ROGER IS PUT STRAIGHT ABOUT BOUNTIES

I hear The Theme from Rocky.  My ringtone. 

"Belair, here.  Brentwood Belair."

"Woody? It's me."

"Well," I say.  "As I live and breathe, Palermo Sicily. How's the Fresh Air Taxi Company doing?

"Gets better every day.  But, okay, you won't believe who I picked up this morning."

"Okay." I say.

"Okay, okay.  This is big.  It's a sports story, Woody, that's really big."

"The bounty on NFL players?  Last week's news, Pauley."

"Look, I know what's in the paper. This is a whole lot better."

"Talk to me. I'm listening. Go."

"Okay, okay," he says. "I pick up this guy at LAX.  He's real nervous, looking around, like we're being fallowed, nervous and all.

"Tells me to drive to the far eastern end to the private planes. We pick up these other two guys. All three in the back.  And they're real gabby."

"Roger, thanks for coming." says the one in the middle.   He shakes hands with the other.  "Tom, always a pleasure.  First let me apologize for doing it this way."

"Hey, Steve," says Tom. "Must be important. You called, so I'm here."

"You know," says Roger. "I think I've been followed lately. It's those guys from TMZ.  All about the Bounty.  Just won't go away. They come up to me in the street.  Asking me questions, cameras in my face."

"That's the reason for all this secrecy." says Steve.  "We can't be too careful."

"Not a problem, Steve," says Tom.  "Coming to California is like a vacation, but I got to get back."

"The Boss told me to get this done," says Steve.  "I have my office scanned for bugs every day.  It's important nobody know anything about this."

"Okay" says Roger.

"The Boss wants it all this Bounty crap to go away.  Our football films are the key to this.  Both of you have an interest in keeping the NFL the most respected league in all of sports. So..."  

"Your weekly football films are fantastic," says Roger. "You make money, we make money.  We get our cut, so I'll do what The Boss wants, whatever it is."

"It was my team and my coaches, that got nailed," says Tom. "So, whatever you guys want."

"So, here's what we've decided on," says Steve.  "And this all stays right here." 

All three look at me. And I'm looking at them in the mirror.

"I say, 'No problem guys, I'm all about driving.'  And I close the sliding window.  But, I can still hear everything.  They had no idea."

"You hope," I say

"Got that right," says Pauley. "Okay, so Steve says,

 "We all knew these hit lists existed.  But now players are starting to complain that they're not getting paid enough.  So I spoke with The Boss and we came up with the solution."

So Steve, the movie guy reaches into his briefcase and takes out two folders, one for Tom and one for Roger. "Your speeches. The NFL won't be looked at anymore like a group of thugs getting paid to cripple the opposition."

Tom and Roger nod.

"Anything," says Roger.  "To get this off the front pages.  We got enough problems what with  concussion lawsuits, major networks starting to schedule Rugby League games during week ends.  Parents telling their kids that Football is too rough, telling them to play soccer, can you believe?"

"So Roger," says Steve. "You're going to come down real hard on these two coaches. Years of suspension, whatever you like. We're tough on Bounties."

"I make a ton of money on our 'NFL Gorillas of the Grid Iron, films," says Steve.  "Most vicious hits and tackles.

"And since The Boss makes his cut from everything NFL, we have to keep the Gorillas of the Gridiron series stronger every year.

"So, we're going to tell the players that we will pay them only if they star in one of the films.  That will give them the same incentive to play like thugs without giving them a hit list.  You both are off the hook. We will pay them instead.  The Boss takes an extra percentage off the gross."

"An extra percent?" says Roger.

"I guess, if it gets us off the front page." says Tom. "I won't have to feel like everyone's watching me any more.  I'll do it."

"Okay, so I do nothing, but read my script, and come down hard on these guys?"  Roger looks at his script.

"Keep saying you knew nothing about any of this.  We'll notify the players."

"Then Steve raps on the window, and I take them back to their planes.  And that was it. Twenty minutes tops."

"So, " I say. " Who is this boss they were talking about? You think the Mob...Organized Crime... takes a cut from the profits of the NFL?"

"Beats me." says Palermo.

"Pauley, how do you feel about this?  They know who you are, your taxi license is in your cab. If word gets out, like you telling me?"

"Woody, I had to tell somebody, and you're in sports. Geez, guess I wasn't thinking.  This has to be off the record."

"This is the scoop of the decade. Blows the roof off the NFL, this Bounty thing.  They want players to get injured.  Better for film sales.

"And who is The Boss?" I asked

"I don't really want to know." 

And that's the story.  Pauley gets the League Commissioner, a Team Owner, and the guy who makes all those Football films in the backseat of his cab?

 But since Pauley's a friend, and the magnitude of what those three were discussing, best I keep this a secret, for Pauley sake.

And for my own.

-----------------------------------

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JESUS, HIT LISTS AND THE NFL

Two players sit by their lockers.  One crosses himself.  "Please Lord," he says.  "Make us winners in this game today, and please watch over me so I don't get hurt too bad.  I want to do my best, without getting hurt bad. Thank you, Lord.  Amen."

"Amen " says the other.  "Got your list. $1,000 for a cart-off, and $1,500 for a knockout.  Extra money's something to shoot for."

A horn sounds.

"Okay," say the player.  "Pre-game meeting, or should I say pre-game screaming from the coach."  He laughs and moves away.  "You coming?" 

"Give me a second, " says Jackson.  He hesitates, then takes a sheet of paper out of his locker, and opens it. 

It is a list of names, and a list of money amounts.

Jackson looks up. 

There is a light at the end of the lockers.  It is around a Man's head.  The Man wears sandals, has long hair, and wears a linen tunic.

"Hello Jackson. Linebacker from Mississippi State."

Jackson stands up.

"What is that?" asks The Man in the Linen Tunic. 

"What?  Do I know you?"  He looks at the Man's sandals, and squints at the bright light.  "No way."

He steps back. "And how'd you know who I was?" 

"Well, I kinda know quite a bit about you.  I came by to talk for a minute."

"Haven't really got time.  I gotta players meeting."

"I don't usually make personal appearances, but I thought this was that important.  Should only take a minute.  That piece of paper in your hand?"

Jackson throws the paper back into his locker and pushes to close it.

The Man in the Linen Tunic, holds the door, and takes out the sheet of paper. He looks at it.

"We know, don't we, what this is?"

"Are you really who you are?  Look, it's just something to help me focus on my game, that 's all."

"Come on, Jackson.  Remember who you're talking to.  This is a hit list.  I know all about it.  It's nothing new.  And the NFL has known about this for quite sometime.  They're giving you extra money to mame and cripple people?" 

"But, what am I supposed to do.  I have to go after the other guys anyway. Why not take the money. That's how the game is played."

"It's not whether you win or lose..."

"But it is.  Who wants to lose?" 

"...It's how you play the game.  Ever heard that?"

"It's $1,500.  How can I not go for that?"

"What else would you do for $1,500?"

"I got people to pay. My agent, my brother-in-law...says he's looking for work... and my family. Who would not be happy I got that extra money?"

"Me for one." says The Man in the Linen Tunic.

A player sticks his head around the lockers.  "Who you talking to, Jackson?  Hey, we got a meeting." 

"Look," says Jackson.  "It wasn't my idea, anyway.  Why don't you go talk to the coach?  He started this list.  I'm just doing what the team tells me to do."

"Intentionally trying to mame or kill someone, that's okay?   How am I supposed to condone this?  Don't you think the other team is asking me for a win too?"

He looks at the paper, then down at Jackson, linebacker from Mississippi State.

"This would be illegal if you did it out in the street somewhere."

"Come on, it's part of the game."

"No game I want to be involved in," .says The Man in the Linen Tunic,  "Even if you could somehow not participate, you're playing in a league that promotes this kind of behavior.  They say otherwise, but we know.  How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Well, I guess..."

"You're trapped.  It's the lure of the money.  Do you really want to mame the players on the other team?".

"No, well, yes...no.  I just want them to be blocked out of the plays.  I'll be doing my job."

"I know who is involved in all this. This all started when the NFL movie people needed harder hits in the tapes they sell.  So they came up with this scheme to get players, how should I say it, more motivated."

The horn sounds again.

"My followers could never play in a league that excused this. Praising me is a mistake, if you do not vocally condemn such an outrage."

"I gotta go.  Game is starting pretty soon."

"Brutality in sports has become a very disturbing aspect of modern society down here.  It's certainly something I'll have to discuss more in my next meeting with Dad and our group."

The Man in  the Linen Tunic takes out his SmartPhone.  "Nifty little thing here.  A lot easier to stay in touch with Dad."  He touches the screen.  "Guess I got a meeting too.  Mainly the discussion's been about Greed, and lack of Charity.  So...Wait, that Denver quarterback's also asking for my help.  I'll see how he feels about all this."

"Hey," says a man wearing a whistle. "Jackson, Come on.  What are you doing back here.  You talking to yourself?  Get your stuff.  Let's go."

"On my way."  He slams his locker closed, grabs his helmet, and jogs out onto the field.

Jackson, linebacker from Mississippi State stops.  He waits, then rushes back to his locker, pulls out the sheet of names and prices, and dashes back out on the field.  He flashes the folded paper to the coach, who nods and waves him out onto the field.

"Get out there Jackson.  Knock 'em dead.  You're a Saint.  We know how to win."

"You got it coach. I'll be gunnin' for that extra money." 

Watching from the sideline, The Man in the Linen Tunic turns and leaves the stadium. He does not look back.  

--------------

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2006 FORD EXPLORER AND THE DAYTONA 500

"Wichita, quick, come out and see my new car."

"New car?"

"Well, it's new to me."

Wichita unplugs her ear phones, jumps off the bed, and dives down the stairs toward the front door.

It sits right out in front of the house.  

"What have you done to this thing?"

"I got the idea about two months ago," says Salina. "I wanted to have it finished by the Daytona 500, but it didn't dry in time."

Topeka stands and stares at it.

"It's a 2006 Ford Explorer," says Salina. "I looked at a Smart Car, and that new Fiat, but they were way too small.  Four doors was perfect, and used, so it was a whole lot cheaper.  You like it?"

"Everybody in town is on here?" said Wichita.  "McCray's Lumber, Jay Hawk Pawn & Jewelry,  Ray's Liquor Warehouse."

Two young men walk across the street.

"Yikes.  Salina. This your Explorer?" says one.

"Sure stands out," says the other.

They walk around the car. 

"I got the idea from NASCAR.  Daytona 500, you know?  Really it was from that girl Topeka, from Alpha Sigma Sigma.  You've seen her car.  Topeka Gives Great Message, $30 an Hour,  plastered all over it."
 
"Zarco 66," says Wichita.  She points to another sticker. "Yacht Club Sports Bar and Grill, and you got 3 Spoons Yogurt over on Massachusetts."

"Lawrence, you want to take a ride." asks Salina.

"Somebody might see me riding in it,"  says Lawrence. 

Why do you say that," says Salina. "I got the thing for free."

"You what?"  He looks at Salina. He blinks, and shakes his head.

 "Wild Thing Paint & Auto Body,"  She waves at the roof,  "I had to give them the top for free, just to get it like this.  Nobody wanted the top anyway." 

"Midwest Billiards," says Wichita. "Big G's Antiques, and you got Abe and Jake's Landing?  How did you get that?"

"Had to put on a bikini, they took pictures in their boats, holding a pole, and well.  It was kind of a trade deal. Still they bought two square feet.  And there still some space."  She points under the front grill.  "I'm thinking $20 flat fee.  It's hard to see here."

"I like it," say the other young man.

"Thank you, Russell," says Salina. "Ten cents a square inch.  That's for the hood, trunk, and the doors, and five cents if they buy more than a square foot. I had to  promise them I'd drive it  1,000 miles a month.  I can't just park it."

"Wave of the future," says Lawrence.  "Making money any way you can.  Everything's got a sponsor now. Salina, you've become another corporate drone."

"Hey, I've been walking everywhere, now I can drive.  Had to make a choice.  Think I sold out?"

"Corporations have taken over, but this.  Salina, I thought you were one of the 99%ers."

"I still am, Lawrence.  Come on.  I have to make over $350,000 per year, and have a net worth of at least $14 million to be a 1%er.  Look, I got this thing for free.  I'm thinking of asking Professor Coffeeville, my Econ.Professor.  Maybe I can get credit for this.  Life experience, maybe?"

"Quinton's Bar and Deli," says Wichita. "Big G's Antiques. And on the hood? Fraternal Order of Eagles. 

"Those guys would do anything to help out a young blond girl," says Salina.  "I wore that halter top. Those guys were really happy to see me. I laid it on thick. Girl's going to school.  Girl working her way through. Girls gotta eat. They loved me."

Lawrence, Russell and Wichita continue to circle the Explorer.

"No different than NASCAR," says Russell.  "All those patches on the jump suits.  They pay big bucks for all that advertising." 

"Got the monthly payments down to $315 per month," says Salina. "But I'm getting $425 from the ads.  So I got some extra money for gas."

"It's corporate contamination," says Lawrence  "It's everywhere. Coors Field, Staples Center, Target Field.  The McDonald's first pitch of the game. They got the FedEx Orange Bowl, Tostitos Fiesta Bowl. The T.D. Ameritrade whatever.  Do I see a Jiffy Lube logo on the City Hall?  How about The State of Kansas brought to you by Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup?"

He folds his arms.  "Is that what you want?"

"Had to do something.  My Chemistry text cost me $75...used.  I just have to bill these people once a month.  I'm thinking Salina, LLC." 

"WNBA, has sponsors on their jerseys." says Wichita.  "I don't mind. WNBA probably wouldn't exist without corporate sponsorship." 

Lawrence puts his hands in the air. "What's next. Tattooed foreheads, ala Iron Mike, with a Tide logo, or WingStop, or Watch the Bachelor on ABC, plastered on your face?"

"You watch the Bachelor?" asks Wichita.

"What? No...well, sometimes, doesn't matter.  Next people will be selling their body space on Craigslist.  Think that's a good idea?"

"When I was researching to do this, believe it or not, an online casino GoldenPalace had their name tattooed to boxers. So it's already been done.  And No, I'm not getting tattooed."

The three continue to stare at the car.

"I have to promise to drive at least 1,000 miles a month.  I can't leave it sitting out here.  So, who wants to take a ride?"

Lawrence walks over to Salina.  He stares at the door, then at the hood.  "How much did you say you're getting from all this?"

"$425 a month."

"My five year plan is to get through school, get a degree, then maybe graduate school.  But...I'm so broke.  Could we maybe do my car...this is an absolute sell out,...but we do what we gotta do...you said that."  He touches the car's hood.  "Could you help me do my car?"

"Lawrence, I'm still a 99%er.  We're still going to the rally, later, right?"

He looks toward the top of a far away tree. "I'm tired of being so broke all the time, I guess."

She wraps her arm around his. "Monday, after class, we'll get started.   We'll have to find something with a lot of space.  Maybe an SUV. or a panel delivery truck?  Then figure out how much..."

--------------------------------
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