Iron Mike sits morosely at a public bench located conveniently near CancidRunt 's Public toilet on 12th Street. He was pondering how quickly life could take a left turn. Only 24 hours previous Mike was on top of the world. He had managed to escape the Horrible Franchise loving embrace of his nemesis best friend & mentor HeadCoach & had moved on up in the criminal underworld to help out Denith in Corktown.

A pigeon lands on the path in front of the bench. "Ah my avian friend, you alwayth lithten" says Mike in a high pitched voice.

The pigeon 'coo's' softly & has an intelligent / interested look on his face, so Mike continues.

"Itth all gone wrong today, to thtart out Denith ithn't employing anyone to wathh our training gear. I didn't realize how muth of a key component the laundry department ith to any team. The beating heart to be thure. Tho i have been a little wiffy today. I headed out to LA;to pick up thome 'protein powder' and thome thcoundrel picked my pocket. I thathed him down to hook him in the gabber but he wath thuddenly thurrounded by loadth of bodyguardth. What thort of pencil necked geekth needth an entourage? I thhould have invited him to train at the gym. "

Mike shrugs his boulder shoulders & carries on talking to the pigeon.

"Then I head back home to Detroit & the one true printhe of Detroit BricktownCL ith piththed ath hell. I guethth the impending trade between Head Coath & BricktownCL for Grin-22 had broken down ath hith guyth thtarted peppering me with death pelletth. I had to haul athth & hide in the public toilet acrothth the way."

Mike shakes his head.

"I gueth its win some, looth some my avian friend. Thtill thingth could be worthe. I could work for a rag like the herald of the underworld, printing all thortth of unthubthtantiated rumorth. Nearly ath bad ath the thcum at the AP Detroit. What thort of mad man hath Denith below Head Coath on any sort of ranking."

Iron Mike watches the Pigeon fly up into the air & takes a few moments to rest. Who knows what life will throw at him next.

Iron Mike was in a much more positive mood. New day new start & all that. Denith had sent him out to Philadelphia to scout out the local establishments. Lets see if they have anything to rival 12th Streets main tourist attraction the Public Bathroom...

After getting off his flight & heading down to South Philly Iron Mike felt a hand in his pocket. He couldn't belith it. The audacity. He chases down the assailant & is shocked to his very core. Its the same assthole who has lifted his wallet in LA the previous day. This time Iron Mike had caught the guy without his entourage. Timeth to put a hurting on him.

Adrenaline flooded Mikes Body as he tackled the guy. He flips the would be pick pocket over & drives his shovel fists into his faceth. The hours on the gym bag paid off, he beats the guy like Coatch beats his wife (Allegedly) Iron Mike spiths on the badly beaten body & says calmly in a high pitched voice.

"Fucketh you"

Iron Mike checks for cops & swiftly leaves the area.

Another day another dollar. Denith had sent Iron Mike out to the big apple to take out a guy. No, not take him out for a good time. Take him out permananthly with extreme violence. Mike was confident he was up to the job, despite never having used a gun before he was still the baddeth man on the planet.

Mike had been waiting in Linda's coffee shop in a window seat for a number of hours, waiting for his mark. The inhuman volume of coffee he had drunk over the course of the afternoon was putting a firm load on his colon. Mike ponders why there are no public bathrooms in New York, the one on 12th Street back in Detroit was quite the tourist draw.

As Iron Mike is pondering the mark walks past the window, evening had drawn in & Mike had work to do. Mike follows the guy with the grace of a hunting big cat (Or assistant coath FrizzleFry around the rim) the mark steps into an alley, Iron Mike follows. Raises his gun. Fumbleths with the trigger. Suddenly the guy was on him. The fuggin trigger had jammethd. Fists rained down into Iron Mike's face. He dropped the gun, the will to live was clearly strong in this guy & it was powering up his punches.

Another shadow enters the alley. Iron Mike knows he is fuckedth. He hears a sarcastic voice say "Fine Work..."

BANG

Mike is deafened by the shot. He wheels around to see where he is hit & quickly notices the mark's head had a hole dead center. He looks around to see who had come to his aid. The figure is almost around the corner & looked something like Laundry impresario Grin-22

'Would HeadCoach have sent backup to help out ol Mike?' 'Would he fuketh.'

'Betterth get out of here'. Iron Mike picks up his fuggin useless gun & heads out of the alley into the night.

Jester took a second to read about the Chronicles of the Pugilist MikeTyson.  Frankly, he didn’t have a clue what he was saying - but I think that was par for the course. He was a man of honour though, and it didn’t take a mind reader to see how he was feeling from day to day.  Jester was looking for some kinship and strangely enough sees him coming out of the alley. Imagine that?!

”Mike - while our methods are different, as a fellow member of the entertainment industry - I give you my respect.  As you well know - there’s good days and bad days in the entertainment industry.  In your case - sometimes you win, other times you’re biting off someone’s ear. In my case - sometimes I’m swallowing swords on fire successfully, and other times - well - you just feel like a shishkabob. Say, that’s a funny word. Can I hear you say it??”

Jester throws some cash his way and carries on about his day.

Hobbs had been scouting Mike Tyson for weeks. He had the poise and agility of a feline, and the speech ability and impediment of a distress cat crying for its supper. It was quite the clash of styles, and it was what drew Hobbs to Tyson. Hobbs considered himself a Champion, a man of refinement within the confines of a squared circle. One day he'd take on Mike, but for now? Now he was intrigued. He had to keep him safe. There were more than old ladies out here, 

Hobbs stalked his quarry. Iron Mike half walked, half waddled like a confused midget, bereft of his hair, clearly in dire need of relief. Not wanting to be a pervert, but also intrigued, Hobbs followed at a safe distance. If Mike died, 'Coatch' would not forgive Hobbs. This was it. This was his moment. SEND HOBBS posters would emerge all over the streets in celebration.

Instead, a struggle emerged, Mike was on the proverbial ropes no doubt hindered by a full bladder. Hobbs witnessed Tyson attempting to bite his assailant on the ear like a savage.

"Disqualification?!"

He called out looking for a referee, or expecting to see a horde of security charge down the ramp. None emerged. Disgusted, Hobbs began to turn away to leave Mike to his fate when someone else stepped in to save him. The legacy of Mike would live on for another day.

A rough day is a matter of perspective, Iron MikeTyson.  You've gotta take the good with the bad or else your'e going to have a miserable time. 

I get it though, I take a look at the condition of my own team sometimes and it causes me great stress.  Even if I suit up myself, we still don't have enough players for a proper basketball game.  Certainly not by mafia basketball standards.  It gets me down if I'm being honest. 

But alas, we here on the Detroit John_Farehams try to find the silver lining in such instances.  It's times like these I like tho scroll through the ol mafia history books and read about past teams from This Thing of Ours.  It helps clear my mind and also shows me that while things might not be going great, I have triple the members as teams that came long before me such as the Shannon_Whelan team, who only had one player.  Granted that player was an all-star with far greater talents than anyone on my present roster of mobsters, but it still cheers me up a bit to learn from our history, even the parts that showcase the misfortune of others.  

It's all how you look at things, MikeTyson.  I hope your day gets better sir.

Shit, and as if MY day couldn't get any worse as well, I send some of my boys out to make a cocaine score, and the crook ripped us off by selling us a large bag of soil instead.  I'll tell you what, this is the LAST time I take a suggestion from Southsider to buy brown coke.  Never again i tell ya. 

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry shakes his head.

A lot had changed since Iron Mikes last rough day. Hobbs had been promoted from a no name, to running a crew of his own. Some internal fuckery relating to authing people into a district other than the one controlled had shaken up the Philadelphia mafia & now Mikes old sparing partner Southsider had his own thing going. Assisthant Coach FrizzleFry had gone against the typical Detroit gritty wisdom & now had forts AND bodyguards. JFMAST had been brutally murdered in the Detroit tourist hot spot of the 12th Street Public Toilet. Iron Mike had risen to #4 VIP Poster fame, glory & adoration, then pissed it all away... Lots going on. It felt like things had been going pretty peachy for Mike. No rough days....Until today.

It started out with Grin-22 casting aspersions of number geekery & Goober-like behavior in public against ol Iron Mike. That was pretty bad. When Skidmark had suggested to the suspicious activities committee that Iron Mike should shadow the laundry outcast as punishment his heart had sank. Luckily his public bluster & outrage seemed to have quietened down that conversation...Well quietened it down until Iron Mike had attempted to have a little public humor with sisterivorydarkmore needless to say Mike was surprised to find himself on the wrong end of a restraining order, his name besmirched & compared with the likes of Grin-22 & FrizzleFry . Iron Mike felt more shame than a little to have fallen so low.

Iron Mike needed a friend at this low ebb so he reached out to his long time friend FrenchieHorn, his correspondence went unanswered. Was this jealousy of the suggestion Iron Mike was having coffee with another woman or simply mud sticking & Mike's old friends distancing themselves from his now ruined reputation...Only time would tell friendths.

On the positive side of a truly horrific day Iron Mike was happy when he discovered the crime scene investigation was complete, the brains of JFMAST scraped from the bowl & stall walls at the 12th Street Public bathroom, the proud Detroit institution was now open again for business & Mike had a load to drop off. He walks into the Detroit night with a jaunty whistle.