Coach washed up face-down on these shores like the ruins of a great battleship brought in by the tide. He coughed up a decadent amount of seawater and knocked the sand off his wet, naked torso with a couple great slaps of his meaty paws. He bit straight through the shell of a crab that had latched itself onto his shoulder and then discarded it like a used napkin. After letting out a primal scream, he tied shrubbery and palm leaves around his genitalia, and began to address the crowd of mafioso's who he had directed to meet him here three days before. 

"Friends and family, for too long have I isolated my talents within the city limits of Detroit Mug City, depriving this community of the warmth & wisdom that it needs and deserves. With the highly competitive nature of the streets today, in which mugging, boxing, checkers, chess and golf all jostle for the athletic and strategic spotlight, my only wish is that as more and more of you venture to take part that you be aware of the dangers of tossing your gangly, uncoordinated bodies into mafia sports without the proper mental and physical preparation.

That is why I am offering each one of you the opportunity to seek my advice on any issues or problems you need assistance with. Let the greatest coach this world has ever seen guide you through your worries. 

For example-"

A wave came in and toppled Coach over, sending him drifting first towards shore, and then pulling him back out into the sea. Unable to swim against the current, despite his tremendous aquatic agility, he drifted further and further out. He careened straight through the hull of a small fishing boat, splitting it in half, and continued floating until the only visible evidence of his survival was a tremendous silhouette against the blood orange horizon, palming handfuls of fish into its mouth. 

Grin watches on with glee as HeadCoach is swept away. He had witnessed a giant Hobbs set aflame and now a giant oaf washed out to sea. This was truly a great day. He noticed Arthur asking questions into the wind, forlornly staring out to sea after the mile-wide wake HeadCoach's driftwooding had caused. There was something about that man that caused Grin's mind to travel back to a famous 10 round duel he once participated in. His opponent had only managed 9 rounds, with devastating consequences. 'Heady days' he thought to himself, as he left Arthur to plead longingly after whale-arse. 

Coach had been floating peacefully with the current when an immense wooden brig and its stubborn, relentless captain began their pursuit. He lashed at their harpoons, splitting them asunder, as a great storm began to thunder above him. Throwing his low-BMI, spectacularly muscle-dense frame at it, cracks began to form in the frame, sailors cursing him with every heave. Amongst the ruins of the ship, after his colossal battle was won, he discovered a set of writing utensils. He scrawled his message down and slipped it into a corked bottle, before setting it adrift. It read:

"Arthur,

The sea is treating me well. The hubris of man has offered me the serendipity of writing materials and a vast assortment of sailors rations. It is peaceful here amongst the fish, who I am struggling to live beside as friend, not foe. They are delicious and a great source of lean-protein and omega-3 fatty acids. My adjustment to this hostile arena reminds me of a friend of yours, who almost nobody likes and who on numerous occasions has been described as sad-brained. 

I wish to impart on you a piece of advice I gave my wife before I departed on this great journey:

Kiss me on the mouth or don't kiss me at all.

No half-measures, Arthur. Your friend must choose who he wants to be. And just as I choose to deliver extinction upon the seafood buffet that surrounds me, the cheap shot that upsets people is likely a more fun route.

Tell my wife I said hello.

Yours,

 HeadCoach."

iSup just found a stoop by a wonderful little get together that wasn't an impromptu as he assumed everything in life was. Afterall he had just robbed seven old ladies purses in the span of a half-mile walk through a few alleys. iSup placed his feet on the top of the railing of the stairs he found himself sitting on and began rolling a spliff using his chest to hold the pouch under the work the fingertips would be doing. Listening to the word of his kindred and their ancestors roll off the tide of the very streets they all walked on

Upon leaving his company, a wonderful lady who is most certainly not HeadCoach's wife, Henson arrived at the seafront, bewildered by the enormous wreckage that lay before him. The water seemed considerably higher than usual. As he lifted his non-nerdy glasses to his face he realised that the massive mountain of shit and debris was in fact HeadCoach, floating around like a bloated baby whale. He moved with such elegance and grace, parting water better than Moses. 

At this point there were 3 sharks, all circling around the illustrious coach, quite clearly fancying an indulging session that would satisfy 90% of the aquatic life in a 10 mile radius. 

Greenpeace helicopters began to circle above the large meaty mass that seemed to be raising the sea level. It seemed as though they wanted to usher what they believed was a sperm whale, back to shore. Arthur was waiting, water pistol in hand. Should we be concerned?

Void had come to ask the Coach for some life advice, but before he was able to do so he was witness to the majestic figure of the coach drifting out into the sea. It was a majestic sight. Every once in a while the girthy mass would surface, only to disappear again after a few seconds.

Void had come up with an alternative way to get his questions over to the Moby Dick of Mafia Basketball though, after obtaining a bottle laying around on the shores of Detroit, he began to scribble away on his parchment.

Dear Coach,

A friend of mine has recently been mercilessly beaten in the boxing ring by someone who had an 0/3 all-loss record. This would possibly make my friend the worst boxer in all of the six cities. Not only that, but after the fact he was smothered with a less-than-skillfully prepared ball of spaghetti bolognese to add to his humiliation.

Because of this, my friend's sense of self-worth has been shattered and he doesn't know how to regain his honor or dignity. All he has left is shame. Dreadful, dreadful shame and self-loathing.

What would my friend be able to do to regain his confidence?

Kind regards,
Void.

Void rolled up the roll of parchment and stuffed it into the bottle, he then tossed it into the sea, hoping that his message would safely reach Moby Dick inbetween the fish buffet.

iSup snapped to attention, his eyebrows shooting up. He suddenly remembered his car ride to the local jungle gym. Where he quietly and calmly smoked a spliff while hummin' to a tune stuck in his head. His hands caught himself caught in the delightful words catching his ear from kindhearted kinfolk. Perhaps they were reverberatin' with his heartbeat's rhythm and the liquidzZ found in the innerd ear to help the brain calibrate itself in relation to the rotatin' rock everyone found themselves stuck on in space. His tongue sticks out of his face as he focuses on the task at hand, which for iSup was just to nod and tap his to3's to keep the beat with the rhythm.

Stoopin' in the skreets wit' kin

It has been two days since HeadCoach was swept out to sea. Whilst I am eager to believe he is dead and I am no longer trapped in this dumb organization, I've also heard talk of a new island being discovered in the middle of the Atlantic. The rush of cartographers to chart this 'rapidly expanding phenomenon', coupled with dire warnings about the fish population in the vicinity make me highly suspicious about his demise. 

Even so, HeadCoach's demand that FrizzleFry disband is due to expire on 23rd July, two days from now. Should he not be dredged from the deep before that time, I think it is only right that FrizzleFry himself, as the longest serving assistant head coach, gains responsibility over the whole of Detroit. I, for one, think his absentee style of leadership will be a vast improvement over HeadCoach's constant niggling and snacking. 

Arthur, although it is kind of you to take a break from staring out to sea long enough to issue you me with a duel request, you paying attention is actually counterproductive to us a city. You see, by spending your days gazing out towards the stupid man-island I'm desperately hoping is just some sort of near-cataclysmic sized tidal drift and not a certain whistle blowing wind bag annoyingly clinging to life, you haven't been able to bother anyone else. Your impact has been low, a bit like a puny slap from JFK_Jr which is easily shrugged off, rather than a skull-crushing wheel kick from your's truly, which has devastating consequences. 

Fortunately for the past few days, the complaints to the desk of the de facto HeadCoach of DT (Me) have been minimal. You've been forgotten about, enjoyed for your absence, like when traffic dies down, a siren stops blaring or a particularly small and yappy dog stops barking. We're all glad for it and as one of my first acts as DHC of DT, I'm ordering you to return to looking out into the ocean longingly. Pretend you're Swarles and Sosabowski hasn't confirmed if he's playing checkers at this exact second. That's the kind of yearning I need out of you. Isolation is in vogue at the moment too so you'll be fine on the beach, and whilst you're no FrizzleFry, staring at nothing and looking stupid will certainly play to your strengths.  

As Swarles joined the crowd gathering upon the shore, he was impressed that HeadCoach had been able to maintain a prolonged float in the ocean. It wasn't every day that you saw someone become a human island with no apparent attempt to rescue from the lifeguards or coast guard. Swarles didn't bring a bathing suit with him. Nor did he want to dirty a freshly-pressed suit in a rescue attempt; he decided it would work itself out eventually. The crowd was commiserating amongst themselves when Swarles overheard his name. 

"Pretend you're Swarles (when) Sosabowski hasn't confirmed if he's playing checkers at this exact second," Grin-22 said to Arthur. 

Swarles began laughing at the comment. 

"Grin-22, what can I say? It's just like hitting on drunk women at the bar. It's a numbers game! You just gotta keep asking until you get the answer you're looking for. Always go for the yes! If you don't keep up the hustle, you'll surely miss out on opportunities you didn't even know existed."

Meanwhile back at BBB Headquarters

 
DBM pours herself a glass of red wine and settles in a her comfy overstuffed chair in her bedroom, she sets the wine glass on the nightstand and begins penning her letter for advice to HeadCoach

I am a relative newcomer to our fair city, and I am thinking of opening a new business. I have a few ideas and would like your expert advice on which one you think would be the best fit for our beloved city.

 
1. Strip Club: Pretty self explanatory our Bois and girls need a place where they can let off some steam and have some fun with their mates.

2. Wedding Chapel: It seems as though romance is in the air as rumors fly about so and so is having clandestine "Meetings”' with you know who at Cadillac Apartments and various other places throughout the city. I mean, even the toughest of gangsters have a soft side that needs love and tenderness.

3. Banned Parenthood Free Clinic: It's only a matter of time before we start seeing an influx of orphans wandering the streets and we are a progressive city I feel that there is a need for affordable reproductive healthcare ie oral contraceptives, condoms and yes even abortions because even the best laid plans sometimes fail. 

Refills my wine glass emptying the bottle **Hiccups** 

 
Rolls the letter up tightly tying it with a ribbon and stuffs it into the empty wine bottle, replacing the cork in the top. Putting my sandals on I slip out of the HQ and walk to the pier throwing the bottle into the lake, hoping HeadCoach gets my letter and responds.. **Hiccups**

 
Sincerely,

DBM

iSup couldn't help but lose his utter shit after Grin sent a lad lookin' 4 aloe vera after he shot sum burn'n wERdz at a young Ghost floating in the wind.

It had been a week now since HeadCoach was last seen drifting along the coast of Detroit. Everyone was worrying (apart from Grin-22), where could someone of his girth and stature be hiding? Nevertheless the Coach seemed to still be able to answer his mail and rule his basketball empire whilst coasting the shores, provided his correspondents would chuck their messages into Lake St. Clair in glass bottles. The fishermen of Detroit were down on their luck though, try as they might the fish just wouldn't bite as of late.

Void came up on the beach dragging a large wooden sign behind him leaving a long trail in the sand, after eventually arriving at the far end of the beach (and working up a sweat in the process, he wasn't used to dragging heavy things around) he planted the sign into the soft sand.

HeadCoach

Lost at Sea

Void wiped away a tear. He could only hope that Coach would one day forsake his whale-like existence and return to land.

twigs made what had unfortunately become a rare appearance on these shores. Upon hearing that his old war-time friend was offering good advice on these shores, he quickly made a drive to the aforementioned shores in a display of support. It was public knowledge that HeadCoach had made a dash from twigs' crew, much like a basketball player dribbling past defenses and aiming for the net (If that makes any sense at all. twigs didn't know a thing about sports), it was much less known what a crucial role the floating coach had played in a consultative capacity during his short stint at the foresty shores.

"Fellow mafiosos of these shores, I can attest to this man's quality of advice. It is as good as he is big. Coach has taught me a lot ever since he came to these shores. I remember as if it were yesterday how he taught me how to spin a basketball on the tip of a finger, or how he demonstrated the correct technique required to throw a football over a mountain. His secret, if I may be so brave as to presume knowledge of such, is to preserve focus on mentality, not just raw physique.

I hope to see my drifting old friend return to these shores soon."

As twigs was about to leave the shores, he laid eyes upon a huge figure in the distance. Is that a blue whale? In the middle of Detroit?

A weary'eye't SWAT'n'Hornett had wander't thruu the streetz, steppin' over the body of his dead kinn. He had already made his own marker, trick'z hand't down from the ma'z syde of the PharSyde'o'Dee'Rorchest'rt'Herd. But instead the young Goomba decide'th'uh use his voice

I think the traditions of this thing of ours shouldn't be overlook't, the rulez apply to life as well as when we carry out our business keepin' pace with our face'n'th'a skreetz. Respect is earn't never given, and if you don't take your bumps in the road you may fin't'oot your no sleuthe GunShipp, maybe just a th'ugg'n Butt'e o'dee'o kunnin kannon.

A drag of his spliff, toot'n his vesselz own steam horn. The horn of the bow of the Bow.

I think the mind should be respect't at all costs, no matter what walk of lyfe or way of lyfe you and your'z haz'uh chosen. And if you roll your dice and play the game of life, I just hope you have the eye'z t'er'doodliy'sea the beauty of the mathmatical improbability that is existence. Strut your tuf'st stuff, cause you never know who'z watchin'n and who'z readin'n them dayum newspaperz.

Paul stumbles through the darkness alone, the sand squeaking beneath his feet as he drunkenly approaches the shore. His eyes filled with tears. As he stumbles, he spills some whiskey on his leisure suit.  In his other hand, he carries a small floating lantern.  Reaching the shoreline he drops to his knees, letting the whiskey bottle fall to his side. Removing his jacket, he places it neatly beside him. Closing his eye, he breathes deeply and runs his hand across the embroidered lettering.

“JFMAST” he mutters to himself under his breath.

He places the floating lantern in front of himself. Fumbling he pulls a lighter from his pocket and struggles to light it as his hand begins to shake. Through the tears he sees a small hand appear out of the darkness. It steadies his hand. Paul looks to his side to see he’s been joined by a small kid in a cape TinyTim. The kid takes the lighter and smiles at Paul. He slowly and carefully ignites the flame of the lantern. Slowly the kid raises the lantern and places it on the outgoing tide. Paul watches the lantern drift out to sea, and he begins to sing.

HeacdCoach - our leader on the court

Oh HeadCoach - and my mentor

Who teaches us to play the game

May the roar

Of the cheering crowd

Motivates us to win the way

Your coaching motivates our drive

HeadCoach, can you hear me?

HeadCoach, can you see me?

HeadCoach, can you find me in the game?

HeadCoach, are you near me?

HeadCoach, can you hear me?

HeadCoach, can you help me not be defeated?

 

Looking at the scoreboard

I seem to see a million points

Which ones are ours?

Where are you now that yesterday

Has waved goodbye

And the game's in store?

The court is so much bigger

The opponents so much tougher

The world I see is so much different

Now that I'm on my own

 

HeadCoach, please forgive me

Try to understand me

HeadCoach, don't you know I need your voice?

Can you hear me shouting

Anything I'm saying

Even though the game is filled with noises?

I remember every strategy you taught me

Every play I've ever run

Can all the moves in all the games

Help me to win what lies ahead?

The ball is so much faster

And I feel so much pressure

The score is twice as crucial

And the opponents are half as forgiving

HeadCoach, how I respect you

HeadCoach, how I need you

HeadCoach, how I miss you

Paul watches as the lantern disappears slowly into the darkness. He remains kneeling, sobbing, listening to the water lapping against the shore and feeling the breeze against his face.  The kid pats him on the back and tries to comfort him. Paul looks up into the boy’s eyes, somehow, he knew this kid. He didn’t know how or why but he did. Paul sat his mind filled with memories. The kid stood up at sunrise and began to wander off. Paul calls after the kid.

“Where are you going? Who are you?”

The kid smirks.  

“I just wanted to enjoy the Sunrise with you, reminds me of the good times.”

The child winks and walks off.

Paul sits by the shore deep in thought and pondering his next move.

Jub was known for swimming around in the beach's sands as he did not dare go out into the sea itself out of fear of being swept away like a certain Coach once was. Rumor was that the body of HeadCoach was now somewhere far our into the seas, covered in diverse vegetation, and had become an island inhabited by a troup of monkeys.

But today Jub had seen a stranger on his beach. Jub stuck his head out of the sand, brushed the sand out of his ears and had a listen. Hearing the sad poem and sobs Jub slowly swam in circles towards Paul.

"Faul_Pinch, I know how you feel. I too still mourn the loss of HeadCoach and the JFMAST. When Jub was but a wee lad he was sent to attend an open JFMAST training by his father. 'It will build character' my father said. I was expelled within 10 minutes for failing to complete the warmup of power-squats."

"I was shown the figure of a Titan that day, and taught that it takes hard work to get to that point. Nowadays I have a similar circumference to that of the ole Coach, but his was made of pure muscle and mine is made fat-rolls."

Jub took a leatherbound book with the letters SIoT and a toaster emblem printed on it and laid it in front of Paul_Finch.

"Listen Faul_Pinch, some people turn to sources of spiritual guidance in times of mourning" Jub looks at the volume of SIoT in front of Paul_Finch and gently pats the book. "Have you ever read Systematic Immolation of Thought?"

Paul_Finch, I too have many a tale about this great man. My father taught me a lot about him. I'm not sure I understood some of the words because I only read at a 4th Grade level but they seemed nice. I often heard him refer to the infamous @HeadCoach as "the gargantuan pusillanimous slob". I assume that's a nice thing. Although he did get panicked and sweaty every time HeadCoach would come over. Within minutes of Coach arriving he'd be doing jumping jacks or push-ups in the garden, thousands at a time. I like his wife, she would come over ALOT. My father used to make me call her "mom". I have no idea why. He says she used to help him stay in shape too. 

Perhaps when I grow up, I could start my own sports team! 

TinyTim was very conscious that it was considerably past his bedtime, plus he had school in the morning and those pictures aren't gonna colour themselves. He left the sobbing man, staring at the ocean. Thinking about his fathers past brought a very confusing mixture of pride and sadness to him. One thing he knew for certain, it won't take them very long to find that body.