The Big Lie IV: The Search for Stubby

I'm posting this from an undisclosed location.

That sounds a lot more fun and exciting than it actually is. I'm sitting in the public library in... well, I won't tell you what town this is.

Under a slowly turning ceiling fan, I sit at an ancient library table before an almost-as-ancient computer pecking out these words. This machine, slow as it is, was carefully picked. From this spot, I can keep my eye on the main entrance and on my escape route at the same time. If I'm recognized, I can click "Submit" and vanish through Periodicals. There's a car poised just outside in the alley to spirit me away.

By the night of the seventh and final contest for NBA supremecy, the CARB alliance's membership had grown to 626,442 souls. The March on Our Nation's Capital was stunning. I needn't review all the gory details: It was on every single news source for seventy hours straight. David Letterman dedicated an entire show to running and re-running the fifteen second sound bite in which it was revealed to way over half a million angry protesters that there were in fact no robots in professional basketball.

That's right. At this moment, there are over six hundred thousand citizens of this Great Country of Ours who are plotting my agonizing demise. Chief amoung these is my lovely wife Xanthippe. If twenty years of marital bliss have taught me anything, they've taught me this:

RUN!

Sadly, the NBA has no witless-protection program. Furthermore, David Stern Himself has issued a fatwa against me. There is no undergroud railroad for Guys Who Just Wanted to Watch the Freakin' Game in Peace, Fortheloveofgawd.

I am totally boned.

At the far corner of this library table is a derilict who, having availed himself of the public facilities, has decided he might just like to surf some porn. The lady behind the counter, stamping rhythmically with her stampin' iron, keeps her eye on the trenchcoated figure over the top of her reading glasses.

Stamp stamp stamp. Each one louder than the last. I think there's going to be A Scene. She takes off her reading glasses and they fall to the end of their chain. She points a finger. "You there," she begins...

Oh, this is going to be good...

(to be continued)