L.A. VIKINGS IN THE COLISEUM

Saturday Morning.   I sit in the back booth at the Montana Galley.  Helena, the owner, sometime waitress, sometime customer psychologist, sometime mother figure to the teens who arrive just before closing time, 2 am.  Busy in the kitchen, her hand waves from the kitchen.  I salute back.  We have plans.  A chick flick later.  What ever Helena wants.  It's those large brown eyes, and....could be...that blond hair.  Oh, boy.

I breath deeply, and unfold the paper.  I pull out the Sports Section.  I do a Sports Column in it, three a week, The Valley Post Picayune.  Let's see how they've misspelled my headline, or how much they've cut it this time to make it 'fit' the page.  Guys, good people buy this paper to read my stuff, come on.

Nursing a large glass of buttermilk, I take a look.

Sports Section.

'Sports Diet:  Box More Nutritious Than Flakes Inside.'

"What," I say.

'UCLA Researches followed 5000 college athletes, for five years.  They served each breakfast.  One group received flakes in milk, juice, and toast.  The other ate pieces of the box in milk, juice, and toast.  After five years, physical and psychological  test were given.   When the results were published, and after repeated calls, we  finally contacted a company secretary who said, off the record, "We knew that all along."

"Knew what?"  I say.  "This paper."

NFL:  LA Vikings Favored Over the El Paso Bengals Sunday.

"Wait a minute?  What the heck?" I say aloud.  "El Paso...What? ... in the NFL?"

'The Los Angeles Vikings Manager Terrell Owens, says they're ready for Sunday's NFL game at the Coliseum, against the El Paso Bengals.   Mark Sanchez, and the Vikings are out to extend their league leading 11 and 2 record.  The Bengals need to get back in the winning column.  Tony Romo, who couldn't seem to mesh with the Cowboys,  says it is just a matter of getting the Bengal's running game in gear.  Will Donovan McNabb start in place of Tony?

Sanchez?  Romo?  This Sunday?  At the Coliseum?  I blink and read it again.  "McNabb?  Back up quarterback?  In El Paso?"   I look up at the other customers.   Some read newspapers, other search on lap tops, but none look surprised.  Are they reading this?   I guess not.

'A Monster Trade in the NBA.  Kobe Bryant to the Bobcats for both Byron Mullens, and D.J. White.   Lakers Coach Marv Albert couldn't be happier ...'

"What is Marv Albert doing?  He's play by play?" I say aloud.  I guess he's seen quite a few games, but manager?  What is Jerry Buss thinking?  Marv Albert?

I flush.  My heart pounds, my face is hot.  Athletes eating cardboard?  The Vikings playing in the Coliseum?  Kobe traded?  What is this?

A cloud drifts above my head.  Something doesn't feel right here. A cold breeze blows on my face.  I look at the top of the page.  Yes, it's the Sports Section.  It's the Valley Post Picayune.  "Wait, this can 't be...?"

'Hold 'em Poker is now an Olympic Sports in the up coming Olympic Games, in Rio...'

"Wait," I say.  More cold air.  "Olympics Games in Rio?" 

More headlines;  'WikiLeaks Leaks List, Failed Drug Test.  MLB In Tizzy.   The names are a Who's Who of future Hall of Famers.  What will be the penalties?  Suspensions?  Banishments? Will we be watching Little League on ESPN until Commissionaire Scully figures out...?'

'14 years old,  6'10'' power forward Gary Kokomo, Indiana Sixth Grader, has registered for the next year's NBA Draft.  The Miami Heat with first pick.  Will they pick Kokomo?'

14 year old?  In the NBA?  Can they do that?  Wait.

I look again at the top of the page.  Ice, a block of ice, on my neck, and all the way down my back.

The date:  October 1, 2015.

Oh my gawd.  Oh My Gawd.  What?  2015?  How can this happen?  I can't think. 

I glance around, conscious of others watching me mumble to myself.  Some stare at me.  I want to tell them, shake the paper in the air.  I got a newspaper printed in 2015.  But I don't. 

Without breathing, I smile back. And without looking down, I neatly fold the paper.  My hands fumble.  I know they're still watching me.

But I have the newspaper for October 1, 2015.  I blink, the possibilities.  My voice rises. "The possibilities."

They all heard that, even Helena, over in the kitchen.  I gulp my buttermilk, slide out of the booth, wave, and as I reach the sidewalk, my hands shake, my knees wobble.  I glance down at the paper one more time in the sunlight.

"What?"

'...So, will Albert Pujols ever hit another Home Run?  It's been three years now...'
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Help comes from:
WikiPedia/ coliseum/ Bobcats/ Angels/
sports.espn.go.com/los-angeles/nfl/
readabilityformulas.com, Google/Images

BRIBERY, CONSPIRACY AND THE L.A. COLISEUM

7 a.m.  I sit in the back booth, at The Montana Galley, back by the kitchen, and watch Helena, the place's owner, work the room, smiling at the customers.

My mind mulls an LA Times article.  A  29-count felony indictment against two former managers of the L.A.  Coliseum and four other people, including promoters of rave events.  Bribery, embezzlement, conspiracy and conflict of interest.   We got criminal indictments, law suits, drugs, and a girl died there last year.
 
A very important story.

Two men arrive and sit at the next booth.  One all business, with a briefcase, the other open shirt, gold chains, hairy chest.
.
Waitress takes their order, and pours coffee.

"Sal, what can I say?  I had no idea they were Feds.  Think they tapped my phone?"  He exhales. "Can they do that?  They gotta have a warrant, right?"

"Carlo, you know how they are.  Best to say nothing."  He stares at the menu.  "This will work it's way out.   Just let me handle this.  Coliseum Commission, they're just looking for a fall guy for their own mismanagement.  Place should be making millions for the city. It's been totally mismanaged."

I freeze.  What am I hearing?  I slowly set down my buttermilk, and switch on my pocket tape recorder. Yikes. It's one of the guys indicted.   I look up, and smile as Helena glides by.  She smiles back.  I feel my face flush.

"Thought you had more pull." says Carlo.  He shakes his head. "$1.2 million bail?  They're all part of this, and I get stuck with this?  I got expenses.  Can't you do something? Thanks for getting me out, but $1.2 million?"

Sal quickly glances around the room, and waves his hand at Carlo.  "Not too loud. It's all under control.  They're just screwin' with us."

"A girl gets the wrong drugs, and OD's, and they're on my ass.  Blame the promoter. I didn't give her any drugs.  Just promoted the thing."

"Carlo, come on. Drink your coffee."

His voice rises. "Girl's parents should be sued for being crappy parents, letting her go to a Rave.  Under age, not my fault.  Sue the promoter.  Story of my life."

"Carlo, Come on." says Sal.  He opens his briefcase, and fishes out a legal pad and pen.
 
Carlo leans toward Sal.  "It'll all come out now.  Time in jail, all that.  Just the start."  He leans back, and looks toward the ceiling. "I'm dead.  I know it."

"It'll be okay.  You worry too much.  Give it a few days, it'll all blow over, come on?"

Sal sips  he his coffee, scratches his forehead, and scribbles on his legal pad.

"Kick backs?'  says Carlo. " What?  It's called good business. Hello.  Anytime there's big money made,  you gotta pay protection, wise guys are there with their hands out. You can't say no.  How it is,  if  you haven't heard."

"Look, this will go away. Nobody wants this out in the open.  There's too many people involved. Commissioners, contractors, Coliseum security, venders, all he concessionaires, come on."

"The Coliseum commission blames guys like me.  They got nothing.  They're the ones should be in jail, not me."

"Carlo, you're not going to jail.  Get that out of your head.  It's me, Carlo.  Come on.   Any idea anyone was watching you?"

"Look, I took some money.  Big deal.  The big money came from me buying and selling some boats, not the raves, so let them figure it out."

"Shush, Carlo."  says Sal. "Come on.  Relax, not so loud."

Carlo glances around. I quickly look away.

"Now Vegas gets all the raves," says Carlo. "They shut me down.  Less money for the Coliseum. Good luck."

Sal looks at his legal pad. "How does this sound?"  He clears his voice. "These indictments are all politically motivated. My client is innocent.  He's being turned into a scapegoat for the Coliseum's financial woes."

The waitress arrives.  Pancakes for Sal, a cheeseburger for Carlo.

"Cheeseburger?" says Sal.

Carlo smiles.  "Three years of Lompoc food,  I always order a cheeseburger, every time.  You wouldn't believe what they call a cheeseburger up there."

"Carlo, I got something better.  Listen.  This is good."  He rubs his hands together. "My client's activities were all transparent and approved by the Coliseum General Manager, his staff and lawyers.  While we recognize the issues surrounding the Coliseum demand attention, we are simply amazed that the District Attorney would arrest my client when he did nothing wrong."

Carlo bites into his cheeseburger, and wipes his mouth. "Sal, everybody knew about this. Bribery and kickbacks.  It's called doing business in America, folks."

"Wait, wait, Carlo.  I got it.  How does this sound."  A slight smile. "I'm not aware of all of the charges they intend to file, but we will proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that my client did not profit illegally from any event ever hosted at the Coliseum."

Carlo munches, and gulps his coffee.  "Most of the money I got from those contractors, they all went to my Miami bank account, regular installments, real legal.  They'll never find it.  It's under another name."

Sal wiggles his pen in the air. "I got to punch this up.  Let's see.  The coliseum has been miserably managed.  The nine commissioners with the help of the district attorney are trying to turn attention away from their own mismanagement with these outlandish and untrue charges."

"And those boats I sold to those guys in Mexico, well, it's all in that other name."  He leans again into Sal. "You know how much money there is in prescription pills down in Florida.  You got no idea."

Carlo bites into his cheeseburger, then looks directly at me.  He raises his eyebrows, and nods.

My throat sticks.  I choke, but nod back.  It takes two shaking hands to lift my buttermilk.  I smile back.

Time to go.  Am I breathing?  I slowly slide out of the booth still holding my buttermilk.  Shaky still.   Head down, I move quickly toward the front counter.  I think I've got enough on this guy.

"Stronger, more aggressive," says Sal.  He cuts and stuffs a large piece of dripping pancake into his mouth.  He mumbles as he reads. "Why charge a rave promoter when the Coliseum loses money.  Do we charge CalTrans for an auto crash, because they built the road?  A gun dealer when somebody gets shot?  And here's my kicker."  He elbows Carlo.  "Do we charge God for creating the Ocean when somebody drowns?"

"Sal," says Carlo.  "They can't touch me.  It's all under a different name."  He sits back, his arms out on the back of the booth. "We got them by the short hairs.  I'm not worried."

"Yeah," says Sal.  He holds up his legal Pad. "We got this.  This is going to be a piece of cake."
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Help comes from:
latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2012/03/coliseum
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LA_Coliseum
dailynews.com/ci_20231777/former-l-coliseum
Google/Images, usingenglish.com/glossary/fog-index.html
huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/24/la-coliseum-scheme