Scene 3

Scene 3 - Stubbie's

Two muscular guys with Russian accents, with t-shirts denoting their team as "shaft masters foosball". Slow motion of them walking into the tournament, song in background.

Later, Mike appears, looking nervous. Heads to registration table, staffed by Lizzie.

Lizzie: Hey Mike.

Mike: Justin checked in yet?

Lizzie: No, haven's seen him. Do you want to pay the entry fee? It's showing unpaid.

We see Mike looking in his wallet, hiding it from Lizzie. It's got two $1 bills in it.

Mike: It's bad luck to pay before my partner is here. Can I see the brackets?

Lizzie shows Mike a large, colorful chart. The chart looks as if this tournament is a really big deal. It shows Mike and Justin vs. Shaft Masters in round 1.

Mike: Oh, you gotta be kidding me, Lizzie. Shaft Masters? You can't do this to us. We should be the top two seeds.

Lizzie: Maybe two years ago, Mike. You're just not the same team anymore. I'm sorry.

Mike: [looks elsewhere at the brackets] how are we seeded lower than the Grease Dogs?!

Lizzie: They've been winning, Mike. Last week, they beat Wally World, 3 out of 5. [she pats him on the arm]. Listen, Mike, I know this is hard to accept, but your game has slowed down. It does for everyone. Eventually. It's okay. The good news is, if you beat the Shaft Masters, you have a bye in round 2, and a clear path.

Mike: Lizzie, no one's beaten the Shaft Masters in over two years.

Lizzie: [looks at the line behind Mike] I have to go. I'm sorry, Mike.

Mike: [to himself] Grease Dogs. Give me a break. Grease Monkeys is more like it.

Later, Justin and Betsy enter. They see Mike at the bar, back to them. Still muttering to himself about the Grease Dogs.

Scene 2

Justin finishes at Kohl's and drives home. Theme music plays. Scenery of Shakopee, Minnesota in the background. Justin pulls into the garage and shuts off the car. Looks at bag of plates and sighs. Enters the house. Betsy is in the kitchen. Justin gives her a kiss on the neck.

Justin: I have a surprise for you.

Betsy: You do? 

Justin: Yeah, I found something I liked better.

Betsy: Better than what?

Justin: Better at Kohl's. You'll like it; I know you will.

Betsy: But, Justin, we needed plates. We have guests tomorrow, remember?

Justin: Oh, I got plates. Did I get plates? I got plates! 

Justin reaches into bag and displays what he bought.

Betsy: And, that's a surprise? 

Justin: Yeah, do you like them? I know about plates. These are metallic-edged resin with a balanced core; dishwasher safe, and art deco finish. I know plates, Betsy. 

Betsy: What is wrong with you?

Justin: I'm just showing enthusiasm for understanding plate-itonic nuance. Kinda like when I chose the hot air balloon that looks like the fat lady bending over? I know art, Betsy. 

Betsy: No, I mean... those are the exact plates I asked you to buy! Did you forget? 

Justin: Well, instead of focusing on me forgetting, maybe we could highlight the fact that we have the same refined taste in discount far east faux ceramic design. 

Betsy: I love you. (kisses him)

Justin: Good, because I can't be late for my tournament tonight.

Betsy: Tournament? You said we'd go to dinner. I didn't want to cook tonight remember? 

Justin: The tourney is at Stubbie's, Betsy. You can come with. They have wings and shit. And like pina coladas. 

Betsy: who drinks a pina colada at a foosball tournament?!

brief pause, then simultaneously, they both say "Lenny and Hal."

Betsy: I'm not going to Stubbie's Justin. Every time I go there, I sit at the bar fending off creeps while you and Mike smash someone in a game. Do you realize you're the only team that laughs when you make a shot? What's so funny?

Justin: I can't help it. It's funny! Believe me. And Stubbie's needs you. It has the ambiance of a Montana goat barn. It's a lot better when you go there.

Betsy: Well, I'm not wearing a skirt.

Justin: Fine, but you know I play better when you wear a skirt.

Betsy: What is wrong with you?

Justin: Remember, it doesn't matter what's wrong with me. The important thing is what I do about it.

Betsy: And what, exactly, is that?

Justin: Formative stages, Betsy. Brilliant plans don't just fall out of the sky.

Betsy: Neither do wives in skirts at Stubbie's.

Justin takes a shower, shaves, and gets ready for tournament; Funny uniform donning in front of mirror, psyching himself up. Final step - putting the sweatband on his head.

Betsy sees him emerge, ready to go to Stubbie's.

Betsy: What is that?

Justin: It's just a mole; it's probably nothing.

Betsy: No, not the mole; the headband!

Justin: Well, if you know what it is, why are you asking?

Betsy: Because who the heck wears a headband? It's 2017!

Justin: They're coming back. You can't keep these things down forever. They're too useful.

Betsy: Well I'd like to use it to strangle Mike for scheduling this tournament.

They emerge from the garage, Justin driving. Car scene. Justin still wearing headband.

Betsy: Do you really need to have that on right now?

Justin: You know I like to hear Foreigner before a tournament.

Betsy: Not the radio; the headband!

Justin: If I take it off now, there'll be a red splotch.

Betsy (sarcastically): Really? What shape will it have?

Justin: It'll be in the shape of a headband.

Betsy: Oh, so it'll look like you wear a headband.

Justin: Exactly

Betsy: Which, you do.

Justin: Okay, I need to concentrate now.

Betsy: You're driving fine.

Justin: I'm not concentrating on driving; I'm simulating the tournament in my head.

Betsy: Mike's unpredictable; how can you simulate what he's going to do?

Justin: Well, if don't, who will?

Betsy (exasperated): Why does anyone have to?

Justin: You're sitting next to the southwest metro champion. It didn't happen accidentally. We mock what we do not understand.

Betsy: Thanks Chevy Chase.

Justin: You remember Spies Like Us.

Betsy: We watch it once a year!

Justin: Traditions are important.

You look like I need a drink

Foosball the Movie

Scene 1

Justin walks into a Kohl's department store, carrying a list on a small yellow slip of paper. He looks around for a few moments, finally finding a store employee.

Justin: "Hey, where the plates and shit?"

Employee: "What?"

Justin: "I need like a plate. Where they at?"

Employee: "shit's over there" (points to the back corner of the store)

Justin: "Thanks; plates too?"

Employee shrugs and walks off. Justin's phone rings while he walks. Display says "Mike". Justin answers.

Justin: "Yeah."

Mike: "Where you at right now?"

Justin: "Where am I at? I'm at Kohl's."

Mike: "What are you doing at Kohl's?"

Justin: "I don't know. I came to get some plates. They're on sale or something, what's it to you?"

Mike: "Justin, league is tonight. You have to be on time."

Justin: "I know. I need to get some plates first."

Mike: "Like dinner plates?"

Justin: "What other kinds of plates does Kohl's sell?"

Mike: "I don't know; license plates?!"

Justin: "Mike, why would Kohl's sell license plates?"

Mike: "So now you expect me to be an encyclopedia of everything Kohl's sells? How would I know? Just be on time tonight. Remember, we'd forfeit the first match if you're late, and then we'd have to play our way up the loser's bracket like Lenny and Hal."

Justin: "And they are legends because of it."

Mike: "No one wants to become a legend that way. You're always late, but tonight be on time. Okay?And, they're not legends. They're Lenny and Hal."

Justin: "Well, they're famous in Japan."

Mike: "So is David Hasselhoff."

Justin: "David Hasselhoff didn't play foosball!"

Mike: "How do you know?"

Justin reaches the plates area and looks confused. 

Justin: "Oh no."

Mike: "What's wrong?"

Justin: "They got more than one kind of plate."

Mike: "Of course they got more than one kind of plate. It's Kohl's."

Justin: "Well how am I supposed to know which plate to buy?"

Mike: "So, now you expect me to pick out your plate?"

Justin: "You can't pick out my plate. Betsy picks out the plates."

Mike: "Well, Betsy isn't on this phone call. How many kinds of plates do they have?"

Justin: "Like four."

Mike: "And she didn't tell you which one?"

Justin: "No. She only showed me a picture."

Mike: "Well, do any of them look like the picture?"

Justin: "I didn't think I had to remember it!"

Mike: "Justin, think. Do any of them look like what she might have showed you?"

Justin scans the plates, thinking.

Justin: "I narrowed it down to a 50% chance."

Mike: "Buy them both. You can't be late." 

Justin: "I'm not buying them both. Do you realize how much money we might be talking?"

Mike: "Not really. Do you?"

Justin: "No, but that's not the point. Point is, she showed me the plate and I wasn't listening. Point is, I drove all the way here and now I have to call her and she will once again know that it would have been faster to just do it herself."

Mike: "How many plates did she want?"

Justin: "hang on I'll look at the slip." (Looks at slip, confused.) "I can't read it."

Mike: "Well, who wrote it?"

Justin: "I did. I can't make it out."

Mike: "You might be the biggest idiot in the plates section of Kohl's right now."

Justin: "It's the kitchen section, so who's the idiot now?"

Mike: "I gotta go. Don't be late."

Chapter 1

“This happens now.”

James walked out the front door of his parents house, backpack slung over one shoulder. It had been three weeks since his grandfather had given him the Schedule.

Everyone considered his grandfather lost. The atrophy of his gray matter put him into a home down on W. 7th St. one of those depressing places where the smell was the worst part for James, but many other things were a close second.

His grandfather didn't recognize anyone, and he rarely made any sense. No one had understood a thing he said in at least six months. No one, except James, and that only occurred once, three weeks back.

Now, James checked his inside coat pocket, ensuring the Schedule was safely tucked. He continued into the cold Minnesota air, headed for his first day of school after the holiday break. The peace of the snow-filled morning intermittently interrupted by snowblowers and trucks and a couple of stray airplanes heading south like belated geese. If all worked as his grandfather said, he might be on one of those very planes next winter. 

He crossed the four lanes of Independence Drive, and was chased the last few steps by a newer model Ford Mustang who seemed to speed up before making the turn into the parking lot. “Donkeys are such asses,” James muttered, repeating one of his dad’s favorite cuss-phrases. He couldn’t help but smile from the humor when he said it. 

He walked into the school, saying hello to Mrs. Whipple and veering for the benches set off to the side of the expansive atrium. The morning sunlight filled the corners with warmth, giving evidence both to the soaring nature of the space, and the unyielding battle of dust versus custodial staff. 

James set his backpack on the bench with a small thud, took off his coat and removed the iPhone from his pocket. Kids streamed past him, energy in their voices. Some were draped on each other, athletic boys next to pretty girls who seemed able to live in the present moment in ways that he could not. James always planning, thinking of his next angle. 

It was 8:35, time to check his buy order. 

He had opened the subjected with his dad after dinner last week. “Dad, I need a brokerage account.” 

John McAllister paused, set down his book, and said, “We don’t really have money for investing right now, do we?”

James pressed, “I’ve got $1,200 in my bank account, and I’ve already set up most of the account information. I just need to use your name on it, as an adult, and transfer the money from my account. I can have it all done tonight.”

“But you could lose it all.”

“Then, I’ll get a job.” 

“You already work.”

“Then, it’s not so much risk because I can just work more hours.”

“Investing is difficult. People lose lots of money. Smart people lose all the time.”  

“And some people make money, too,” James said. “Let me just try this out, and if I lose in the first few weeks, I’ll sell the stock and just wait.”

John leaned forward. “Well, of course you can do this if you want to, James. I was just trying to warn you of what might go wrong. But, it’s your money.”

So, James finished setting up the account, and funding it with $1,100 from his bank account. 

Catching Fire... discuss...

Any movie of more than 100 minutes in length, shown in a theater, should have a pause-for-discussion element. Let's say you're going to Catching Fire. It takes about a day to watch it. Your kids are there, and you haven't read the book. There's a lot to talk about.

Why doesn't Haymitch wash his hair? What year is it? What continent are we on? Who thinks up a name like Katniss?

What makes President Snow believe that sacrificing young people in a battle-to-the-death will squash rebellious inclinations in the "Districts"? It seems to me that if anything will spark rebellion, it's pretty much the harvesting of kids for the entertainment value of the "capital". And, why does the word squash mean about the same thing as the word quash?

This discussion fodder can best be handled in a pause. I'd be willing to be the guy with the remote. I can almost hear the groans right now, as the movie halts on the screen, and the lights are raised. People would throw popcorn at me, and direct insults, like, "Dude, go watch 'Chocolat' if you want to discuss something."

Yes, it's a burden being the one with the remote.

Lost Notes-to-self of the Ages

How many things do you write down that get lost to the ages? I left my Franklin planner training behind years ago. It became impossible to keep my planner usefully synchronized with my Outlook calendar and emails.

But, one useful feature is the daily journal. This I tried to replace with a series of notebooks over the years. Some of these were cheap, others leather-bound and expensive-looking, and one was purposefully weathered, as if to appear an antiquity of inestimable value (I think it was bought for $5.95).

I use these journals off and on, so the other day I happened to pluck one out of my cabinet, hoping to resurrect and sustain my sporadic note-taking. I flipped it open and found notes from 2007. Mildly interested, I read a couple of entries. One grabbed me: “May 22, 2007”, read the headline, and, below, “Settlers of Catan”. 

Holy crap. 

“Settlers of Catan”

Holy crap.

My son bought this game at the Mall of America in 2013. We started playing it soon after, and I’ve really enjoyed it. So have the kids. I could have bought it in 2007, had my note not been lost to the ages. 

It made me wonder how many such notes have been lost to antiquity, never to exert a role in the  shaping of history. 

So, we’ve done some research here at the Heartland Press, and, in all fun, we’ve uncovered some of the greatest lost notes-to-self of the ages:

• Jefferson Davis - June 5, 1848 - “remember to invite Ulysses G. to my daughter’s wedding.” (Editor’s note: You see, because maybe they'd have become friends.)
• Jimmy Carter - January 5, 1976 - “appoint Alan Greenspan Fed Chairman.”
• Richard Nixon - May, 1972 - “call off that Watergate thingy.”
• Alan Schwartz (Bear Stearns CEO) - December 6, 2007 - “ask accounting about that mortgage security value question.”
• Pontius Pilate - 31 A.D. - “ask Herod about that opportunity in Athens.”
• Brett Favre - January 2, 2010 - “count players before entering the huddle - make sure we only have 11.”
• Calvin Coolidge - May 14, 1929 - “Appoint ancestor of Alan Greenspan as Fed Chairman”.
• Anthony Weiner - June 3, 2010 - “sign up for that Twitter training.”
• King George III - September 12, 1768 - “holiday fruit basket / Washington”.
• Walter Cronkite - August 5, 1964 - “ask M. Wallace to check if that Gulf of Tonkin thing really happened”.

Ban punting in the pre-season - November 16, 2013

I’m eight miles above the Atlantic on a Boeing 767. The movie system doesn’t work. They gave all of us 5,000 rewards miles for our “trouble”, which near as I can figure, is worth about 50 bucks. I think I would have sold my right to watch movies for anything over $35, so I’m going to say we have a bargain.

Having time and a perspective from up here, I thought of Jerry Kill moving to the coaches' box, and how the Golden Gophers are 4-0 since. They seem organized and disciplined. But, they seemed so last year. What’s different is that they seem stronger than the other teams. Faster. More determined. Confident.

Meanwhile, the Vikings are 2-7, with Leslie Frazier on the sidelines. I’m thinking he should move to the coaches' box — become more of a CEO. 

But, who should he put in charge on the sideline? Alan Williams can’t get his defense off the field on 3rd down, so not him. Bill Musgrave has a play sheet the size of Zygi’s mustache, and an imagination that has yet to call Jerry Burns to mind. I’m thinking the special teams guy — put him in charge. I don’t remember his name, but that’s not important. The guy can coach.

Only problem is, will he ever go for it on 4th down? He might be so impressed by his own punt team, that he can’t bring himself to forego their opportunity to fork over the ball. 

NFL teams punt way too much. I’ve got an idea for a more exciting preseason: ban punting in all exhibition games. Just try it. Give each team four downs, tell them no punting is allowed; see what happens. Maybe you could actually sell a ticket to someone who isn’t a compulsory buyer on account of their season ticket package that is more expensive than the first class private beds on this movie-bedraggled aircraft. 

It’s not like the punt team needs a preseason. How hard a play is it, really? And, if the absence of preseason punting makes a coach lack confidence in the punt team, they can just go for it on 4th down. All the better. 

If the movie worked, I wouldn’t have come up with this preseason idea. I’d be watching SkyFall right now. By the way, it’s not really clear that the Bond girl dies in the shooting scene on the dystopian island lair of the awesome bad guy (forgot his name). I left the movie theater still wondering if she was hit by a bullet, or if she passed out. I’d watch it here just to check, but instead I have 5,000 rewards miles, and you have a pretty cool twist to the NFL preseason.

Imagine how excited Stormin’ Greg Coleman will be in his literary broadcast battle cry. Though he be a punter, I’m thinking Stormin’ Greg endorses this someday. 

Skol Vikings, let’s go.