Wednesday

Chapter Six up and running




I posted chapter six over at Collective Balderdash, but I am not too happy with how it ends so that last part is mad tentative until I come up with something better. If you haven't caught up, read the first five chapters by clicking on the "untitled novel project" link in the tags section.

Chapter 6 here.

excerpt:
"Mullin was cute," Monica said. "I remember Mullin."

"They've been sucking lately, " Ivan said. "I haven't paid attention though, really."

"They still suck, I guess," Clark mumbled but with a hidden electricity. "It's just part of the deal when you root for a team like that."

"What do you mean," Ivan queried.

"Like, it's just part of the culture to be a Warriors fan. We haven't made the playoffs since '94 and the last time they won a world title I wasn't even born yet. It's like rooting for Wile E. Coyote."

"Wile E. never gets The Roadrunner, right?" Ivan asked. "You're talking about him right? Not some new band or new Marxist rebel?"

"Yeah, that's the coyote," Clark answered. "That's the guy. He comes up with these ideas and they seem plausible and realistic -- at least in the world of cartoons -- but either the Roadrunner is too good or we fuck it up because that's what we do. I mean, the guy can probably look for easier prey. I can move on to rooting for another team or choosing favorite players or even just watch basketball as a neutral party. But I don't and he doesn't. You go in knowing that the odds aren't necessarily with you, that the past is more of an indication of what will happen because let's face it, as much as we learn from the past it's not really a lack of imagination that hurts us but the execution.

So I come back every year to root for this godawful team and every year I remain optimistic and every stupid year I end up rolling my eyes halfway through the season. It's this blind hope that someday we can make it, and I will not be one of those bandwagon douches that come out of the woodwork, I will be there from the insufferable and intolerable days to see us finally get the Roadrunner and it will feel better than just latching on, because the suffering is what makes everything afterward satisfying."

The third quarter had started. Monica picked up her cup of coffee, her hand slightly jerking and shaky. It was not blatantly noticeable. It was a shake one would have after a hangover from heavy drinking. Clark pretended like he didn't notice, but he couldn't discard the image from his mind. He tried watching the game. All he saw was ten men in a rectangular stage throwing the ball around.

offtopic:
sincerely, p.b. at 12:42 AM

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