The buffet was steaming, the drinks were cooling, and Coach was basking in the delight & adoration of his friends, team-mates, lovers and employees in Detroit - a daily occurence but today in a more formal setting. In a billowy, opera-curtain-esque Hawaiian button-down and a pair of beige khakis so wide-cut you could drive a truck through them, he tapped on the microphone three times - causing dissonant, horrifying static to screech through the room - before beginning to speak to his assembled party-goers.

"Hey hey hey!", he shouted, a new catch-phrase he was testing out. The crowd went nuts. 

"Welcome to the party, everybody. Loads of them going on these days, it seems. Lots of Godmothers, Godfathers, where are the GodCoaches, am I right?"

The crowd hooted and hollered like a bunch of dumb baboons. Stupid crowd. They were supposed to laugh. 

"Anyway, we're here to celebrate Coach not being a Godfather, which these days seems much cooler and more exclusive than being one, which is so last year and who even cares. You may notice how tastefully we've repurposed the gym for formal events, though I apologize for the distraction of LarryLardass, who is running laps as a punishment for sticking his greedy little fingers into the pasta salad before Coach conducted his taste-testing, knowing full well of our city's well-established pasta primavera nocta policy. 

I invite you all to cast your gaze upon the banners hung upon our walls, which list many of our accomplishments as opposed to championships, seeing as we have not yet concluded our first season, or really have played any games since the extended home & away against BricktownCL:

- Only 1 allied pro-wacker killed in the Forever War

- Authed a CL who shot at an allied Capo's BGs by mistake

- Authed a CL who dueled an Earner

- The city with record-breaking amounts of available housing

- Headline story in RonaldCarabbia's inaugural Herald of the Underworld

- Presided over a mug-positive movement that has swept the nation

- Currently holding the record for most crew bosses retired without a word today

- Only publicly threatened to be killed by D0m3n1c once

- #1 in the mafia basketball national power rankings

Marvelous, aren't they? My players look up at those banners every day with pride & joy, knowing if they work hard enough, that there will be plenty more to come. Did we need a Godfather in Detroit to accomplish these things? No. Just men like Conqueeftador, whose excessive Herculean qualities are in constant peril of rousing a hydra or Cretan bull from out of the woodwork, and CancidRunt, whose public toilets are the most famous community center in the nation. 

Drinks on me today, boys. It's a not-Godfather party."

Coach raised his glass of rum & gatorade as a toast.

Skidmark hoots and hollers as Coach addresses the crowd of people who showed up for free drinks. Knowing that this was a ruse and that all party-goers would have their pockets emptied before they left Detroit, Skidmark slipped a $20 into the jar by the drink station...

"I love this city, Coach, and I am very proud of all our accomplishments. Let us not forget those who left the city in disgust, or confusion, either by taking their talents to South Chicago or by shooting at random people just so they could receive the sweet release of death. It's a testament to our work ethic, by god. Some are born mafia basketball players, like myself, and some just cannot handle the workload, no matter how much training they get. And some are born to do laundry."

"This is more than a celebration of you not being a Godfather. Today, let's celebrate the fantastic culture you created while struggling to carry more units than the average wiseguy. Let's celebrate you taking money off chumps with the same vigor as when you were take pork chops off a grill. Let's celebrate Mug City, and all that we stand for! Let's celebrate the fact that, so far, nobody has gotten completely sick of our shit and wiped us off the map."

Skidmark raises his glass to the surrounding moochers and freeloaders...

"A toast to Non-godfather HeadCoach! Forever may he dine on t-bone steaks, cheese, eggs, and Welch's Grape!"

"Hear, hear, Skidmark! While Detroit was made for everyone, not everyone was made for Detroit, and that brand of socio-political elbow-resting to emphasize that it is their fault, not ours, is exactly what makes our record as community leaders so flawless and adored by many (except those who cannot meet the physical and mental strains ingrained into the fabric of our city culture). While I toiled and labored to earn my Don promotion nearly three weeks past my eligibility window, men like Altoids chose the easy way out, which disappointed us greatly not just for randomly shooting at someone, but also for missing. He clearly was never JFMAST material. 

We rest in our shining city upon a hill, from where we may throw down bone-rattling windmill dunks from an elevated position. 

Jaws, it brought me great pride to discover - on that fateful day - that after an eternity of fighting in the notorious Forever War, the headline article of the first newspaper published after the fact was an expose on the tumultuous inner-workings of a newly-founded John_Fareham Memorial All-Star Team. I remember that interview like it was yesterday.

"While feeble-bodied boobs and weaklings were being massacred on the streets, tiny limbs flying in all directions, great athletes were performing radical spin moves and eurosteps to safety. These men and women needed a home."

It would bring a tear to my eye to remember those golden, early days, if I had not recently developed a severe tear duct inflammation brought on by a bad combination of steroids, HGH and alternative medicines."

"Don HeadCoach, I am glad you have provided us with the opportunity to wallow in your greatness. Since our arrival in this world the BBB have been overwhelmed with your unstoppable support and your never-ending willingness to battle for the rights of the little guy. You have stood up to tyranny and battled a menace that would have felled lesser men. You have provided an opportunity for mafia basketball to not only survive but to thrive. I thank you HeadCoach for your greatness and raise a toast to your bottomless belly"

The smartly tailored man smiled. It was this ass kissing and sycophantic behaviour that had allowed him to usurp the almighty Jaws. After all it wasn't Shark Week just yet.

He wondered where Hobbs was. Surly he wouldn't miss an opportunity to bask in the glory of HeadCoach. Perhaps he was still in the stocks. Jeez if thats what they do to their friends, god help their enemies or maybe Hobbs was an enemy. 

"I would also like to raise a glass to @Illiminatiated and Imperium. I dunno why, I just think they could do with a bitta reassurance in their lives. We salute you the self proclaimed Godfather of CH. We salute you the twerking God. May your booty never quit"

Shayna had never understood basketball, but she enjoyed her city and the people in it. Hearing about a party she cancelled all her appointments and donned her best shoes. After all, shoes were always important. As she got closer to the party, she could hear the people talking and having a good time. Hoping there would be some alcohol, she started to look around as soon as she walked through the doors.

"Late, I'm always late."

Spotting HeadCoach, she made her way over to him. Smiling as she drew closer, and continued to read the banners.

"Congratulations on not being a Godfather, Coach. Lovely decorations, but where do I find the drinks?"

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry enters the Hawaii-themed gymnasium making the 'raise the roof' gesture with his hands.  His shirt also has a floral design, just to let everyone know that he too is a party animal.  He looks over at Henson, whose hands are resting idly by his side.  

Come on, Henson!  Do the raise the roof thing!  With your hands!  Like I'm doing!"

He sighs.

Well not everyone is full of Team Spirit and basketball league pride today I guess, but I am.  You've been a hell of a mentor HeadCoach and this has been one heck of a ride.  If anyone deserves a celebration for not being a Godfather, it's you sir.

Assistant Coach FrizzleFry attempts to hoist HeadCoach up onto his athletic shoulder in celebration but then gives up as his attempt to lift him is in vein.

Hobbs was intrigued by the rumoured Godfather related celebration Headcoach was throwing for himself. He'd intercepted the invitation by chance when he'd 'caught up' with the walrus with legs and beat him half to death in Detroit whilst out for his early morning trivial pursuit walk. He picked it up and read the invitation again in dismay. 

HEADCOACH IS NOT-GODFATHER

 "IT'S GAME TIME

COME HAVE A BALL

JOIN US AS WE CELEBRATE ME TURNING NOT-GODFATHER,

No Science Dorks. No Math Geeks.

B.Y.O.B (Bring your own Ball)"

Hobbs knew the only way to gain entry into this event was to eat, drink and breathe being a muscle headed, protein filled, sulphite heavy jock. He'd spent the day preparing by shouting "WOOOO" and "BOOYAH" every time something of note happened. "BOOM, ANOTHER $279. FUCK YOU OLD LADY". Another old lady successfully beaten. "MUG CITY, FUCK YEAH" he screamed as he stomped on her fingers. This felt good. The power was going to his head and he slapped an ice-cream cone out of a child's hand

"CRY LITTLE BITCH BABY, WOO"

Hobbs, Mafia Basketball character perfected confidently approached the gymnasium in full basketball regalia. He had red and white striped shorts on with a blue jersey with '69 All Star' on the front. In Hobbs eyes that was 66 more stars than necessary but when in Rome and all that. 

He handed the invitation and said the secret code "Hoobs is a dweeb" and entered. For no reason other than the testosterone in flowing through his veins he stood around fist pumping the air

"USA, USA, YOU ESS-EYY"

For now he'd look to blend in, then he'd carry out his true mission.

"BBB, Shayna, FrizzleFry, so wonderful to have you here, you shouldn't have," Coach mingled like a high-society widow, shirt already half-soaked in punch stains and appetizer grease dripping down his chin like a leaky faucet. A conga line drifted through their circle, forcing a minutes-long pause in the conversation.

"Bowls of punch in the back, Shayna, any flavor you like, alright? No expense spared for this special occasion. I'd say it's not every day you don't become a Godfather but it is literally every day of my life. And that's OK. So what if everyone else seems to be becoming a Godfather all at once? Does that make them better than us? In a way, yes, but not in many others. Do you need to be a Godfather to-"

Just as Coach was about to finish his sentence, he felt a familiar rustling in his pockets, and quickly whipped around to perform a flawless table-smash with the would-be thiefs flailing body, sending snacks flying in all directions.

Jun 22, 18:37:49    You caught up with Void, beat them within an inch of their life, and took $157

"There are bandages and ice packs in the back room, Void. Get yourself cleaned up, come back, and enjoy a giant pretzel, son, on the house. Anyway, as I was saying, I'm super happy being a Don. It's a good life, you know? If someone offered me Godfather right now, I probably wouldn't even take it, you know?"

The crowd murmured their agreement, while someone who looked far too frail and book-learned to be a Detroit resident chanted 'U-S-A' in a set of ill-fitting basketball that hung off him like a tablecloth on a chopstick. Better keep an eye on that guy. There's really not that much punch to go around. Probably should've bought some more. Hmmm.

Void's world had gone dark for a bit after being suplexed onto the snack-laden table. The last thing Void remembered seeing before losing consciousness was flying popcorn, he remembered thinking "Since when does popcorn soar through the sky?".

After getting up Void was still visibly dazed and confused. He threw a weird hand gesture at HeadCoach before saying "You're pretty good!" and stumbling off to the back room. A few minutes later he returned with a less confused state of mind and with an ice pack held to his shoulder, the coaches suplexes were apparently as tough as his girthy arms.

"Sorry for that Coach, I just wanted to test your alertness even during these festivities. You know what they say, 'You can never be sure when the ball gets passed to you, so always be ready to receive it.'"

"Now don't you mind me taking you up on that pretzel offer, I've always considered them to be the 8th wonder of the world, I'm sure you'd think the same if you've ever tried to fold a noodle of dough the same way."

Hobbs was not surprised to see Void arrive. From his vantage point on the bleachers it looked like Void and Headcoach were having jovial conversations and hugging. Hands were definitely in each other's pockets. "Peace pervert" he muttered under his breath, but only under his breath. Part of his disguise would mean having to be nice to Void if Headcoach was also being nice.

He walked the floor making a note of where the refreshments were for future sabotage, and then went to join in the celebrations. He patted Headcoach on his flabby arms and winced

"Wow, great muscles" he said as an opener "You've really been hitting the benches hard huh. No cardio for you ey big boy?" Hobbs laughed a laugh so meaty it was practically dripping with gravy

"I'll be right back big guy, I just want to go intimidate this Las Vegas NERD BOOYA BOOM ETC." 

Hobbs power strode over to Void to have a discreet word.

"HEY, NERD" he said as a great cover, come walk with me if you can keep up with your WET LEGS". Hobbs made sure he was following before turning on him

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? Why are you once again celebrating this man!? I thought we'd been through this multiple times. I'm beginning to regret rescuing you from that fire that I started with blatant disregard for your health and wellbeing that mysteriously started. The only way to make this right is to help me sabotage this gathering. Are you in?"

Hobbs went to the buffet and grabbed a large trout to slap Void with. This was perfectly in keeping with the Detroit lifestyle and allowed Hobbs to blend in even more

"Taste my scales!"

Void was very surprised to see his frenemy dressed in basketball gear, this was about the last outfit he had expected to see Hobbs in (though he was known to stalk the Summerlin HQ in jean cutoffs as of late, not sure what that was about...). Void raised an eyebrow and whispered in an agitated fashion to make sure the Detroitians wouldn't overhear.

"What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck are YOU doing here? For all the assblasting you give me for being of a friendly disposition YOU'RE the one dressed like an athlete here Hobbs, not me. As for why I'm here, I don't know what they taught you wherever it is you came from but when a man is suplexed and offered a giant pretzel it would be TOP RUDE to refuse."

After being brutally beaten with a trout and spitting out the remaining scales Void continued.

"Help you sabotage this gathering? Hobbs I'm all for playing a prank every now and then but I'm legitimately afraid that if I were to consent to helping you out that I might find myself in a basketball courtroom again soon. I still have nightmares from last time I set foot in one (even though you so valliantly rescued me after some deadbeat scoundrel lit the place on fire), sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I smell smoke, but there never really is any. I have also grown an irrational fear of the 'Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' stories after that traumatic event."

Void handed Hobbs a giant pretzel. "Here Hobbs, perhaps all you need to cool down is a giant pretzel yourself."