-Alright, fellas, the writing's on the wall. We've played sixteen basketball games this year and lost them all. And here we are, halftime of another game, playing against a team that is actually legally blind and we're down by sixty. We are on tenuous grounds, men. I'm likely to get fired after this game if we don't pull out a win.
-But coach, they're really fast.
-They're blind, Jenkins!
-Blind people can be fast, coach.
-Fine, touche, Mortinson. But you're just letting them run circles around you.
-I am an artist, coach! I am not a basketball player.
-Then why are you on this college basketball team?
-I need the tuition.
-Get out of my locker room!
-Fine, but first, I'd like to read one of my poems.
-No--
-"The sunrise looks like a man dying, today..."
-That's terrible, Mortinson.
-"A single eagle flies, and I cry, into several buckets..."
-Stop it, Mortinson!
-Coach?
-What is it, janitor?
-Can I play?
-No! You're a janitor.
-I'll give you my broom if you let me play.
-That is not an equal trade, look--
-"Trees fall under my skin and the wind blows me a new heart..."
-Mortinson, I'm going to throw a javelin through your heart.
-Do it, Coach!
-Be quiet, Jenkins! All of you, be quiet. Now look, we should be pounding these kids heads in like congas--
-That's offensive, Coach. I have a brother who is blind. And also has a drum for a head.
-Well, I'm sorry to hear that--
-He also plays for the time we're playing against right now.
-Ok, fine. That's fine. Look, men--
-I can't do this coach. Not to my brother. Here, take my jersey.
-I don't want it.
-What if I give you my broom AND my mop bucket.
-No, I don't need those things.
-AND my jumper?
-No. TEAM.
-Coach, the buzzer is going off.
-I can hear it. Look, pick and roll and--IT doesn't even matter. Just play really quiet so they don't hear you.
-"I will break away and become a spider-person but I am no spider-man..."
-Mortinson, your poems are terrible.
-Your LIFE is terrible, coach.
-Coach, is your team going to come out and play this second half or what?
-Yes, I'm just trying to finish my speech, Referee.
-Coach, your team is losing by sixty points to blind people.
-I'm well aware.
-Maybe you aren't a good coach.
-Maybe you're a jerk.
-Oh, is the wittle baby coach offended now.
-No.
-Oh, is the wittle coach gonna cry and pout.
-Shut up, referee.
-Want your bottle? Maybe your wittle baby carriage? Want me to push you around the court while you suck your thumb?
-No, I do not.
-Come on, little baby coach. I want to put you in a crib.
-Team! Where are you guys going?
-Some guy just came in and made Mortinson the Poet Laureate, so we're gonna go to his induction ceremony.
-This is stupid.
-Awww, is the little baby coach cry-crying because he didn't win the Poet of the Year award?
-He didn't win poet of the year. He's the Poet Laureate. It's two different things.
-Awww, is the little baby coach getting wrapped up in semantics.
-Why are you still here, Ref?
-Because I'm homeless. My wife divorced me. Let me live with you.
-No.
-Please? I know how to make homemade relish.
-I...fine. Whatever.
-Hooray! I'm going to jump on your back now.
-Don't.
-Here I go!
-OW! I think you broke my entire spine.
-Haha! Roommate, you are so funny.
~Jake Goldman is a writer living in New York City. some of his work can be found here: 23/6 (http://www.236.com/contributors/jake_goldman/)
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