Hobbs approached the streets surrounded by an entourage that one onlooker commented stating ‘That guy looks like he’s Insanely Well Protected’. They all crowded round the Hobbs, making him look like a huge success of a man. Even the 120 midgets in suits who weren't quite tall enough would offer some slim protection from the mob, and they would surely be needed after this very serious, very real announcement.

As befitting of a gentleman in the Mafia doing an announcement Hobbs brought with him his own custom made soap box, developed and manufactured from Indiana-Jones’ Denver box factory. Hobbs glanced around the streets but could see past nothing but his own 180-200 bodyguards. It was hard to count them all, and quite the spectacle if others arrived with similar retinue sizes. He assumed everyone would come to see him talk though, especially for such a topic.

Standing on to the soap box, he unraveled a very official looking piece of parchment to read off:
 

No Ball Games Allowed

"In response to a recent slate of criminal damage, noise complaints, competition rigging, undeserved mugging beatings and unprofessional attire, Summerlin district in Las Vegas is implementing an unprecedented “No Ball Games Allowed” policy.

This applies to all ball games at an amateur, professional, or Mafia basketball league level. Any person found in breach of this policy will be severely reprimanded for a first offence with a scaling charge levied at repeated rule breakers, and eventual death.

There will be no ball bouncing, no ball tampering, no ball chortling and certainly no ball basketing in Summerlin whilst I am Prince.

This rule goes live with immediate effect."

Satisfied with the announcement, and the fact the NBA would now stand for "No Balls Allowed" he stepped down from the soapbox and turned to walk away.

After making such a bold statement he knew his 180-200 bodyguards would have to earn their keep, and he may well be a target of even more attempted beatings in Detroit in the future. Thankfully, he also knew Headcoach was too heavy to board most commercial airlines, and too cheap to fly private so for the most part he would be safe. 

Well.  That's fucking bullshit.  That would be like Detroit taking something that Las Vegas is best known for if it was known for something in particular and saying it wasn't allowed in Detroit.  For instance let's say for the sake of argument, that Vegas was a destination spot where tourists visited regularly to partake in a specific activity.  Let's say hopscotch.  Should Detroit outlaw hopscotch?  Just doesn't make any sense to me.

First of all, no upstanding Detroit mug-artist spends any time in Summerlin anyhow. It is hot and dry. If I were a lizard who lived in a cactus, maybe I would find that enjoyable. Maybe I would think that sitting still on a shaded rock for 8 hours in the middle of a heatwave was the best time of my life. Maybe I would marvel at the amount of insects around that I could eat with my slimy, disgusting tongue. Maybe then I would think Summerlin is the best place in the world. But I am a man, with a wife who is in the best shape of her life. And men LOVE Detroit.

Men love mug city. Men love filthy public toilets. Men love communal locker-room showers with the team. Men love to apply tiger balm to their friends hard-to-reach parts. That's why so many have flocked to Detroit. That's what makes mafia basketball such an incomparable success, especially when held up against the miserable failures of almost every family in the past 5, maybe 6 years of this community. Ask me who did it better. Constipated? He liked sports as much as he understood jokes, and he killed John_Fareham for the latter. 

Put any crew in history up against this team and we're wiping the floor with them. It's not even close. I've 1 v 1'd Hobbs 4 times already and the results speak for themselves:

May 20, 13:08:47    You caught up with Hobbs, beat them within an inch of their life, and took $5,976
May 24, 14:41:51    You caught up with Hobbs, beat them within an inch of their life, and took $1,272,262
May 24, 21:51:11    You caught up with Hobbs, beat them within an inch of their life, and took $617,658
May 30, 14:51:18    You caught up with Hobbs, beat them within an inch of their life, and took $1,077

No wonder you want to insulate Summerlin from mafia basketball, Hobbs. You're just no good at it. 

Come to Detroit and we'll throw a little HGH your way. Might help build up those tiny thighs. They're not beefy in the slightest. Imagine a guy this unbeefy talking to Coach about the way things are, with them little packing-peanut calves. Get a hold of yourself, baby-thighs. You don't want to make an enemy of the mafia basketball community. 

Look at this, Hobbs. Your RHM CatoftheCanals is in Detroit Mug-City right now earning money with the greatest mafia basketball team to walk these streets while you hide in Summerlin behind a ludicrous ban. 

Jun 01, 13:09:32    You earned $51,934 with the CatoftheCanals Gang for the crime Torch a rival's business.

Wake up, Hobbs! This is bigger than yourself and your personal inadequacies. Don't cover up those baby-thighs with layers of airy, oversized cargo pants. We all know what's under there. You think I can't tell what's going on under those billowy Tommy Bahama shirts? It's like draping a bedsheet over a rotiserrie chicken. 

Coath I have to interject on behalf of friend fiend Hobbs here. While your invitation to Hobbs to joineth us in Mug City & to partaketh in some HGH like a thine athlete is rooted in kindneth...I fear Ol Hobbs hairline won't stand up to any exogenouth hormones. Look at how thin it is already...He will end up as bald as my freshly shavethed nut thack.  

I could put Hobbs on my patented Sqaths plan down at Mikes Muscle Maker to build up them thighs if needed. I could probably even train Hobbs to deliver a uppercut like the one I just delivered to laundry magnate Grin-22

Actually thaths a lie, no one can punch like Iron Mike, but maybe we can get Hobbs to 'could punch his way out of a paper bag' level in a few months of thraining.

With all due respect, Mike, Hobbs couldn't punch himself out of shift duty at the dweeb factory, let alone physically out of a paper bag. I've eaten breakfasts more protein-rich than this turtledove. When I set up during the great war, I didn't stop to check which cities allowed mafia basketball and which ones didn't. This great sport does not exist in a world ruled by laws written by four-eyed book-learners. It exists in a more ideal place: a utopia, where men and woman of almost impossible physical conditions toss two-handed chest passes at each other with enough power to put a dent in the densest physical structures known to man, like a wall made of pure diamond or Hobbs' skull. It is a place where people can mug each other over and over until they've gone deaf and blind and succumb to a paralytic level of arthritis and early onset dementia. It is a place where a man like me, whose sheer mass threatens to crack into the world and reshape sea-levels, catalyzing a pattern of global warming, continental drift and the ultimate mass extinction event.

Mafia basketball has become a fundamental part of mafia society. It is inescapable, no matter how many rules you write.

This guy might be insanely well protected, but don't be fooled. This is the same clown who couldn't organize himself a robbery in the most stolen-from art gallery in the country. I mean, how are they still getting exhibits to display in there? It is like HeadCoach's wife in there. A conveyor belt of fine paintings coming in the front door and being taken from the back. Until Hobbs gets an idea in his dumb head about joining in party, anyway. Then he's masterminding himself and whatever poor sap he's managed to convince to tag along, right into the slammer. 

And does he use his time inside productively to work on his mafia basketball game out in the yard like any self-respecting man would? Of course not. I've seen him try to dribble, it was like watching a drunk spider trying to get out of a bathtub. He spent at least 5 minutes figuring out which way round to hold the ball. Pathetic. Does this sound like someone who should be trying to outlaw ball games or someone who needs to remind his tendons that those skinny, deflated-balloon, looking pink fillets they're carrying are meant to be muscles? This is a dangerous precedent we are looking at here, folks. What's next, Maths geeks taking over Philly? Science nerds in LA? Are you gonna let them tell you that you've gotta use Pythagoras before you sell your cocaine? Periodic table recitals during felonies? HuckleBerryFinn's old school blood will be boiling over this. Shove your cosine up your arse, Hobbs. You can't take mafia basketball away from the streets. Even the crummy, sand-riddled ones of sack of shit Summerlin. 

Hobbs would have been frightened were it not for his insane levels of protection, and knowing full well he could withdraw to the safety of some Insanely Well Fortified defences with dogs and fences. Right now though he was in the streets. He was a brave stag, surrounded by a pack of rats wolves all trying to get at him. 

"Look at you all, swarming round me like the Mafia Basketball gangbangers you are. We aren't on the court now, you can't double-team me. You can't alley-oop and try slam dunk me from behind.  This is EXACTLY the kind of behaviour I am hoping to stamp out in Las Vegas. People are afraid to drive in the streets lest they be hit by errant free throw from one of your 'elite athletes'. They are afraid to go to dinner and the theatre for fear of being confronted by a muscular thigh without the proper under garment support.

This is exactly why I've been in close contact with Detroit refugee D0m3n1c to arm myself with a variety of kitchen knives so I can puncture any ball I come across. Unfortunately, I'm restricted within the confines of my own district, but you best believe at the next Crewleader convention I'll be raising this issue with the aim of outlawing Mafia Basketball thuggery across the land.

You're afraid to come at me one by one, so here you are trying to zerg rush me. I don't know where to turn. Is it to @Frizzlechip - a man reduced to stealing awards? Headcoach - Headcuck more like. Jaws - a man who couldn't organise a writing competition in a newspaper print-ery? Miketython? You sound ridiculouth.

No. The most disappointing one of all is clearly Grin-22. My nemesis, a man who cannot read and reply to letters unless it comes attached to a laundry tagging system. FrenchieHorn was right about you. I should have listened. 

You are all welcome to come to Summerlin to discuss this like true gentleman, just remember your pant suits. If I spot one bare leg there will be consequences that you are not ready for.

Just remember I didn't make this personal, I wasn't banning JFMAST from the city! Just ball games in general. I can't afford any more smashed windows. I can't replace trampled grass, scuffed floorboards. The costs are astronomical and there's a recession round the corner. We must all cut our proverbial jersey's accordingly."

Hobbs shook his head in sadness. Infinite sadness. 

Iron Mike stares in slack jawed awe as the girth god HeadCoach drops some wisdom for the ages. 

'It is a place where people can mug each other over and over until they've gone deaf and blind and succumb to a paralytic level of arthritis and early onset dementia.'

He pushes Hobbs down from his cuthtom made soap box & climbs aboard. The puny construction is built for a Hobbs, but can't support Iron Mikes bulk & promptly collapses. While prone on the floor Mike lets out a rebel yell of

"OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN" in the general direction of HeadCoach with a tear in his eye, maybe it was the wordths or maybe the early onset dementia kicking in, but whatever it was had hit Mike right in the feelths.

After dusting himself down Iron Mike aims a high pitched "I will thee you thoon at the newest addition to Summerlin's busineth district, the Detroit Mafia Basketball Gym, I hear its next to some average at betht motel..."

Strolling through Detroit, beating Mikus_ to within an inch of his life and taking 0 dollars from him did make my day a little brighter. Thumbing through my takings, who should I see hiding behind his entourage, keeping his hands entirely to himself in an act of brazen cowardice?

Hobbs [O]    Apr 28, '22 15:39    Consigliere    12th Street

On one hand he's banning ball games from stinky Summerlin and the next he's over here in Mug City gobbling down the mafia basketball scene like a distressed gazelle at the watering hole. 

Indiana Jones felt threatened by all the hostile complaining coming from the strange Detroit camp regarding the banning of all ball games in Summerlin. He turned to Hobbs to get some clarity.

"Hobbs.." He paused to light the wooden torch he carried everywhere with him. ".. These guys from Detroit, are they from the YMCA? They like playing ball games and working out together and for sure they are known to hang out in the 12th Street Public Toilets with each other. It's like they wanted to start a YMCA chapter there but didn't have the...balls to do it. So instead they served up a deconstructed club where the same people hang out together and partake in these manly activities and I mean, one of them is sporting a sparse looking mustache."

Indiana Jones didn't have anything against the YMCA guys at all, each to their own. But he was curious which of these ball lovers rode the Harley Davidson.

We slap bums, Indy. I've never met an athlete who didn't deserve a bum slap. That means, 'good job'. It means, 'we value you'. It means, 'you just juked Hoobs right out of his platform orthopedic sneakers'. In Detroit, we're known for filling out our shorts. They call JFMAST inter-squad scrimmages the Battle of the Bulge. If you can't handle that heat, get out of the kitchen. We're cooking up wins while Summerlin is roasting roadkill over a tire fire. 

The Better Basketball Bureau has been summoned to investigate your unlawful actions, Hoobs. Prepare for an inquest, you churro-eating magoo.

Ya know. It isn't easy been an athlete on these shores. We resign ourselves to be ridiculed after every loss and only loved when we are bringing home the wins, which is near daily now. But despite all that we stick together as a team. We travel, eat, sleep and shower together; that's just what it means to be apart of the team. 

And for your information Indiana-Jones the Harley is mine. I don't fit inside most cars. 

"Grin-22, my visitation in 12th Street was no coincidence, sir. Whilst your amigos are busy harassing the populace of Summerlin I was debating whether to destroy the 12th Street toilets figuratively or literally.

My only concern was that there's so much gas in that place the entire city may go up in flames, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to go to those lengths just yet. Before I could make a decision either way of whether to drop my 'bombs' or not, I was forced to return to Las Vegas where my beloved Summerlin was beseiged by frenzied jock activity. The entire city is now sold out of jockstraps, protein drink shakers and sneaker lacers. A respected Mafioso wears shoes that don't require laces, you hippy fucks"

Hobbs was close to irate. 

My dear Indiana, I believe you've cracked the case. I'm not sure Headcoach fits in any of the costumes though. I think it may be time you destroyed the legendary lost urinal cake. Really stick it to these muscle jockey's."

"I for one want to applaud your efforts here Mr. Hobbs.  It takes a lot of balls to put a ban on balls in the face of this hardcore community.  My family line has long tired of being plagued by constant ball games.  

"Several generations ago my great great great great great grandmother was adamantly against Mafia Golf, but due to a close association with a certain poorly dressed gentleman, she decided to support his endeavor.  Soon after, a very similarly organized basketball tournament plagued my great great great great grandmother because an associate began traveling the country telling random strangers that she was a sports writer. Letters poured in from all over. 

"Had she been brave enough to take a stand then, she could have been saved a lot of headaches.. So I say good for you., and good for Summerlin too!  I completely understand.  Fuck basketball, and fuck golf too."

It made a lot of sense but how had Conqueeftador read his mind? Indiana Jones had no idea, was it magic? He gave Conqueeftador and HeadCoach the thumbs up for their absolute refusal to cave in. "If you persist with playing with balls here in Las Vegas there will be consequences." He paused for a moment. "I don't actually have the authority to say that let alone action anything myself but Hobbs takes the business of Summerlin very seriously and maybe, just maybe, he comes to your game armed with a knife and bursts your balls. What will you do then? What good is a ball game without balls?"

In the madness Hobbs had apparently gone off the deep end.

"Whoa! Hobbs, whoa!, lets not get crazy. I said it at the time and I'll say it again, the 12th Street Urinal Cake belongs in a museum and I'm going to make sure that happens. I do like your other idea though, where you go to Detroit and destroy the 12th Street Public Toilets because now we have the sacred Urinal Cake the vessel from which it came serves no purpose."

You're probably wondering to yourself Indiana-Jones, "How did he read my mind? Was it magic?" It's just good basketball my friend. You gotta learn to read the eyes. 

I saw you do a double take walking past the Harley and that five o'clock shadow isn't fooling anyone, I know a mustache connoisseur when I see one. 

Daiquiri was at home for a change and was enjoying the great outdoors at The Forest. It was always good to escape the busy streets and find a much-needed bit of quiet from time to time. She sat on a swing and sipped on yet another delicious cocktail. It was, what she felt was the best place to be. That was of course until a young lad came running up to her yelling, "Consigliere Hobbs of Summerlin sends this telegram urgently" the lad blurted out as he tried to catch his breath. Daiquiri placed her drink down and took the note, "Thanks kid" she said in response handing him a dollar for his troubles.

She watched as the boy went on his way and opened up the telegram to read...

To: Daiquiri
From: Hobbs
Subject: HELP

I'm assaulted in the streets

Alarmed, worried and concerned. All these emotions and feelings rushed through Daiquiri as she jumped down from her swing. Was Hobbs in danger? Why was there not much more said in that message? Is he laying black and blue in some gutter? Daiquiri had all these questions and more running through her mind. "Did he say so little because he was fighting off some mob?" she shouted out in panic, as she ran towards the exit of The Forest. She ran in the direction of the streets, as her heart pounded a lot faster than she, herself could leg it.

She got there and could see the commotion surrounding Hobbs. She could also see it was little more than a bit of a shouting match going on with a lot of onlookers. "Hey there sir," Daiquiri said, as she tapped a shoulder of a man "What going on here then?" she asked him. The gentleman turned to face her and soon told her about Summerlin's 'No Ball Games Allowed' policy it has enacted. Daiquiri couldn't recall if it was something talked about at a previous Las Vegas meeting or not. But, one thing for sure, she was not surprised that Hobbs was getting a bit of backlash in the streets over it. "Assaulted my ass!" she yelled as she made her way up towards where Hobbs was standing.

Daiquiri looked him up and down for marks and could see there was not a scratch on Hobbs at all. She tutted at him as she snatched away his fancy parchment containing his speech and was about to tear it up. But, she had a change of heart as she whispered to Hobbs, "You know Sir, it would have been wiser if you have given the people of this society an alternative. You can't just go around stamping your feet, as you take playing space away from people and expect them to be happy with it. Offer them an alternative, a place they can play.. then maybe you won't be sending me stupid messages claiming assault, over something you caused!" she said as she rolled up his parchment and tries to resist the urge to bopping it over his head. She could tell by the look in Hobbs's eyes of his sadness, that she almost felt bad for him. "Leave this to me" She continued to say to him.

She climbed up onto the soap box Hobbs have used previously and began to speak, "Ladies and Gentlemen. To those of you who are sporty. I can see the upset you may be feeling over Summerlin's stance on No Ball Games Allowed, and I understand why it would cause you some anguish. I can also see why it would be Summerlin also, most of their buildings are made out of glass! I for one avoid Summerlin at night for they also have no curtains! However, moving on, there is an alternative place where you can play your ball games whenever you're visiting Las Vegas. The Strip has The Forest. Lots of free outdoor places to kick or throw your balls around at your leisure. No pollution to worry about, just the beehives to watch out for. You would be most welcome to play there!" she finished up saying as she turned again to Hobbs and nodded. She got down from the soap box and unravelled Hobbs parchment with his speech on. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote up a sign on the back of Hobbs's speech.

The Forest at The Strip, Las Vegas

Welcomes Ball Games

- Beware of the Bees and their hives. -

She stuck the sign up onto a notice board, as she crossed her fingers that all would be well.