Monday, March 28, 2011

Fantasy Basketball: Drinking at Sea

The sun was blinding. As soon as I stepped off the plane I couldn't see shit. How long had we been in the air for? 5? 6 hours? After Serge Ibaka had secured the win for me by blocking two shots in the fourth quarter against a slow as shit Portland team, Sunday night had turned into a carnival of hookers, cocaine and armed robbery that was winding down some 36 hours later when the pilot I had hired was falling asleep at thirty thousand feet.
"We need to land this damn plane or Shuttlesworth is gonna drink my blood in the Finals!" I screamed, holding the pilots unconscious head up so he wouldn't swallow his own tongue. Crash and the newly fantasy relevant Carl Landry were slamming shots of Patron in the planes bathroom when I barged in like an animal. "Get fucking Keith Smart on phone! We're gonna have to land this flying whore show ourselves."
Keith was hesitant and the Warriors were by no means a lock against John Wall. He got distracted when Javale McGee was verging on his new career high of 28 points, but Monta Ellis was able to take over near the end, allowing Smart enough of a breather to talk us through a difficult landing just inside the Las Vegas state line. The sun was blinding. As soon as I stepped off the plane I knew we needed to bury or burn the evidence of the night before and Carl Landry was no exception. We flagged down the first trucker we saw and some old boy named Large George gave us a ride in the trailer. He dropped us off at the Bellagio and thanked us for our discretion when it came to the 150 pounds of northern lights we'd ridden in the back with. He gave us a small back pack full and we never saw him again. I turned to Carl Landry: "Thanks for everything Carl; the safe code numbers, the Berlin contacts, the way your filling in for David West. It means a lot to our organization and if it were up to me, I'd bring you with us but you know as well as I do that we'd drown in red tape and that's how those bastards getcha." He shed a single tear as me and Crash jumped in the first limo we saw, demanding to be taken to a high stakes betting parlor, stuffing handfuls of bills into the confused drivers coat pockets. I'd secured a spot in the H2H finals but the night wasn't over yet, not if I was gonna finish on top.

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