STRENGTH.

VISION.

BIG HANDS.

UNDERRATED AGILITY.

INNOVATION.

What man or woman in this community has done more for mafia basketball than me?

For many long months, I have reigned as the feral chimp king of the worst jungle in the mafia. Our ground is soaked so deeply in the blood of our muggings, bodyguards, allied prowackers, allied BGs, endless iterations of Kuku, and combines with the stench of our sweat and tears into an alchemical brew so virulent every step into Detroit is met with physical resistance from an invisible force - your will, your dignity - and an intoxicant so malevolent a lifetime of chain-smoking and paint-drinking couldn't match its destructive force. 

From our humble beginnings as a rogue 5-man wartime HQ, to our tremendous peak as the muscle-bound kings of mafia sportsdom, to the timid middle-ground we currently occupy as 'the people from Detroit', it has been one of many journeys undertaken by Godfathers and Godfather aspirees over the years, likely no better or no worse than most, though wider and more athletic in every respect.

In this uniquely grim time, in which some of the best of us have been taken - my friend twigs, one of the first endorsers of mafia basketball amongst this entire stringcheese-muscled community - while the worst of us (Grin-22) somehow remain off the rogue radar, I would like to keep my thoughts on my newly-appointed Godfather-Chairmanship as brief and concise as possible:

We are the winners. You (you know who you are) are the losers. Long live the John_Fareham Memorial All-Star Team. Death to the unbelievers. Mug City forever. Bababooey. 

If anyone would like to fist fight me, I am JUICED UP on absolutely legendary power and am taking all challengers. 

Doctor_Melfi, when I started the John_Fareham Memorial All-Star Team, I wanted to make sure that the memory of the tyranny, purging and prejudice that John_Fareham endured would not be long-forgotten. Constipated's murder of his own RH over a different individuals commentary on the sad state of mafia athleticism - something we have dedicated our lives to changing - was a shocking and violent act of oppression. But the truth of the matter is, Constipated is very forgettable. Powerfully forgettable. If harnessed in other ways, it could become a mythical source of energy. But even having dedicated an entire city to the memory of their despotism, his memory insists on fading. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that we will live in a world where no one knows or cares about Constipated at all.

So, with that being said, the sentimental value of the Fareham lineage has now been squashed and will be treated with the suspicious malice and rigorous athletic screening as any other potential city member. 

"Detroit is a city of murderers. They killed FrizzleFry to stop him achieving his destiny of joining Las Vegas as my Right Hand Man. I want to hate you. I used to hate you...  Despite that, I can't deny that you've achieved what I thought was impossible. You deserve to be praised for your achievement, even if you did inexcusably go on hiatus for three weeks and allow the glorious return of BricktownCL.

Hobbs shook his head. In these times of turmoil and strife perhaps it was time to bury the hatchet and give praise to Headcoach for all his achievements.

"Headcoach, congratulations. I am genuinely happy to see you here today as a 350 pound gorilla of a man one steak sandwich away from a coronary heart attack. Your jersey suit looks fantastic. Please visit Summerlin at your earliest convenience. In honour of your ascension from Not-Godfather to Godfather I think it's high time we let bygones be bygones and allow the great sport of Mafia Basketball to recommence in the city.

Hobbs could here the hoots and hollers of the one or two people paying attention to the streets.

"I'll put together a team of the finest athletes Las Vegas can muster and take on Detroit in an exhibition game that the World is desperate to see."

Geralt steps forward at the mention of "finest athletes Las Vegas can muster," looking surly and burly with hair not so curly. His mutated muscles bulged in his leather armor and his witcher eyes scanned the potential exhibition match opponents with malice.

"Unfair advantages due to genetic mutation be damned, I'm taking part in this basketball match. If I catch you in the paint, make sure you're wearing your armor because when I post up I don't only hook shots, but also arms, legs, and necks. Hobbs and I will almost certainly arise victorious from this exhibition; if you were a betting man, you should bet on it."

He stalks off, turning his head back at the last moment in the most dramatic sense and saying:

"Oh, and congrats your being named Chairhead Couchfather!"

I can't decide what is more shocking, the fact that people are letting this fucking oaf call himself Godfather or that Hobbs used "finest athletes" and "Las Vegas" in the same sentence with a straight face. 

"Hobbs, although I understand that the grief incurred by the tragic events of the past few days has, as it is liable to do, brought down a great mental strain upon you, I must profess that I am left worried and somewhat perturbed by your sudden change of heart. Although I'm told that the new power in Vegas has explicitly mandated that certain "ball games" are to be allowed within the city's confines, I expected that the Prince-Regnant of Summerlin might yet prove to be more steadfast. Of course, one can assign blame towards my person for making assumptions of that sort, but I find it more judicious, not to mention expedient, to blame you instead. This, taken together with the added knowledge of your frantic letters, written to me even before the recent catastrophe(s), practically begging me to offer "therapy" sessions of some form, leads me to believe that you have simply lost your nerve. I should call you Judas, but at least Judas had been paid for his troubles. One may hope that this sudden about-face is nothing more than a thinly disguised trap, one to fulfil the despicable Grin-22's most treasured fantasies."

"That said, I should think it proper to address some words of congratulations towards HeadCoach. I am pleased to see that, unlike what the hushed whispers (and loud statements) on the streets have said, you are not, in fact, dead. For all the misery that you have brought upon the world in general, and Detroit in particular, it remains, somehow, a better state of affairs than the abject wretchedness that Grin has wrought (and will bring) upon the world if left to his own devices. One may hope that your prudent and discerning usage of discipline (be it in the form of muggings, bodyguard wackings, or otherwise) will keep him and his ilk in check for a long time to come. Indeed, even if took you longer than expected — who could've thought it would take a day to hoist your vast bulk out of the HQ — I suppose felicitations are in order. Much may be said about the pestilential fumes that loom over Detroit, but one may say that it is different (although certainly not refreshing) from otherwise perhaps odourless streets. And that, I suppose, is something."

Sosabowski, I am glad you've brought Grin up once more, a former defacto ruler of Detroit while I was lost at sea, before I washed back ashore to wilfully neglected my duties for the better part of 3 weeks, only returning to pick up the mantle of Coachfather-Girthman in order to flex on the various chumps, dilberts and slackjaws who oppose my reign as Head Coach of the mafia at large. My presence here is a statement and that statement is suck on these. 

I suspect Grin has murdered anywhere between 12 to 100 of my bodyguards, all the while championing a bullish and indignant attitude that would have gotten him killed months ago by a crewleader who did not choose to see the likes of muggings, funerals and the death of his employees as important team-bonding activities. He has contributed no economic, moral or athletic support to the cause, and emerges from the laundry rooms at meal times sweating like an onion on a low flame. Despite this - his continued presence - I have still achieved this incredible success. It is another triumph to add to the tale.

And triumph is the word of the moment, if I am to believe Hobbs seriously wants to face the most fearsome starting 5 in mafia basketball history. An exhibition game may be called a friendly but I train my team to be anything but on the court and this gang doesn't give anything less than 100%, most of the time, if it isn't overly inconvenient to achieve and we don't get bored. Geralt may be a genetic mutant but if Hobbs is playing, it's one of those one step forward, two steps back scenarios.

The MaddeN'd one'sonn't o'den of a Bluebonnet bopped along the street, with the flip and flop of his feet. His heels hit ground and rolled, toes would follow the roll, and off again! He noticed the beautiful purple cap Cap'n celebrating his new promotion in the street. A smile arose to the pirate that probably should have been a sailor's face. A shit eating grin'n'sinnin sunnovvabitch this HeadCoach guy was! How'd he get all the way up top his cities hierarchy like that? What a lad, what a man, what a fookin' King'o'Kanga'z that klang't on under the sun, the moon, maybe at noon or perhaps at some other random time that no one honestly would give two fucks about. 

Congratulations HeadCoach. I've thoroughly enjoyed the ruckus you rose here in the street with your entire Mardi Gras le You! 

The button undone button man began tootin' a silly little trumpet line with his mouth as he clapped his hands. His way of joinin' in the celebration.

Void had been delighted to hear of the return of HeadCoach, perhaps his favourite steroid fueled primate in the whole wide girthy world. The streets had most definitely felt out of balance with the one-sided berating of Headcoach by Grin-22 as of late, only by there being an equal beration on the opposite side as well could balance to the streets be restored.

Void had been rather surprised to hear his frenemy Hobbs speaking with such a positive demeanor of/towards Detroit. Even the Basketball ban was lifted! Was this a genuine change of heart? Or was this another attempt of the recently inaugrated Tyrant of Summerlin™ to make Void drop his guard so he could be smeared as a "basketball sympathiser" once more?

Either way now was not the time to worry about such things, now was the time to overcome this fear and celebrate.

"Despite not being swapped over to Detroit at the end of your long and masterfully played negotiations with the late twigs (God rest his soul), I still cheer on your glorious return and ascension to Coachfatherhood. My heartfelt congratulations Coach, I think there isn't a more emblematic head for Mafia Basketball than the Girth Gorilla himself (despite claims from a certain mugging-competition-payout-evading scoundrel)."

"Long may Coach reign, let the slam-dunks continue, and let the playoffs between The JFMAST and Vegas' finest athletes (which most definitely will not include me with my spaghetti-noodle arms) be glorious. Amen."

"I am not one bit surprised to see that Headcoach allowed himself and his family to be destroyed in a takedown rather than face me on the courts. Geralt, my friend, it would appear we are now the premier Mafia Basketball team in all the land. Quite an achievement for our ragtag group of athletes."

In years down the line there'll be a primetime show following our trials and tribulations, successes and shenanigans. They shall call it: Las Vegas All or Nothing."