http://slaren.deviantart.com (and some Tumblr account I can't remember.)
And for some reason I just thought about a bunch of inner-city youths playing a game that I saw in my head as a child kicking a TV while wearing a pair of work boots. And I guess it just expanded from there into some perverse parody of all sports and poverty inner-city areas.
I guess you can read some thoughts on the idea if you want, these excerpts are fairly "rough" in terms of finality.
Comedy is definitely something that comes to me a lot easier than drama and fantasy, but I'm trying to work on that particular area.
Check it out after the jump
Picture an inner-city like any other in midland America, run entirely by powerful corporate empires that barely exist in the city aside from factories and their estates up the way.
The season is spring, and although many parts of the continent may have some snow fall, this particular 'zone' does not suffer such plight. All of this information however is irregardless of the potential problems of this city, one such problem being the amount of children constantly in and out of high school with absolutely no goals in life besides sitting on a porch and guessing if the person walking by is a man or a woman or Mr. Shackle.
“People, this is an ever growing problem and I for one have been getting heat from the city council.” Mr. Peters slammed his fist against the long poor crafted table that they all gathered around during their City Organizer meetings. “We need to get this shit hole back together and it's gotta be fast.”
Mr. Peters was trying his best to seem genuine and not just playing up potential hidden cameras lodged in the walls waiting for the opportunity to fire him on the spot.
“Dammit people, is there nothing we can do!?” He pleads with his fellow SOL's.
“We've done everything we can, the problem is the kids, they're terrible fucking SOB's.” A fat man retorts.
“Lardo's got a point, Peters. We've tried everything we can, we've arranged functions and forced traditions, forced land marks. Those little bastards ruin everything we put out there!”
“Let's stop focusing on what's not working, what do we have, I know it's not a lot,”
“You got that right, 'cause all you're looking at in terms of “inventory” is broken appliances and smoke stained clothes from house fires without survivors.”
Mr. Peters slammed his hands down again in frustration roaring at his dilemma, “The fuck can we do with a pile of fucking odorous work boots and technology that was brand new when WWII was on the horizon!”
He let out one final scream and kicked at a small appliance that was left at his feet. The boxy TV traveled a short distance rolling and chugging against the friction and gravity holding it back from gaining any significant momentum.
Peter's bit his lip to the point he felt like blood would be drawn and then an absolute miracle happened in his mind, an epiphany.
“Wait....”
The others around the table looked at Peter's with an awe struck concern above any other sort of reaction.
“I've got it, I've fucking got it!” Peterson exclaims punching the air and clasping his fist like a super villain, “We're going to organize a sports league, a recreational league!”
“We've been over this before, we don't have the money, all sports require a monetary investment. They won't give us money for toilet paper for our building which will become a bingo hall in the next 20 minutes. Why do you think they'd give us money for something like that, something that might not even work.”
“Again, Lardo's right Peters, it's not gonna happen.”
“No, Rich, it WILL happen!” Peters replied with a maniacal laugh which causes the group some distress.
“We have everything we need right here!”
“Peters....”
“Gentlemen, I present to you, TV Ball.”
The group responded with a resounding “Uhhh....”
But Peters' mind was already fully set in motion, and even though they couldn't see it he was determined to make them see the light. He pulled out a scrap piece of paper and took a pen from his jacket pocket, with these two instruments he scribbled out the basis for what would be his dream to reform “the whole fucking community” as Peters' put it.
The men and women around the room one by one were opened up to the idea of Peters' sport.
In Peters' mind the children would be donned in heavy metal toe work boots, and the ball in TV Ball would a TV that is otherwise a heavy box with a screen impervious to shattering. The rules were just ringing inside his head and he rattled them off to his colleagues he furiously began to take notes.
The playing field would be the large vacant lot that has been unused since all those Native American graves were desecrated there and the land was cursed.
It's a P.R. Nightmare to place a Wal-Mart there but hell if they can't operate and children's recreational sports league in it's place instead.
The fat man speaks up as Peters takes a moment to catch his breath and bask in his genius, “These kids aren't gonna wanna kick a TV around for 3 hours instead of shooting each other, Peters, what could possible convince them of wanting to?”
“Lardo has a good point, these kid's have more entertaining things going on than this.” The Fat Man glares over at the younger, slimmer Richard who looks the spitting image of a shyster car dealer.
“The kids are fucking retards, all we have to do is convince them this shit has been around forever. That it is in their legacy! those idiots tattoo foreign word on themselves all the time. Just tell them the orients did it.”
The fat man was about to speak but then shifted his eyes over at Rich and stopped himself from speaking his point.
“Not all of the children are obsessed with the soft core porn, the grotesquely rendered people with awful hair.” The woman around the group remarks.
“That's a great point Jane, we'll have to lure the rest over with a sort of rivalry appeal.” Rich said smiling over at the young brunette woman completely ignoring the fat man's disgust.
“Oh, that's easy....” Peters sneers as he looks out the building's ground level large glass panel over looking the Asian massage parlor and an ugly little shack.
SKIPPING THE CONVINCING OF THE COACHES, NEED MORE THOUGHT
What's happening?
The Scottish coach and the Asian coach are playing one of their first games of TV Ball.
The children lined up on either side of each other, not even sure what to expect. One thing was certain though, their blood was boiling and their adrenalin was pumping hard against their gritted teeth and insane brotherhood.
The referee (an old man just happy to be involved) stands with his eyes square firmly on the TV in the center of the square field. The turn out was amazing, they even had the guys who called the local dog shows calling the first ever Inner-city TV Ball game.
The old mans hand was ready to swing down like a pendulum and promptly disconnect at the shoulder which would instantly cause the whistle to go off.
“Hey Steve,”
“What's that, Mark?”
“Nothing, I'm just geared up for, the FIRST ever game of TV Ball. A sport that is sure to entertain the 10 or so people who were able to find chairs!”
“You've got that right Mark, and of course every game of TV Ball is brought to you in part by Wang's Massage Parlor, May you have a happy ending, all time.”
“I guarantee a happy ending tonight Steve, there's no way anyone will go home unhappy.”
“I think you're right Mark, and I think the girls visiting from the Massage parlor will make sure of that” Steve remarks at the young Asian women standing in front of small blue mobile. hospital looking tents
The old ref who is clearly around 70 years of age and struggling with advanced joint complications screams the two teams to the ready. “ARE YOU READY!?”
In unison the children raise their arms in a roaring succession, and with that the first whistle signaling the beginning of a new age was sounded. The age, of TV Ball.
The children clambered against each other rocking each others side with bone crushing hits and shin bruising kicks. When out of no where young Billy Kingston gets a clear shot at the TV and gives it a leg crumpling kick causing his whole leg to tense up and burn intensely.
Billy folded to the ground writhing in pain as the other children attempted to play past him and break free of the group.
“You pray, you pray hardar! No prain no grame!” The Asian coach scolds his player from his place on the side lines.
“At first I thought we'd have had our first injury timeout, but it looks like Kingston is gonna play through it.”
“That's one tough kid, Steve.”
“He definitely gets it from his Father, Mr. Kingston took the brunt of two tazers and over THIRTEEN tactical beanbag shots to the torso during a domestic disturbance call last night!”
“Not only that Steve, but Mr. Kingston was actually just released from jail after serving 24 hours on the initial arrest and he's here TONIGHT watching his son play the game he would have played when he was a kid.”
After the announcement was heard over the radio transmitter mic, a fat and hairy man in a white wife beater stood up cheering, with the rest of the crowd chanting some drunken nonsense. Next to the fat hairy man was his wife, a fat hairy lady sporting a black eye and battered complexion.
“I think it's safe to say most of the people here played a game not-unlike TV Ball, but the money just wasn't there at the time.”
“Absolutely right Steve, these kid's are getting the opportunity of a life time!”
CRACK
Most of the children partaking in the game were suffering from severe shin splits and all sorts of shock trauma to the legs from winding up so hard and kicking the TV while there feet and legs shifted inside their boots.
After nearly 30 minutes of straight game play without a whistle the TV had barely made it much of a ways away from the center of the field where the game has started. However it was little more than a blood sport at this point, the children had become exhausted from beating each other thoroughly and expelling extra effort kicking a TV across an uneven terrain.
As they lay on the field gassed, barely able to stand up straight even though weighted solidly by the boots which dug into the ground some.
The referee was growing impatient so he blew his whistle which got a resounding roar from the crowd and then the coaches started to scream inaudible foul and vulgar things.
“Well that'll take us to half-time, Mark! The girls from the massage parlor will be serving freebies during the break!”
“What an intense game so far, these kids are leaving nothing on the field.”
“Their coaches must be pleased with their performance.”
“Oh I don't know, these two are notorious for being non-player coaches Steve.”
“The constant array of verbal and physical abuse is a tell tale sign of an intense will to win, Mark.”
“You wee little girls, you call that kicking a TV!? You don't even care do you? MY FATHER DIED FOR THIS SPORT, I SPIT ON YOU.”
“The noise coming from the Scottish camp is saying they need to sure up the defense and everything else will fall into place. They are certain they can clinch out a tight victory, Steve.”
“You say you want pray game!? HUH!? HUH!?” The Asian coach screams and then whips out a back scratcher and starts whipping his heavily fatigued and dehydrated players.
“I couldn't make out too much of the Asian camp's thoughts on the first half, but the back scratcher is a good sign of things to come, Mark.”
“Well it looks like the kids are ready to take the field for the second half, I'm getting chills Steve.”
“Absolutely Mark, this has been a very successful inaugural game of truly one of the greatest sports in my lifetime.”
“I couldn't say it better myself, but, we still have a second half to play!”
Down on the field likely only 4 of the original 20 children from both sides were even ready to take the field, half of the crowd has dispersed after receiving their freebie from the massage girls. One of the larger boys jogged up doggedly to the TV while no others were standing and gave it the hardest kick any child had given it all night.
The crack sounded hard, and echoed against the early evening. Even louder was the blood curdling scream that the young man exhibited after the kick landed. The TV rolled an astounding 5 ft in no certain direction.
The referee blew the whistle which was mostly to scold the young man for something he thought he heard him say.
“And that's game!”
“That second half just flew by, Mark, but it's a definitely a telling sign of what we can expect the next time we see these teams again take the field.”
“I agree, and I just want to take this time to thank both teams, and on behalf of the broadcast group we wanna thank Wang's Massage Parlor, where we hope you happy ending all time.”
“Well said. On behalf of Mark, Myself, and all the beautiful Vietnamese women, goodnight and see you tomorrow!”
SCENES RANDOM
TV BALL
TV BALL
A bright and early morning day, the people of the community all grab their things before they meet their children out in the ditch. The teams were warming up, doing the pregame stretches and work outs prior to the start time.
Meanwhile some pregame antics were being carried out on the side lines where the referee was discussing a certain rule change with the two respective coaches.
“This is a beautiful day Steve, the rain has washed away a great deal of fresh dog and cat shit.”
“Still a healthy amount of rat droppings!”
“Right you are Steve, and this is an important day in TV Ball history.”
“That's right, Mark. Today TV Ball is instituting a new rule into the game, that they owners hope won't wreck any of the grass root efforts put forth by the product.”
“Agreed Steve, the rule in question is the ability for a coach to challenge any play and if the challenge is successful that coaches team will be awarded a free kick.”
“Finally TV Ball is being accepted into the main stream!”
“It's hard to deny it's power, uniting people of all demographics, uniting them around a love of the game.”
“It's a beautiful thing, Mark.”
“So you... throw.... huh?” The referee was currently explaining the new rules to the coaches and respective captains.
“On.... On the grounfffftbtbtbtttt....”
“What?” The Asian captain asks.
“Huh!?”
“You throw, just, at me!”
“Throw at you?!” The Scottish coach was becoming incredibly agitated at this elderly man.
“Huh!”
“There seems to be some confusion down on the field between the two teams representatives, Steve?”
“Apparently there is some disparity about how the rule is to be enforced, however I have no fear that it'll be sorted out before kickoff.”
“We should take the time now to explain how a challenge is issued, maybe you should let them know, Steve?”
“Sure Mark, the coach of either team can issue a challenge by picking up any variety of debris on the ground in front of him and throw it at the referee.”
“So is that to say that a coach can't throw something, say, in his pockets at the ref and expect a response?”
“That's right Mark, only things found on the ground will be accepted as potential flags for a challenge.”
“I think the deliberations are coming to a close on the sidelines, as some of the players parent's are beginning to throw debris in an effort to get this game underway.”
“The kids are just as eager as their parents, Mark. I think it's a good time to also let the public know that all TV Ball games are brought to you by Wang's Massage Parlor, the place down town, next to the Woman’s Shelter.”
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Those are just ideas slightly fleshed out,
hope you enjoyed my ramblings.
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