Byline: Max Offen Sichtlich
Off Topic
Are Mad Popes Really This Desperate for Offense?
July 28, 2055
“All right,” GM Ron Collins said as he stepped into the briefing room. “Whaddaya got for me?”
The team’s entire squad of developmental experts are on hand.
Collins, who feels pretty good now, though oddly missing his assistant GM Carlos Camacho--who had earlier begged off this meeting saying he had better things to do, and that he didn’t think Collins could screw up too badly in this session.
“Well, Ron, the numbers are pretty big,” says I. Wanda Fish, the team’s President of Developmental operations.
“How big?”
“If you'll recall … just to level-set ... here’s the list of the things you said you want to do this off-season.” She nods to her assistant, a dandy lad named Otto. He unravels a scroll that rolls down the meeting table.
“I know the list,” Collins said. “We got a lot of guys who need the work, and I’m starting to think about making some changes to the digs, you know? So how many points am I going to need to pull all this stuff off?”
“Well,” Fish says. “The final tally is 7,652.”
“I see?” Collins said sagely. “And how many points do I get for a team news?”
“Um. Two.”
“So I need ….” Does some quick math, which he’s happy not he can suddenly do once again.
“3,826 TN.”
“Hmm.” Collins stands and strolls. “The TN counter only goes to 999.”
“That does seem to be a problem.”
“But there’s a TN expert in Phoenix I could talk to. I remember that now. Maybe he knows how to adjust the scoreboard. He’s got a video on it. Something about drinking a whole crate of Vodak and then taking a day to go hyper-ballistic.”
“I’m sure that’s a great idea, sir,” Fish says. “Are we done here?”
“Yes,” Collins says, reaching up and toggling the TN counter. “I think we are.”
