Taking a page out of a familiar playbook
I’m a coach for a boys’ basketball team. I want to win every game because that’s what America is all about — winning. I want to make my team great again, because we haven’t been as great as we’d like to be and that’s not acceptable.
Now, I know there are parents on this team and the other team who find my methods and my approach worrisome. Don’t. I’m going to win and that’ll be great and I have a plan. No, I’m not going to share it with you and, no, just because you heard some things about me doesn’t mean they’re true.
Who’s telling you all those things? Do you believe any of them? Well, you shouldn’t, because I don’t. I have plenty of people who are eager to tell you how great I am. There’s a woman with blonde hair who I can put in front of you who will make sure you understand what I mean when I say what I say.
Well, I don’t always say anything. I prefer to tweet, particularly about the other team. You see that other coach the other day? I heard someone, and mind you it wasn’t me, suggest that he might not have been born in the United States.
Yes, I know he’s still allowed to coach here and, yes, I know there are plenty of incredibly important people who came to the U.S. and contributed greatly to the founding, establishment and greatness of this country. That’s not the point. The point is that I want to win and be great and greatness comes from here, and not from over there. If you can’t tell, I’m pointing to the fertile, rich, wonderful soil beneath my feet. Well, no, actually, I’m not pointing to the soil. I’m pointing at my expensive shoes. You want greatness? You need nice shoes.
Speaking of nice shoes, did you see the shoes that one of the moms wore to the game the other day? Wait, what? I’m not allowed to notice beautiful women and their nice shoes now? That’s not fair. If they wear the shoes, I should be able to notice them. I notice the nice shoes my daughter, Danika, wears and they make her feet look magnificent. I’m so proud of those shoes and those feet.
Oh yes, I heard that other coach saying things about me behind my back while I was looking at him and he was speaking to me. How dare he say things that didn’t support me. He should be locked up.
If I were on Twitter right now, I’d say he was wrong! I might spell it incorrectly because my mistakes give my opponents, who I trounce like sad little bugs, something to talk about when they’re trying to get in the way of my greatness.
So, here we are at the game. It’s finally starting. The referees look shifty to me. Who wears black and white? Is that some kind of politically correct statement? It didn’t work for Seinfeld when he had that black-and-white cookie episode. He got sick. Remember that? Ah, TV. Isn’t it awesome?
Anyway, so we need to win the game and we need to make sure the other team loses. I’m going to win because I know things other people don’t and I’m “marts.” You see? I had a deliberate misspelling there, putting the “s” in the wrong place.
Now that the game has ended, I’m disappointed in everyone. The refs? Rigged! The other coach? Ridiculous! The fans? Well, what do the ones who complain know anyway?
I know I won, but that’s besides the point. I want the losers to know that they’re losers, even though they can be great someday, too, if they listen to me.