"OK. Go. Remember, ditch the beer, and don't tell them anything besides where to go. Be scared on the phone. Then come right back."

"And if she lives...."

"If she lives, we tell it like it happened. Now, go, there isn't any time."

And so he left. And she's semi-conscious, but still breathing and trying to say something, and I sat there and I looked at her, and then I put my hand over her mouth. When she went, I wasn't prepared for what it would be like. It was the most frightening thing I had ever seen in my life. There was this moment, probably about twenty seconds after she stopped struggling, where her face just went slack, and --I swear, listen to the words-- the light vanished in her eyes. They just went flat. And it wasn't "this is the moment her muscles relaxed;" I felt it --it was the moment her soul left her body. And right then, I knew I had fucked up.

It took about twenty minutes for Kevin to get back. I sat there with her, and the flashlight died, and I just felt numb. Then Kevin pulled up. Out there in the dark, I heard him coming for probably two miles before he got there.

He got out of the car and he said, "Man, what happened?"

"She's gone."

Then we could hear the ambulance. We didn't say anything. We just walked up to the car and stood in the headlights, waiting.

Naturally, it was in the paper. In a small town, that's big news. Her name was Mary McFadden. I went to the funeral, of course. After the service, I shook her father's hand, and he said, "It's all right, son. I know you boys did everything you could." I asked him where they were burying her, and he told me that they were going to take her to a family plot in Georgia, near where she was born.

But I had to face her again. I don't know if it was guilt or what.... I mean, there was guilt, but also something else --something strange. I thought that maybe if I could see her, I could shake this dread and regret. If I could just see her one more time, I was sure I could stop thinking about that moment in her eyes. So I hid and waited.

It seemed like forever, crouched down under a desk, but finally I was sure I was alone. I went downstairs. Obviously, they had moved her into the morgue, and it took a while to find it, but then there she was, in that big maple casket.

I opened it up. She was pale and grey, but you could still see that she was a beautiful girl. It was amazing how they had concealed her injuries. This was the girl I had seen bent and broken, and now she seemed unscathed. It was amazing, but it wasn't the truth. I undid her dress to see how she really was. At first, the Y-Incision surprised me --I didn't realize that it would be there. Naked, I could see the black bruises and tender twisted places where her bones had broken. I traced my fingers along the stitches of the Y, and she felt so fragile, so helpless.

The effect of being with her was the opposite of what I had hoped. Rather than dismiss the reality of that moment when I killed her, rather than reject that moment of her death and see her as I would an animal --as unimportant as an insect-- I was further drawn into the disaster of what I had done. I couldn't stand it any longer. I started sobbing hysterically and touching her face and shouting out how sorry I was. I kissed her and whispered to her and wondered who she was. What if she was my destiny? What if I was meant to meet her at a dance or on the lake and fall in love and marry and have happiness and children? And that chance was gone, for what? For football and speed and the abandon of youth, I wished my love upon a shooting star. My heart was broken and empty and all dried up just like that, like a paper bag. I caressed her broken body --her neck and shoulders, her breasts like sponge cake, her rigid abdomen, her soft woman wasted. I wanted her so badly. I ached for what I'd never known. I kissed her one last time, dressed her, and left.

(silence)

BOOMER: Call the fucking game Al. San Francisco just scored.

AL: What?

BOOMER: So you know what? You want to be the Innermost Numbskull? You go right ahead. I quit. I'm done lying. I'm done with football. And you.... I mean, what the fuck? He slept with you , right?

CHELSEA: Right.

BOOMER: It was maybe a little dirty? Not what you expected?

CHELSEA: Right.

BOOMER: And your dad found out?

CHELSEA: Mom.

BOOMER: And she was pretty pissed?

CHELSEA: Furious.

BOOMER: Anything else?

CHELSEA: She had been with him, too.

BOOMER: Did you know it when you did it?

CHELSEA: No.

BOOMER: Well, my advice is to let go of it right now. Find some cute guy in the library and ask him out for a fucking ice cream. Take it slow. But do not live another day with George Stephanopolous in your pocket. I mean, you've seen how normal people behave: can you fake it until you get it down for real?

CHELSEA: What about you?

BOOMER: I'm gone, kid. I'm done with this nonsense.

CHELSEA: I don't know what to say....

BOOMER: "Patriots ball, first and ten from the twenty."

THAT'S ALL FOLKS!

*********************************

STEVE VAHL'S ENTRY

[A Monday night in America, and a nation is, once again, ready for some football. The computer graphics finish their bit and we fade to Al Michaels and Boomer Esiason in the broadcast booth. A third microphone is positioned beside them, but nobody is behind it.]

Al: Good evening, and welcome to Monday Night Football. We’ve got a great one for you tonight, with the two-time defending Super Bowl Champion Columbus Cold Warriors vs. the Arkansas Inbreds. I think we’ve got plenty of drama here tonight. We’ve got the big league debut of Brian Oily. We’ve got the old warrior, Dan Marlboro, beginning possibly his final quest for that Super Bowl ring that has so far eluded him. To help me sort it all out tonight, I’ve got my usual sidekick, former Pro Bowl Quarterback Boomer Esiason, and tonight we’ve also got a special guest here in the booth, God.

Boomer: Good to be here, Al.

God: This is my first time in a broadcast booth, so you may have to show me the ropes, Al!

Al: Boomer, tell me what is going through Brian Oily’s head right now.

God: [Whispering] Al, um, I think I could answer that one…

Boomer: Well, Al, I talked to Brian last night, and he looked ready to me. This is his second year here, he’s comfortable with the coach’s offense, and he’s ready to go out there and execute it.

God: True, Boomer, but he’s also scared shitless.

Al: Well, God, since you’re jumping right in, we’d like to welcome you to Monday Night Football. Earlier this week, you approached ABC executives (in the form of a flaming bush, I might add), and expressed an interest in joining us here tonight. Could you explain why?

God: Sure, Al. I’m here tonight for three reasons. First, I’m trying to get my message to an audience who hasn’t been hearing it very much lately, but really needs to. The old method--spreading the message from my old messengers, Christ, Buddha, Mohammed, Martha Stewart, etc., just wasn’t reaching all the right demographics anymore. So it was either this or pre-empting an episode of COPS. And I thought that might cause too great of a backlash.

Secondly, I have an important announcement tonight that I’ll save for later. Thirdly, watching just you and Boomer cover games in the preseason was boring the crap out of me.

Al: I see. So, God…may I call you God?

God: Sure, Al. The whole "I am" thing becomes syntactically very cumbersome.

Al: So, God, since you’re here, what is your message for our audience?

God: Well, Al, I’m sure you’ve heard it before. Treat one another as you would…

Al: That’s great, God. Very powerful stuff. I’m sure we’ll all be pondering that over the course of the evening. And how do you see tonight’s matchup? We trust you won’t be playing favorites in tonight’s game? (heh, heh.)

God: Actually, Al, I’m sort of a Packers fan.

Al: OK, we’re ready for the kickoff! It’s a high kick…caught at the goal line…and the Inbreds return it to the 24 yard line. Boomer, what do you see as the keys for the Inbreds tonight?

Boomer: Al, I’m looking for the Inbreds to come out throwing tonight. Really test the young Cold Warriors’ secondary. Get the ball in the hands of Matthews, and let him make something happen. You want to have the ball in the hands of your most talented player. But they’ll also try to have a balanced attack. Use the pass to set up the run, and vice versa. It’s also very important for them to play well on special teams, because that’s just so important. And not turn the ball over. I really feel that the team that makes the fewest mistakes tonight will win the game. And they’ve got to try to slow down the Warriors’ offensive attack…keep them on the sideline. They want to keep the Warriors’ Max Pommer under control tonight, and make Oily beat them. Because, here’s an amazing fact, the Warriors are thirty and oh when Pommer rushes for more than 250 yards in the game. They’ll need to try to get an early lead, because the worst thing is to fall behind and then be playing catch-up all night. That’s not their style.

Al: And the Dolphins first play is a quick handoff to Johnson, the running back. A pickup of about four on the play.

Boomer: A truly great call by Randy Brocks, the Inbred head coach, for the first play of the game. He really knows his X’s and O’s. This is exactly what the Inbreds want to do. You want to try to establish the ground game. Get a surge from the big guys on the line and just run it behind them. Watching here on the replay, you see that Miller and Cadrez, the guard and tackle, open up just a little crack on the right side. You see the nice footwork of Cadrez, keeping the defender in front of him. In the NFL, you have to have great footwork. And Johnson, with that great vision he has, sees the crack and literally explodes through it for a nice gain on the play. Not many people can see the hole, and then hit it, like Jeff Johnson.

Al: Well, Boomer, while you were talking, we missed the second play, an incomplete pass, intended for Stockmeier.

Boomer: Well, as a former Pro Bowl quarterback, I can tell you exactly what Marlboro did wrong here. He locked in on one receiver, and the defense will see that and read it every time. And then he just tried to lay it in there too perfectly. Sometimes as a quarterback you just have to let her fly and trust your receiver to make a play on the ball…

God: [in an unearthly voice, like the sound of trumpets (Rev. 1, v. 10)]: ENOUGH! I gave you a brain so that you could think and form sentences on your own, not merely spout what has been said seventy times seven times before! I forbid you, Boomer, to ever again speak another football cliché!

Al: Well, this should be interesting. Here’s third down…a draw play to Johnson…he’s hit right at the line…there’ll be no gain on the play, and that brings up a punting situation for the Inbreds.

Boomer: Um…Johnson…er…football…pickup…run…

God: Al, while Boomer adjusts to his new "11th commandment" (heh heh) Let me say that I expect about a 53-yard punt here, with the ball returned to the Warriors’ 28 yard line.

Al: Here’s the punt…a short return to the 28 yard line! Nice call, God. It’s almost as if you knew what was going to happen.

God: Well, Al, I just play my hunches, like anybody else. But I would say that there are a lot of people that wouldn’t mind having me around as a reference during their fantasy draft, if you know what I mean. For, instance, here I’d look for the Warriors to open with a quick slanting pattern over the middle.

Al: Here’s the snap, Oily fires a quick slant over the middle, a gain of six on the play.

Boomer: Throw…yard…chain…

Al: That’s very nice, Boomer. So, God, tell me, are you predicting what will happen on the field using your omniscience of the present, or actually seeing the future, or are you causing the action on the field to happen, with the coaches and players as mere puppets?

God: A Good question, Al. (And here comes a sweep to the strong side for a gain of four and first down, but they’ll have to measure.) But it’s not an easy answer.

Al: Essentially , God, I think a lot of our viewers would be interested to know: Are we merely predestined automatons, or do we have free will? If the former, then what is the use of teaching morals and having a system of justice in our society? Yet if we do have free will, then can you truly be all-powerful? If so, then are you not tacitly responsible for the fall of man and all his subsequent sins, and therefore not justified in passing judgement upon us? Wouldn’t you simply be punishing us for exercising the ambition and curiosity you yourself placed within us?

God: Whoa, there, big fella! Don’t you think most of your viewers would rather know if Jacksonville is going to go all the way this year?

Al: Sadly, you’re probably right. [pause] But I’m much more intelligent than most of them. You can tell by my vocabulary.

God: Well, Al, next we’re going to see Oily overthrow a deep pass. As for your other questions: the best answer is really "none of the above." You choose your own path, and yet it is laid out for you. Sorry to sound like some sort of new age bullshit, but that’s the best I can do. If I’d known how difficult the concept of linear time and cause-and-effect were going to be for you all to get past, I’d probably have structured the universe differently. But, what’s done is done. Oh, yes, and Jacksonville is going win the big one this year. It’s the year of the Jaguar. They just have too much offense, and their defense is much better.

Boomer: Um, what are you guys talking about? You lost me back there at the last punt.

Al: Not surprising, Jock-Boy. [Turning back to God] So, God, you mentioned you had an announcement earlier, are you ready to share that with us now?

God: Sure, Al. I’m afraid what I wanted to announce is my retirement at the end of this telecast.

Al: From Monday Night Football? Well, we’ll certainly miss you, but at least we’ll get some suspense back into the broadcast. Could you put Boomer back the way he was before you go, though? He’s not much use to us like he is.

God: No, Al, not just Monday Night Football. I’m announcing my retirement from everything. From God-dom. From Supreme Being-ness. My heart just isn’t in it anymore. After working at it twenty-four-seven since the beginning of time, (excepting that break I took on day seven), I’m just ready to move on, to have a life of my own, spend some time with my Son. [choking up] God, I missed his whole childhood!

Al: What are you saying? You can’t retire! You’re God!

God: Don’t act so surprised! Geez, I sent every warning I could! First Jordan, then Gretzky, then Elway… You sports guys called them "gods" often enough…

Al: But, but what will we do without you?

God: Oh, most of you won’t even notice I’m gone. Everyone else is just going to have to "step to the plate and kick their game up a notch" in my absence, as Boomer might say. It won’t really be that bad. I mean, how did the Bulls do this year, anyway?

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