Assistant Coach FrizzleFry sits at his assistant coach desk pensively.  He has much to ponder.  He contemplates on both the successes and failures since his time serving as a mafia basketball assistant coach.

The successes were few and far between, having just come off a dismal losing season where his team, The Detroit Dribblers, lost every single game due to forfeit for not having enough players.  In fact the only game that didn't end up in their Loss column was their game against the team coached by Denis which ended in a tie (the tie was due to neither team having enough players, resulting in both teams forfeiting.)

And then there was of course the whole Right Hand Man mishap with John and several other Farehams who would force their way into the upper structure of the team (formerly and embarrassingly called The Detroit John_Farehams, not my idea) and make outlandish demands of FrizzleFry and force him to do things, but that is not something he cared to get into details about.

In fact the only recent success that came to mind was the planning and deployment of his sinister plot he liked to call "Operation: Run sisterivoryDarkmore from these shores", which after years and years of painstaking attempts, was finally able to achieve victory.  sisterivoryDarkmore had detected Assistant Coach FrizzleFry's evil plot and made it public to all, which put a monkeywrench into his plan.  But through perseverance and sheer tyranny of will, he was able to finally run her away.  People familiar with FrizzleFry and his long line of highly respected mafioso before him often wondered why out of all the bloodline grudges he's battled through, all the unjust killings of his ancestors by more noteworthy men and women than her, the personal insults and fabrications about him made by far more prominent mob figures than sisterivoryDarkmore, why he would make it his mission to choose her as the person slated to be run her from these shores?  It just didn't make any sense.  sisterivoryDarkmore once claimed it was because he had a crush on one of her ancestors, and that was why he was so hellbent on running her off.  This theory of course also makes no sense much like any of her theories ever did but regardless, the operation was a success.

But Assistant Coach FrizzleFry was never one to rest on his laurels and was always looking to the future.  There would be NEW third-string benchwarmers to run off of these shores.  Assistant Coach FrizzleFry made a mental note to assemble the tippers, as there was more work to be done.

He gazed at the framed picture of Minion that sat on his desk.  The frame read "The 1931 Detroit Dribblers" and was the only known group shot of the entire team together.  The picture made him happy and sad at the same time.  It made him happy that his team has since grown since the 1931 season, but at the same time he felt basketball may be running its course in Detroit and the mafia all together.  The sport had already been outlawed in certain neighborhoods in Las Vegas, and while it did attract diehard fans such as PlagueDoctor , there were others that disapproved of Basketballmania sweeping the country and would make subtle, albeit lame and unfunny jabs at the athletes for participating in the sport.  He shakes his head and looks up from his desk to speak.

Alas this is the current state of things.  Maybe it was time to move on from basketball.  Maybe Detroit all together.  Would HeadCoach even allow this?  Would I be granted permission to leave the city on my own accord?  He let D0m3n1c walk for no other reason than he sent HeadCoach a mail once and said he didn't understand basketball so HeadCoach let him leave.  Will I be granted such leniency?  Or will I need to resort to backchanneling him?  Giorgio-Esposito seems fond of HeadCoach, but I'm pretty sure he likes me more so perhaps I could ask him to kill HeadCoach?  It's gotten to the point where HeadCoach spends his days bossing me around, forcing me to do things I don't want to do, and sometimes even publicly embarrassing me because he knows there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.  I already went through all that with my former RHM John.  I don't need this from my mentor HeadCoach as well.

And now even twigs is piling on with anti-Detroit Basketball sentiments by toilet shaming us, campaigning to deface our greatest landmark with his soap and sanitary mumbo-jumbo.  It's the equivalent to HeadCoach flying to Los Angelas and spray-paining a beard on the Statue of Liberty.  It's like this twigs guy has no appreciation for a city's history and culture. 

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry takes a final look at the team photograph of Minion and throws it in his wastebasket.  It was a painful reminder of the past.  It was time to look to the future.

So what to do?  Where to go?  Decisions, decisions.  I hope I can count on you, my fellow gangsters and athletes to offer some feedback.  Sometimes it just helps to talk about these things.

"FrizzleFry, firstly, congratulations where it is due.  You doubled the size of your outfit, and you haven't been publicly shamed quite as badly for some time.

But, and I do this out of kindness, you talked foolishness.  @sisterIvoryBlackore did not leave these shores because of you.  There is not a shred of evidence to support that.  I think she realised what a jackass she'd been for generations and then retired.  I think that you, then, grappled for even the tiniest thing that could look like a victory, and so you claim to have rid this society of one of the most ridiculous and insidious lineages ever to refuse $20k in this thing of ours.

So, nul points as the Swedes might say.

Onto HeadCoach.  I agree that it's a problem.  He let Dom go, and now you want to go.  Well, I may only be an associate, and you're a made CL, but I know a thing or two about a thing or two, and one thing is certain: you're not going anywhere.

Now, you talk about the Fareham's who were your right-hand men.  Look at you now.  Without a Fareham, have you prospered?  Have you grown?  What do you need?

There once was a man, a great man, who proved that a memorable CL needs only one member, and perhaps a right-hand killed in mysterious circrumstances.

Do you know who I speak of, FrizzleFry?  You would do well to remember that man, who he is, what he represents.

Let me finish with a question: what would it take for me to come over to the "Detroit Dribblers" and change things for you?"

Jaws the thought of allowing anyone with even whiff of Fareham on them onto my team makes me want to do this...

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry pulls his pistol from his desk drawer, inserts the cold steel barrel into his own mouth, and squeezes the trigger.

Fortunately for Assistant Coach FrizzleFry, the Phil_Steak moron-proof safety mechanism on his firearm jammed, and no shot was fired.

Sigh I can't even do that right.

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry hangs his head.

"I'm Jaws, FrizzleFry.  I'm now Jafarehamaws - that would be ridiculous.  You have a new right-hand, Henson or something, and he seems to be doing a perfectly average job.

Except for allowing Dom to leave, and for allowing Grin-22 to remain, I think HeadCoach has done a good job of running Detroit.

I remain a lowly associate, but I hope that my consistent defending of HeadCoach from his detractors will earn me a bigger desk, so to speak.

What about you, FrizzleFry, are you Ambichous?  What do you see the role of the "Detroit Dribblers" being?"

Hobbs heard of his one-time rival's plight from halfway across the country. How could he not? Hobbs was a man of power. A man of Pinstriped suits, cigars and fedoras with between 180 and 200 bodyguards following him at all times to keep him safe. He was what the Oxford dictionary referred to as a Mafioso - and a damn good one at that. Here before him stood a man in need. A man broken by Mafia Basketball. A man beaten and abused by a Headcoach who wasn't even allowed to work with minors. A man who wore shorts and t-shirts to a Made Man ceremony. A man who needed to be safe.

Of course Jaws was here, waffling on like a deranged loon as usual. "Have you read One Flew over a Kuku's nest yet, sir?" he said pushing him out of the way. 

Hobbs gently moved towards FrizzleFry. Towards FrizzleChip and gently pushed the gun out of his mouth. It was another of those custom made Detroit guns that usually left Detroit unranked in the weekly RAT-A-THON leagues. The kind that saw them unable to defeat BricktownCL without significantly outside help.

"Frizzle, I can't help but think this is all an elaborate ruse. A mouse trap left for old Hoobs to fall into. But I'm a man of peace. A man of faith.  A man who banned Basketball and other ball games against all odds. You're a man who wears shorts instead of suits. You need a respected Mafioso like me to drag you forward. To drag you into the real Mafia. If it's doing a D0m3n1c and wanting to escape HeadCoach is what you want to do, then look no further than me. Come to Summerlin. Free yourself from this torture."

Hobbs handed him a two way sign reading "Down with this sort of thing" and "No Ball games". All Frizzle had to do was reach out and get a taste of the good stuff. 

"Hobbs, nice of you to stop by.  I have decided to re-read Systematic Immolation of Thought - have you read it?

If you haven't, understand that you are probably unable to really grasp anything about anyone.

It is the only book worth reading.  

It is.  It.... is."

Let's systematically immolate this thought from your brain, FrizzleFry. Mafia basketball isn't something you move on from. I know you. I know you love this sport more than anything. Would you like me to demonstrate this with the understanding of how a toaster works? What's gotten into you? Is it the loss of John? 

Things looked tough for the JFMAST at one point, when our members started to desert us. D0m3n1c may not have understood basketball but at least he opened a business in Detroit for me to throw chairs around in, which was nice. His memory will always be with us, just like John will always be with you. Sometimes I'll go in there and flip a table over just because it's on the way to where I'm going. 

Hobbs showing up here is excellent, as it's a great example of how terrible it is out there, outside Detroit. Look at him, Friz, talking about mouse traps like things he crouches over, hoping to catch his dinner. 

Jaws and your cohorts in crime.

This is the last response you will receive from me. 
 

I have decided that you are a detriment to my already fragile health.

In other words you are not worth my minuscule energy reserves.

Some people say that when you lose a sense, such as sight or hearing, your other senses grow stronger to compensate for the loss. Which is why standing listening to the conversations around her, occasionally making notes and basically just keeping to herself, Nicola-Trevisani was curiously impressed as a woman ran from absolutely nowhere to start babbling about nothing. What sense had she lost to gain such amazing hearing on these overly rambunctious streets. 

Turning her head, looking to see where this creature had come from Nicola-Trevisani eventually just shrugged and flipping to a new page in her note book finally decided to chime in. Once the message was written she turned it towards the people gathered and gave a shake of her head. "Some people are crazy, eh?" it said. 

Leaving the people to their conversation about whatever this was, she really hadn't been paying much attention, she wandered back towards the Morning Grind where she was pretty sure customers were waiting. God she was a terrible business owner. 

Skidmark hears Jaws talking about reading a book and he grunts a few times...

"Book. Book. Buuuuhhhh-ooook..."

"ARRRRGH! ME NO LIKE BOOK!"

Skidmark grabs the book out of Jaws' hands and rips it in half with one mighty surge of strength...

"BALL! BALL! COACH GIVE ME BALL!"

"Aththithtanth Coach FrizzleFry I am not a deep thinker but think giving someone a hell of a beating will give you a new lease on life. I throngly thuggetht you get down the street, give me a 'Hell Yeah Iron Mike' and register for the upcoming boxing competithion. Nothing like turning another persons face into tenderised meat to get you PUMPED."