You are nervous about the meeting all day. You’re so distracted that you accidentally bump into notorious hothead Sy Smyte on a basic rambling pattern and he gets so enraged that he starts shoving you in the chest before running to the sidelines, putting a couple of balls into two towels and then tying them off at the ends and together at the middle to form some sort of nunchuk. He’s flapping it around and doing the move where he puts one of them under his armpit and in the midst of all of the chaos and teammates yelling “cool it,” Smyte accidentally hits an assistant coach in the groin and he lets off a howl that is immediately echoed by “Wolfman’ Eddie Tufetti out of involuntary lupine sympathy while the assistant staggers and flops around before accidentally rolling into Coach Mansz’s Observation Ladder that brings him crashing down on a giant pot of homemade chili from Johnny Lamprey’s mom. It takes Mansz about an hour to calm down. He keeps finding more chunks of beans and ground meat in his belly button, eye brows, and ears, as he screams at you and Smyte, and he keeps referring to “num chunks.” You and Smyte run for so long after practice you fear you might miss the meeting in seven hours.
It is midnight. You and Moods have made your way to an industrial district on the edge of town that you have never been before. Moods takes a wrong turn and gets snarled at by a vicious looking dog lunging at a fence.
Eventually, you find the building Moods had pointed out. It was smaller than the other buildings but still imposing. You find a side door that had been taped open. Inside, the entire warehouse is completely dark. You can barely find your footing, but you’re trying to be silent. There is no noise. You can’t see your watch, but you know you are on time. After what feels like an eternity, you see a flicker in the distance, like someone turning a flashlight on and off as a signal. Groping the walls, you manage to make your way there. Finally out of the silence, a voice. It’s Wump.
“Were you followed?”
“No, free and clear,” you say.
“Good. Take a look at this,” Wump says. The warehouse lights flicker on. At first you are almost blinded from being in the dark but as the magenta and purple rectangles clear out of your eyes you see it: a mountain of pants. There are crates full of pants, shorts, trousers, in almost every style and color combination you can imagine. Moods is just staring at a pair of linen pants that are styled like a solar system with planets and stars flashing across the knees. He is too stupefied to even let loose a single “dude.”
“Finally. There you are!.” It’s Duckett. He has hidden in the enormous leg of a pair of JNCO-style jeans. He rolls out and leaps at Wump, tackling him to the ground. He looks up at you. “We’ve got ‘em.”
“Get your hands off me, Duckett, you maniac!” Wump says, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Boys, can’t you see this man is unhinged? We’re allowed to do pants now. It’s NIL, you crackpot!”
“NIL? Not in my lifetime,” Duckett says. “You’re coming with me, Wump. You’ve peddled your last pantaloon.” He lets loose a worrying cackle.
Wump manages to wriggle out of his grasp, then reaches down and grabs at a loose pair of suit pants now lying in a crumpled heap. He throws them at Duckett and they wrap around his head temporarily blinding him. Duckett slips and falls into a crate full of extra-large jorts.
“Don’t let him get away!” he shouts.
You chase after him
You let him go
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