The Draft

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Joined: 16 Mar 2016, 13:12

The Draft

Post by Kuro » 03 Sep 2017, 23:15

The blue glow of a large but off center viewing screen illuminated the otherwise dark room. Tables hastily mashed in there and a hodgepodge of chairs were scattered around the room. The sound of dripping water from the sink in the corner was steadily breaking the silence.The air stale and stagnant as the wisps of cigarette smoke flowed up from the red tips and floated in the air moving slowly towards the ceiling.

“Play it again” A gruff voice broke the silence to my left. Looking through the dim light to I saw the voice was from Vincent. The owner and coach of The Firebolts. I opened the cover of the worn notebook I always carried and flipping through countless stats, players, teams and the files of more losses than I cared for and landed on The Firebolts. Ranked 2 last year. I was sure that had more to do with money greasing the refs but I still respected him as a coach so I turned a keen ear to what he was about to say.

“Right there, Right there! You see number 7 there?” He said as the screen showed a one on one drill with various people. Number 7 was clearly the technical genius. His movements blending technical precision with speed and strength. Ousting all his opponents except one.

They all had their eyes on him, but it was the girl who stopped him that took my eye. Smaller framed Blue Skinned Kaio girl, but that was not what stood out. It was her crimson hair that matched her eyes. It seemed that she bumbled and made it past her opponents on accident each time. A stumble and trip. A misjudged step or duck that somehow placed her opponent even more off center as she bumbled and barely held onto the ball to get around them every time. Even when she stopped Dorian Richard, number 7, it looked like she just tripped and ended up with the ball of condensed ki energy. But I knew better. It had to be more than a fluke.

“I’m taking number 7” Another voice piped out from the back of the room. Tim. Tim Burghandy. I recognized the voice the owner of the number 1 team had. I sighed, acted like I wanted him. I guess winning had its advantages. I scoffed at the rules book that sat discarded in my briefcase which was about as worn out as my own jacket. Top three teams got top three picks, then last place, and the rest in ascending order. I was happy to see two other players get picked before I smiled and waited my own turn.

“I’ll take Crimson there.” I said with stares from the other 7. I stifled my cough in the smoky haze before the other 7 erupted in laughter.

“Yea, You just want a pretty face, Desh!” I heard Tim laugh out followed by Vincent “Look at her. She just falls all over the place. I'm surprised she can even walk down the damn sidewalk”

“Didn’t your “Arsenal” team come in last place for the past Five seasons. No wonder. You pick girls like her came Greg from the New Hope Bombers.”

The other comments were less civilized and more vulgar, knocking at how my team has been last place for the last 5 seasons. Unlucky they say. I knew the truth. The purpose targeting of past injuries and illegal hits. Bribery of the officials. But this girl. This year. We will rise up again.

I can’t remember the rest of the draft of the new players. The rest got picked and passed, traded and let go. It wasn’t until 3am that I got back to my small studio apartment. The kitchen light fluttering its light as it was trying to illuminate with its last hours left of life. The stacks of take out containers lying strewn about the small folding card table I used in the kitchen. The bedroom\living room was a different story. I sat back on the couch and went over the folders and files of my players. Team strategy and practice time. It may be this way now but for now, I already felt like a winner. That Crimson girl will be joining my Arsenal. And I will make her The Queen.

“Practice starts next Tuesday…” I told myself as I closed my eyes and lay my head back. I was hoping to get a few hours of sleep before morning.

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