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Operation Dribble: Pre-Game
I hope you’re sitting down, because I have big news for you. Inspired by my look-a-like Brad Pitt, I single-handedly brought Operation Dribble to life.
In Troy, Brad’s Achilles kills Eric Bana’s Hector in a mano-a-mano confrontation rather than have the Greek and Ultra-Thin Trojan armies fight it out. The dispute started when that comely economic guru, Yellen of Troy, fell in love with Paris, in spite of the outrageous cost of a decent hotel room near the Ile de la Cite.
Wearing the hairpiece bequeathed to me by the late Congressional orator and statesman James Traficant, and selectively employing the still-sexy D.C. seductress, Fanne Fox, The Argentine Firecracker a/k/a The Tidal Basin Bombshell, I coerced Democrats and Republicans in D.C. to settle their never-ending policy bickering with a basketball game. The prize: winning party gets to set U.S. policies from now on.
In the weeks leading up to the highly-publicized game, the D’s fired their first Head Coach, Debbie Wassamatter Schultz, for talking too much and failing to control her hair. Her replacement, Donna Brassiere, resigned when it was discovered that Donna was sending parts of the R’s stolen playbook to her eventual successor, Hillary Clinton.
Republican Head Coach, former RNC head, now Big D’s Chief of Staff, Prince Ribald, assembled a formidable starting lineup: the 6’3” President-Elect, “Big D”, at center; plain-talking 6’7” former Wyoming Senator Alan K. Simpson and Fox’s easy-going 6’4” Bill O’Wryly at forward; and at guard, 6’4” Sheriff David Clarke Kent and former MS Senate Majority Leader and rap star, 6’2” Trent “T-Lo” Lott.
After studying the results of several pre-game polls, Coach HRC announced her five starters: that crafty lefty, 6’1” Barry “B.O.” Obama, at center; the towering 6’5” Bill Dumblasio of NYC and outgoing CA Senator, 4’11” Barbara Boxcutter at forward; and two little scrappers at guard, former Beverly Hills Congressman, 5’5” Henry “Turtle” Waxman and 4’11” Secretary of Labor Robert “Third” Reich of Berkley.
On game night, as I approached the sold out arena on the top floor of Big D’s Washington Hotel, I heard the crowd roaring. I wasn’t sure how the 50,000 lobbyists who bought tickets knew I was coming, but I didn’t want to disappoint.
I got a running start and burst through the doors onto the Trump Hotel gym’s famous gold parquet faux-wood floor. I leapt fifteen feet into the air, just as my doppelganger Brad did to spear Eric Bana. At the apex of my soaring arc, in need of a soft place to touch down, I spied Dick “Michelin Man” Morris and came to rest unharmed on top of his expansive torso.
“This is what it’s all about,” I stood and mumbled, slowly making a three-sixty, my arms extended to calm the crowd, my eyes filling with tears.
After basking in my ten minute standing ovation, I walked to the sidelines. Coach Ribald nodded confidently at me from the R’s bench, but Coach HRC seemed disoriented, like a bobble-head on a bumpy road.
“Pretty hot in here, isn’t it?” she asked me, her head awobbling.
“It’s sixty-five degrees,” I said, checking my watch.
“I thought so,” she cackled. “Like the tropics.”
I walked to the scorer’s table and shook hands with my first year roommate at Quantico, Head Referee Jim Comey. The other two refs were my longtime Rock Creek Parkway moose-hunting pals, the Munchkin Twins: WV Senator Joe Munchkin and Treasury Secretary-In-Waiting Steven Munchkin.
As the game clock counted down to the tip-off, I sensed the tension rising in the arena. Comey was ready to toss the basketball for the tip-off between B.O. and Big D, when MA Senator Elizabeth “Dances With Wolf Blitzer” Warren ran war-whooping onto the court, her huge multi-colored eagle-feathered headdress cascading to the floor.
“Stop,” she screamed, the fringe on her leather outfit a-quiver, “we’ve got to redistribute the height. Our players are shrimps.”
“She’s wight,” yelled Barney Fife Fwank in front of the DNC pep squad, his royal blue culottes matching the blue pom-poms he waved frantically.
“Where’d you get all the bald eagle feathers?” I asked Senator Warren.
“There’s tons of them under those wind turbines I hired Whitey Bulger to install on Boston Common,” she hollered before breaking into a lively war dance, and ….
Stay tuned for “Operation Dribble, Part Deux: The Game”
Michael Henry Copyright © 2016
“Dances with Wolf Blitzer”!! Now I’m ready for this day!! HDAHA!!
Always fantastic – can’t wait for the game.
Oooh! Contributor status. Congratulations. You will now be considered one of the powers that be, and everything you say will be taken as a Ricochet grand policy decision. Abuse your new powers well.
It could be part six before the game starts with all of the stalling tactics.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.
That’s true isn’t it?
Well, it is certainly what I have noted in the past.
Congrats on the new status. Arahant can stop campaigning now. ;-)
Arahant is a man of wisdom and exquisite taste.
Yeah, but I bet I could dunk over him.
Does this imply you are tall? If over 6′ and under fifty, you are probably correct. Then again, Michael could probably dunk a basketball better than I could. He was on basketball teams. I never was.
I was Michael Jordan’s stunt double for the last play in Space Jam.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S9W9xZikkA
I’m constantly amazed by the range of talent and experience present in the Ricochet community.
You really are his agent, aren’t you?
If so, I’m waiting to see the check. ;)
I’m wondering where I can lay down a bet on this game – The R’s look to have a much better starting 5 and it’s common knowledge the D’s have a weak bench, Heck, I even heard someone on MSNBC concede the point the other day.
I dunno, B.O. was saying that the D’s were due for a win. Something about the arc of the basketball bending towards their hoop.
Congratulations on your promotion, Michael! Well-deserved!
Mutual backslapping among the upper crust while we commoners toil in the word mines of the Member Feed!
That’s our Susan, always rubbing salt into our wounds :)
I’m trying to think of something clever to say back but I’m laughing too hard!! Upper crust!! Hee-hee! Then again, maybe you should kiss my ring?
Strange editors lying about in coffee shops distributing titles is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical online ceremony.
Power to the People!