In the continued absence of HeadCoach, which we all hope is going to prove permanent, and the continued isolation of FrizzleFry before his coronation as HeadCoach of Detroit, I have bridged the gap as de facto HeadCoach of Detroit in what has proved to be a tumultuous few days for Mug City. 

I find myself becoming reflective as the end of my lengthy tenure at the head of the table approaches. HeadCoach's bluster that FrizzleFry must disband in 10 days is due to expire tomorrow and I, being averse to holding sway over others unless absolutely necessary, will oversee a peaceful handover of responsibilities to him should the floundering walrus not manage to haul himself back to dry land.

I was faced with several crises which are inevitable in any power vacuum, especially one left in the wake of a dying star. How best to deal with that ninny Arthur? How to remove the cloud hanging over BBB? How to make sure grasping underlings like MikeTyson didn't try to declare themselves de facto HeadCoach of Detroit instead of me? I stepped away from the laundry and out into the sunlight, meeting each of these challenges head.

I've heard it said that the just under 24 hours of my stewardship has been arguably the greatest in the long history of Detroit. Arthur gazes out at the ocean, pestering nobody. BBB has been reconfirmed by a vote of confidence from the DHC's office and strives for new heights. MikeTyson has been picking his back teeth out of his throat, discovering his place beneath my boot. All in all I imagine this dictatorship will be viewed favourably by the public at large, like most dictatorships, and those who have enjoyed my care, which has been likened to that of a proud and offensively handsome father over his children, will be grateful for all I have done for them.

In one of my final acts before the wedding of FrizzleFry and Mrs HeadCoach tomorrow, which is due to love and not to give his position legitimacy, I have decided that I will throw open the desk of the DHC of DT to deal with any ongoing issues which the general public need to be resolved. HeadCoach, in his flawed wisdom, decided to offer advice on a beach, with devastating consequences. I, learning from his mistakes, have pitched my desk adjacent to an active construction site, beneath a large tree, where cars drive hopelessly fast and gangs of marauding youths operate without any oversight. Hm, looks like a storm is brewing. Was that thunder? I'll be glad of this tree if lightning strikes. 

A first question has been submitted to the desk of the DHC. I'll read it out for you:

"Dear DHC of DT,

I am a frequent visitor to Detroit as I am unfortunately employed in Summerlin and there is literally nowhere I would like to be less. I would just like to place on record the tremendous job you have done in revolutionising the famous old lady of Detroit in such a short space of time. The 12th Street Public Toilets have never had a more direct route to the glory hole. The Detroit Library is tellingly vacant and I'm sure I heard of at least one plan to raze it to the ground. 

Given that you have been trapped in an organization you despise, I would really appreciate it if you would give me some advice on what I should do as an unhappy Thee Star Mob detainee. Should I kill myself?

Thank you in advance for all that you have done.

One of the many silent victims of Hobbs tyranny"

Thank you for the question, OOTMSVOHT. Had I been afforded longer in this job, I would have liked to have grabbed the Hobbs problem by the horns and steered him into the sea after HeadCoach. Unfortunately, time conspires against me and all great things must come to an end. Fortunately, even some truly terrible things come to an end too, like HeadCoach and ultimately Hobbs.

Endure. That is my advice to you, endure. I tolerated the scorn and subjugation from HeadCoach for years, now look at me. I've got the big desk and he's got barnacles on his back. Whilst it might seem unlikely that a wave will come to Las Vegas and shatter Hobbs like one did to HeadCoach, he's also small and weedy. A strong breeze or a mild bout of rainfall might put him out to pasture, so keep hoping.

Iron Mike dictates a letter to one of his geekth underlings. He was sure Grin-22 would have difficulty deciphering the attempt he had recently made at writing a letter to the desk of the DHC of Detroit which was written in crayon & smeared in a strange brown substance. (Poththibly Southsiders famous brown cocaine) 

"Dearest Grin 22nd of thy name and De-facto Headcoach of Mug City,

I seem to have lost my joy de vivre. My exthellent & thuper thucceththful boxing competition is coming to an end. HeadCoach keeps cutting my exthellent suggestions short & will not follow my plan to pivot from basketball into a mafia vampire organisation. I even came up with a snazzy rebrand to 'Count Coachcula' but the only response was 'Shut up Mike its my turn to speak' & FrenchieHorn has stubbornly refused to report for her sports reporting / national anthem singing jobs. She has also stopped returning my calls. Even worse than all of the above is a report that my street credibility has dropped to a lowly #4! Give me guidance at thith trying time mighty builder of effigies & benevolent temporary tyrant of mug city"

"Speaking of rainfall friend, Grin-22, I have become concerned by your exposed position out here in the wilds. A tree provides cover yes, but not enough. I have brought you an Umbrella to position on top of the tree you are sheltering under to provide additional protection against the weather. I have also brought a large television aerial to place on top of the tree, to boost any electronic signals you need boosting. As a final act of friendship, I have brought an entire random trolley of assorted metal that I will attempt to move to the top of the tree."

Hobbs nodded knowing Grin would appreciate this.

"In doing this, I hope you recognise the my acts of extreme friendship in these tense and thunderous times. I can't say Headcoach was ever my friend, but I will miss him on these shores. I hope you and I can become acquaintances of sorts, and attempt to commit many organised acts of crime."

There was just one more thing

"If you could be so as kind as to explain who sent you the letter from Summerlin I'd love to reach out and make sure I can provide a quiet contemplation room with basic amenities for them to live out the rest of their days in prison  comfort where I can make up for all of my sins. I will provide a nice face wash regime every day, along with rewarding manual labour and a friendly neighbour called Butch. I think this is more than fair as a repayment for all the hardship I have caused."