Robofootball: Doublespin

Reynolds pulled up to the door of a nice older 2-story brownstone brick home in a little older neighborhood of Royal Oak just a couple of miles north of the Detroit Zoo. The home looked slightly weathered, a bent gutter, some peeling paint on the fascia, a missing window screen, and so forth; nevertheless, it was infinitely better than where Antwan had once lived south of 8-Mile Road. It was in a predominantly white neighborhood speckled with some middle class blacks like a touch of pepper on some canned corn. The housing market had not fully recovered where it was in the very early part of the 21st century, and Antwan had been able to snag a 2,400 square foot solid 4-bedroom home for only $150,000. Reynolds left his pals Jack and Tony in the Escalade as he rang the doorbell.

“Come awn in Mista Reynolds,” an elderly black lady with long gray hair that was twisted in a bun. She was a bit thick in the middle, particularly in the hips and butt with large sagging breasts that could probably be altered with a little breast reduction surgery if just to relieve her aching back. Such things were often not covered under one’s medical plan and that was if one had health care benefits in the first place. Antwan’s grandmother had spent much of her life without any. She looked tough, but Reynolds guessed that she had to be. She had lived her entire life within the city limits of Detroit, one of the toughest cities on the planet.

“Thank you,” he said in respect as he stepped inside. It was one thing that Italians emphasized that went against the grain in American society in general, and that was a little respect for one’s elders, especially those with a little wisdom to go along with their life experience, at least until they proved otherwise. Reynolds had picked up the concept well given his relations with the Verlucci clan. The Irish weren’t too bad either, but the last 2 or 3 generations of youth could use a bit of cuffing in Reynolds’ opinion. He recalled fondly the Catholic nuns he had for teachers in his youth, they were slap-happy and could drive a smart-ass kid to the ground with a powerful ear twist. Sister Mary Bernita had personally drilled her own holes in her paddle to combat excessive wind resistance when she struck.

“Antwan! Antwan!” The old lady had a voice like a bull horn, “Mista Reynolds heah, get yo butt down heah.”

“Coming gramma, hang on to your apron.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said and waddled off to the kitchen when Antwan came down the stairs.

“So, how’s our boy?” Reynolds shot to the point.

“Hobs got all that damn shit out of him, he’s doin’ all right.”

“Have you had a chance….,” Reynolds trailed off.

Antwan grinned, “I think the kid’ll play if that’s what you want to know.”

“Yeah, my boss is bringin’ the heat,” said Reynolds.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta throw some points?”

“How’d you hear? Never mind, no, worse, we gotta win, make the playoffs.”

“I dunno man, got some tough ones on the schedule.”

“Yeah, some easy ones too, nothin’ much in between,” Reynolds went on.

“What happens if we don’t make it?”

“I’m out of a job.”

“What about me?”

“Probably go down with the ship.”

“I gotta 5-year contract.”

“Yeah, it should be good, you’re a consultant remember, not a player.”

“Is it good man, really good?”

“Nothin’ but death and taxes can be counted on for sure,” went on Reynolds, “It’s good if I’m still around.”

“And if we don’t make the playoffs?”

“Then I might not be around,” Reynolds said slowly to let it sink in. He had played with Verlucci’s millions and his ass was on the line, more than ever before.

“That’s tight man.”

“Yeah.”

They were interrupted when Antwan’s grandmother brought in a pitcher of lemonade and some homemade frosted sugar cookies on a tray. “You boys dig in,” she said and left.

Reynolds grabbed a cookie and took a bite, “Good,” he mumbled between chews.

“Gramma likes her sugar,” Antwan grinned, “Wait ’til you taste that lemonade, she cuts up 3 or 4 lemons then puts 2 full cups of sugar in that half gallon pitcher.”

Reynolds grabbed a glass, took a sip, and then winced, “Yeah, it’s sweet all right.”

“You ever hear of how nacho cheese got its name?”

“No,” Reynolds said not sure of how they got on the subject of cheese, must’ve been the cookies and lemonade.

“Well, when I was little, I had a friend named Willy J, he wasn’t too bright and we was all po’ too. We were at this high school dance and they had those snacks, whore’s dervs or whaddya call it?”

“Hors d’oeuvres?” Reynolds said helpfully.

“Yeah, that’s it, they had some cheese & shit, crackers, fruit you know. Me and Willy J snuck in the kitchen and I says Willy J get me some cheddar cheese, but see, he’s so dumb you know, he doesn’t know what cheddar is, so I tell’em it’s the yellow or orange stuff. He says alright and brings me back a handful. Next I says bring me some Swiss cheese, and you know if my brotha don’t know what cheddar is he sure as hell ain’t gonna know what Swiss is.”

Reynolds nodded, “Right.”

“I jus tell’em it’s the white stuff with all the holes in it, you know, like one of you crackers getting hit with a couple of Uzi’s. I tell Willy J that and he laughs his balls off. And I have to hold his mouth shut cuz we’re sittin’ in a closet in the kitchen next to the boxes of paper plates, cups, and shit. So he gets it and brings it back and says there’s some other white cheese up on the counter too, some kind without any big holes. He aks me what it is and I tell’em I don’t know, but go get some. He grabs a couple of pieces and brings it back to the closet, but he trips in and drops it. We didn’t know, but there’s this big ass rat under one of the shelves in the back of the closet, and the bastard grabs both pieces as fast as a black man runnin’ from a pregnant girl! Willy J starts chasin’ him and days, ‘Not yo cheese, Not yo cheese’!”

Reynolds groaned, “That’s bad,” and shook his head as he sipped one more swallow of lemonade sludge, just enough to wash down the cookie. His own mother had taught him that if people offered you something, and they had gone to the trouble of making it and presenting it to you, the only polite thing to do was accept it. “Anyhow, tell me about the kid,” Reynolds said.

“Hobs got him all stitched up and checkin’ on his functionin’ you know.”

“How long ’til he can get up?”

“He’s only been here a couple of days, but Hobs thought he should at least rest a week or two, get his bodily functions in order, you know, eat, drink, shit, piss, all the regular stuff with no tubes or whatever shit Hobs was shooting him up with.”

“He’s eating?”

“Yeah, I stopped at Mickey D’s and the kid ate like 8 cheeseburgers, called that crap the best he ever had, shit, give me a double whopper or a Wendy’s triple any day over that shit.”

“Does he remember anything?”

“Yeah sure, I mean no, nothin’ far back, nothin’ about his mamma or daddy, but you know, he has every football play memorized, better than your Gorilla dude, knows it all by heart like the back of his hand.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Says Hobs put that shit in his head somehow over and over again.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad thing,” Reynolds thought more aloud than to Antwan.

“I think he’s itchin’ to play, it’s the only thing he knows or remembers he says.”

“We’ve got the rest of this week off, I wonder if we can get him in to the Arkansas game for a few plays, work off some rust.”

“They bad,” Antwan mused from memory. “We whipped ’em good. I don’t know if the kid will be ready.”

“It is a road game,” Reynolds added.

“We ride the train?”

“Yeah, in all likelihood, but I could take him in the jet maybe. I’d better check with Hobson, see what he thinks.”

“Hobs said if he eat and shit right, that he don’t have to come back, kid should be okay. Maybe we can practice some on our own before the game, Hobs said just take it easy, no rough stuff, but if the kid can get on his feet, a little walking and throwing wouldn’t hurt none.”

“Walk before you run,” Reynolds said.

“Somthin’ like that, it ain’t like he’s been shot or bombed all the hell like I was, looks like everything is in 1 piece.”

“You been checkin’? You’re not gay now are you Antwan?”

Antwan grinned, “You funny Reynolds, did I ever tell you about the one…”

“Oh god, just one more Antwan and I got to go, I’ll check with you in a couple of days.”

“A Jewish dude, an Irishman, and a black man walk into a bar….”

“I always enjoy animal acts.”

President Calvin Coolidge when asked if he wished to meet the Chicago Bears