Fads are, perhaps, born to die. All good things must, inevitably, come to an end, and so must all bad things, too. I’ll leave it to you to decide which of those two applies, in the confidence you will pick rightly. With the demise of Detroit, housing the most... colourful and dynamic personalities in mafia basketball, it is difficult to see how the “sport” can continue to survive. Some argue that history is cyclical; events, in a sense, repeat themselves. Marx, although he did not indulge in this view, added that historical figures and events appear twice: first as a tragedy, and then as a farce. We’ve experienced and put the tragedy behind us; now we must prepare ourselves for the farce, and it is closer than one may assume. 

Don Hobbs, Prince-Regnant of Summerlin, is someone who I, despite his admittedly great many failings, consider to be one of my closest friends in this treacherous, dangerous world. He is a good man with a big heart — although not as big as the late HeadCoach’s, who was vanquished before the myriad of illnesses, deformities and general maladies afflicting him, including a particularly impressive bout of megalocardia, could fell him. He has, however, always been prone to emotional outbursts, episodes of hysteria and eccentric behaviour. This is to be expected, and hitherto it wasn’t cause for much worry. Since the unfortunate and premature demise of Giorgio-Espositio, however, my friend Hobbs has not been the same. Now, with the demise of his great “frenemy” HeadCoach, others and myself fear the worst.

I myself noted the obvious instability and distress my friend was experiencing, when he came out onto the streets, bursting with excitement, followed by 180-200 of his brainless followers. Although he — quite rightly — pointed out the murderous reputation of Detroit, he promptly proceeded to perform the most pathetic volte face in recent history. Here was a man, so assaulted in his dignity and honour by Detroit, that he had felt compelled to systematically ban all ball-games, of any sort, within the confines of Summerlin. It was a harsh, but respectable, policy. Not that anyone paid much attention to it.

Now, however, he proceeded to praise HeadCoach and his accomplishments, almost unreservedly. It was truly disgusting. This slimy panegyric of unadulterated praise and acclaim was most unlike Hobbs. Everyone reacts to tragedy, trauma and death differently, and we all grieve in our own, peculiar ways. But this will not do. Worse yet, the sycophant then proceeded to rescind his previous ruling: ball games were to be allowed once more within Summerlin! But there was more yet, for the deluded Hobbs then announced he would form his own team of athletes, and challenged Coach and the Detroit athletes to an exhibition match! The good HeadCoach rightly questioned the capabilities of this team of ‘athletes’ — and Hobbs, notorious noodleboy, in particular — but sadly he and his entire team were wiped out before Hobbs and his compatriots could be utterly humiliated. Even if I had started offering professional therapy services (which Hobbs keeps begging me to do), even that could not have helped to remedy the sheer emotional damage that would’ve been inflicted by such a defeat (not to mention the irreparable physical harm).

If one hoped that the... tragic loss of HeadCoach, and the apparent demise of the institution of mafia basketball, would wake Hobbs from his delirious slumber, they would be sadly mistaken. It would seem that the destruction of Detroit has strengthened his resolve, and he has doubled down on his aspirations to basketball greatness, announcing his desire to host a memorial tournament for the late dribble-kingpin. If this is to be the future of mafia basketball — already an activity of dubious value — then it is best left buried within the superfund site formerly known as Detroit. 

Coach, for all his failings, left a hell of a legacy. His body, we presume, is now buried several hundreds of feet deep, where it will nourish the earth as it once nourished these streets.  Future archaeologists will surely be surprised that, indeed, their excavations did not, in fact, reveal a mass grave, at least not in the usual sense. It would’ve been much preferable and expedient to use the elephant crematorium within Summerlin’s Zoo, but it has, sadly, been razed to the ground. The shadow cast by his figure, as may be expected of such a “great” man, will loom over us for a long time to come.

The mutilation of an entire generation’s attitudes and mentalities, the proliferation of many tonnes of innumerable illegal supplements and other banned substances in the skies and waterways, and so on.  The gravitational distortion imposed by his person is unlikely to fade away for years to come, and I’m told that even the most conservative estimates reveal that the ‘Exclusion Zone around 12th Street’, as it is now called by those in the ‘know’, will remain inaccessible for decades to come, and extremely hazardous and injurious to any known form of life for many years after. But, at least, it was something different. Something unique. And he habitually harassed, beat, belittled, bullied, tormented and harmed Grin, which is surely a good thing. 

I then raise the question: What is to be the future of mafia basketball? Is it best left buried, untouched, condemned to gather dust and, ultimately, be forgotten? Are we to attempt to revive and continue this dubious practice? And if so, should such a task really be left to Hobbs? (No) Or are we to search for something new, something novel, exciting and promising, a new fad which will sustain us and temporarily quench our insatiable thirst? What will this be? Even in the glory-days of mafia basketball (if there was ever such a time) there were talks of a possible “rebrand” — surely evidence that this 'great' "sport" has lost its lustre and appeal. Something different must take its place. What will it be? Vampires? Firemen? Football (Soccer for the philistines among us), complete with erratic hairdos, garish tattoos, and expensive, suspiciously white teeth? Or will people start attempting to imitate the General himself? Will the beret ever become fashionable? Hobbs says "No" and continues to mock me for wearing it, but I, for one, think it looks good and "cool" and really compliments my face and moustache. Maybe moustaches can become fashionable. But I digress. 

We’ve already seen the quiet rise of a ‘Pirate’ crew. Perhaps this will be the next big thing? Will they roam the streets, searching for booty, gang pressing unsuspecting gangsters (much like Dominic was lured in by HeadCoach) and drinking inordinate amounts of subpar rum? Will the business districts of this world soon be filled with eyepatch boutiques and peg-leg parlours? I do not know, and I invite you to share your thoughts. What’s next?

And, for a final thought: Hobbs, come home, this isn’t you. I know this isn’t your heart. Times have been tough on all of us, but this isn’t the way. Together, we can overcome it. Perhaps you could grow a moustache — a real moustache.

I'm glad someone brought this up, General Sosabowski, as I'm sure it is a question on the minds of many of our criminal community. There are many important issues at stake here, the first of which could potentially prove catastrophic to all manner of life on earth: the gravesite. 

Coach was a big man. In fact, a rogue - in his final words - once deemed him a "fat cunt". If the foundation of his burial pit were not properly reinforced with several layers of concrete compressed several times past the normal standards, his enormous carcass is likely descending forcefully towards the deepest levels of the planet as we speak and, God forbid, possibly into the core itself. Though every step he took in life was treated as an extinction event by those unlucky enough to have been in his general vicinity, this new danger poses a far greater threat than ever before. 

Ignoring that, and living every day as if it were our last, we must discuss the legacy of mafia basketball. And, to pull the net slightly wider, should we consider the fate of all mafia sportsdom? Of mafia boxing, mafia golf, mafia chess and checkers? I am mostly unfamiliar with these athletic endeavors. I live for the sea, for the precious booty of a Spanish gallion, and for the bleeding gums of ruinous levels of scurvy. My exercise comes from climbing into the crows nest of a great ship or from the ritual beatings of my personal deckhand Platitudes, who stinks of sulphur and garlic, no matter how much he bathes. 

But where will the greater population receive their cues from now? Will we become lazy? Will we forget so quickly what a good push up & crunch routine can do for the soul? And is Hobbs - disputably one of my great friends, pending our imminent sit-down - the right person to take up this mantle with his memorial tournament?

Void had listened to the oration from Sosabowski about a topic that was close to his heart. Given Detroit's recent downfall Void had been more dejected than ever due to his intense mourning at the loss of what could only be described as the greatest innovation since sliced bread.

"Sosabowsky, I'm happy that you've asked the question that was quite frankly on everyone's mind. I'd also like to add that much like yourself I am stunned at Hobbs' sudden turnaround when it comes to his personal stance on Mafia Basketball."

"All these venomous claims of basketball-sympathising that were thrown my way, was it a projection of his own deepest darkest desires mayhaps? Note that we have had plenty of signs of this before as well, how quick he was to put on the jersey when there was a negotiation between Headcoach and twigs for example (it saddens me greatly that both of these mountains of men, one physically and one intellectually, have passed away since then)."

An idea suddenly struct Void like a bolt of lightning. But of course! The answer was right in front of us all along! He started speaking excitedly.

"But I digress. What is the future of mafia basketball? Are there any basketball athletes still left after the massacre of Detroit? I think I might know just the perfect candidate."

"There is one man who still knows the ancient techniques of Mafia Basketball. One man who can spread the teachings as an Apostle of HeadCoach. One man who can make sure that these sacred traditions do not get lost in history. And that man is... D0m3n1c."

"This man was part of Headcoach's gang for a time before deciding to leave Detroit for Chicago, he must've been included in plenty of basketball training sessions before that at least. He must know the art!"

"I am fully convinced that D0m3n1c's exile from Detroit was an intentional scheme planned by the late Coach to preserve basketball culture in case things went south in Detroit itself, D0m's survival after the fall of Chicago is even more evidence to affirm this! The Coach's cunning foresight amazes me even now. The planning that must've gone into this is nothing short of impressive!"

"What an ironic fate it was that the city that ended up destroying mafia basketball as we know it was housing the key needed for it rise from the ashes. It's time for D0m to be truthful to his cultural roots, it's time for D0m to do some shoulder stretches."

"The only question that remains to me is this: are there more underground basketball operatives around the world that we do not currently know of?"

TheBeast, hearing Sosabowski's speech was elated about the idea to bring mafia basketball to Philly, as his father was a starting member of the JFAST in DT. What a way to honor all the hard working athletes than to continue the tradition here. 

"We could call the team 'The Philadelphia 69'ers' in loving memory of my father DirtyDirty. That was his sweatervest  jersey number" 

TheBeast, feeling hope for the future of elite sport rising again, walked away whistling a tune.

DLZ listened Sosabowski's speech about bringing basketball to Philly. He never cared much for the sport but was happy to see individuals intent on bringing about change in the world. 

"I prefer Ice Hockey" DLZ mutters as he turns away from the crowd and heads into a dark alley.  

That is fascinating, Void, a man quarantined from his mafia basketball heritage in order to preserve it. Would D0m3n1c care to share, as the last living reminder of the organization? I'm sure he has nothing but positive and life-affirming thoughts of his time there. 

"My friend, Sosabowski. Thank you for bringing this to the attention of the masses. There has been a lot of words thrown around lately. Words have meaning and words have power. Words are also meaningless and have no power. Which is it? It's a conundrum. As is the future of Mafia Basketball. It's no secret that I have spent my entire life's work feuding with a city so full of protein and creatine that every toilet in the city limits has been pumped more times than Mrs Coach at a yoga convention. Summerlin has always been firm as an anti-ball city, but times change. When Giorgio died I began to look for more meaning in life. When twigs followed him to the great beyond my resolve fell further. Why is there so much fear, anger and strife in life? Why can't we all just get along? When I saw Headcoach return from his mammoth three week vacation, that followed his previous two week voyage out to sea only to immediately take Godfather Coachman I thought to myself "If this guy can do it, anyone can." (Except Void)"

Hobbs had never spoken so much in his life. His throat was hoarse but he continued on manfully, trying to ignore the spaghetti loving Peace Pervert and his jives and antics.

"The facts and reality of the situation are this; by default I now run the greatest Mafia Basketball team in all the land. Yes, there's only two of us on the team at present but if we consider Geralt's athletic prowess and blatant performance enhances drugs he takes that make his eyes go all dark and his skin shiny like a twilight loving vampire you will see that even as a two-man band we are magnificent. We can take on most times and win. That being said, I will be holding Basketball try-outs for all to attend to ensure the future of this sport is realised within Las Vegas.

Some would say that I'm months too late to the party, that Detroit is dead and we should celebrate commiserate it. Others would rightly say that D0m3n1c is the rightful heir to the throne of Basketball. Perhaps they are right. Surely it is not coincidence that my greatest ally Geralt picked up D0m3n1c as we were about to form our team? I have already worn the jersey. I have already represented my city and bested the finest Detroit had to offer. I am Hobbsenberg. I am inevitable.  

The fates were clearly aligned to the vision of Hobbs-ball.

"As Shakesspeare once said, 'There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune”.' What this means is probably clear. With Detroit gone we can launch a new era of Mafia Basketball that doesn't falter and fail. This my friends, is the future."

"Think of it Stan_S_Stanman, it all makes so much sense when looking back at the actions of both men."

"All those visits to D0m's establishments where Headcoach went to trash his business, threw chairs and generally unleashed destruction and mayhem. It was all a calculated move to deepen D0m3n1c's cover, to establish that he most definitely was NOT a mafia-basketball athlete!"

"All those strong-willed disavowals from D0m and his often-outed disdain for mafia-basketball, all an effort to paint a certain facade and fool us all for the noble goal of preserving the art of Detroit."

"How fooled I was. How fooled we all were."

"Not me, Void. I was never fooled. As a great man once said, 'fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again'. That can literally be applied to every aspect of my life. I have been one of D0m3n1c's greatest supporters in life and I will continue to champion him long after you're worm food.

Oh and another thing, you are absolutely not invited to try outs."