Parting is Sweet
Bulbs flashed as the Ingenious One, wearing a skinny-jean suit with a thin tie, strode to the podium. “Controversy is courted by the great,” he began as a hush washed over the room. “I am myth—legend. I win. Sometimes I lose. The Duo of Dictatorship has been officially investigated by the F.A. of Me. I find them guilty—guilty of betting, cheating, and a general riotousness. In my mind, I say, What can I do amongst these perversions of international soccer fantasy? Then the answer comes: Your ball must be taken home. Leaving is not something I normally do, however. So I say this: first, I am dropping Manchester United from my roster. Second—” “But,” a reporter broke in, “the season is over and the transfer window isn’t open. You can’t make any roster moves.” The Ingenious One blinked. The reporter shifted in his seat. “Second,” the Ingenious One continued, “I am adding Fulham FC to my roster. Third, as manager of Dorning FC, my ship has set sail and floated into a crimson horizon. I can no longer stay.” Clamor arose. Someone shouted over the rising din, “Rumor has it that Owner Benjamin Peters fired you. Is there any truth to that statement? Do you have anything to say?” The Ingenious One looked out over the sea of reporters. “Who is Benjamin but a drop of sand? I am a beach. Who is Benjamin but a pebble? I am a mountain. Fired? Please, do not insult me with the pedestrian. I manage, therefore I am.” The Ingenious One, finishing his public statements, pushed over the podium, swiftly kicked it onto the swarming reporters beneath him, and strode off the stage. Once outside, his phone buzzed. It was a text message: We’ve released her. You did your part. Don’t ever come back. DD. “To such lowliness they have stumbled,” he whispered, as a solitary tear trickled down his cheek.