Archibald Archipelago Archon entering the Yellowknife Wraiths locker room
On a typical gloomy Canadian afternoon, sports super agent Archibald Archipelago Archon drives his 1982 Datsun 210 through the windy roads leading to Yellowknife, Canada, the home of the famed Wraiths of the NSFL. It had been a week since his client, French offensive lineman Francois Lamoreux had been drafted 9th overall in the Season 3 NSFL Draft. It had been a busy week for both of them, with Lamoreux becoming acclimated to his new environment and Archon hitting the press circuit in order to drum up support (and collect advertising revenue) for his player. Since Wraiths general manager Spike Crown was too miserly to finance decent equipment for his players, they were resigned to purchase their own on the black market. Heavy markups among the seedy Triads who cornered the trade in professional equipment meant that for Lamoreux to be fully equipped, he would need to invest $12,000,000, a full four times his annual salary. it was a tough business for tough men, and Francois was grittier than boiled ground up corn. He was going to survive in this league. Archon pulled up to the Hayley Wickenheiser Sports Complex, finding parking next to Ryan Fitzfatrick's stylish moped. As he meandered to the entrance of the building, Archon reflected on the poor choices which led to his consignment to such a dreary locale. Dreams of managing talent in exotic locales like Truth or Consequences, New Mexico had dried up when Archon was heavily implicated in ABSCAM of smuggling Kuwaiti ringers into El Salvador to play for their national soccer team. Any chance of managing NFL athletes had evaporated in the fallout, and only DeAngelo "Baller" Storm's fledgling new league would take a man with a tainted professional reputation. Still, the league paid the bar tabs, and Archon could still watch Jerry Maguire and old reruns of Arliss while half in the bag and, if he concentrated hard enough, would sometimes feel as though he had actually made it.
Inside the Wraiths locker room, the players were mulling about engaged in different activities. In one corner, Mat Akselsen and several other offensive lineman were huddled around a projector studying game film, attempting to learn The Annexation of Puerto Rico. Near his locker, newly converted defensive end Ricky Maddox is rubbing lotion on himself using $100 bills. He has recently had a tattoo of his own face tattooed on the small of his back, so the various back alley men who are active in that area can know who is the greatest of all time. Archon passed by Josh Garden's locker, stepping over the myriad small baggies littered on the floor. Garden was still on injured reserve for chronic nosebleeds which defied explanation, at least from the team doctor personally hired by Spike Crown who graduated from one of the finest medical schools in the Bahamas. On the other side of the locker room, fullback Eric Kennedy was sitting crosslegged on the bench in front of his locker, a zen-like gaze in his eyes as he stared into nothingness. Right outside Crown's office was his defensive coordinator, Lo Hung Dong, a Chinese-born former professional video game player who lacked any knowledge or experience relating to gridiron football. He was intently studying film of Korean Starcraft games, furiously scribbling in his notepad about the importance of constructing additional pylons.
Archon opened the door to the Wraiths GM's office. Spike Crown sat behind a fine mahogany desk financed through the continued financial exploitation of his players. He waved the agent in while he yelled into a phone at a bail bondsman. Crown was arranging for the release of star linebacker Kevin Cushing, who had recently been arrested as a suspect in the vicious murder of a Baltimore Hawks player.
He would hopefully be released in time for the preseason opener against the Philadelphia Liberty. Crown slammed down the phone and gave a toothy grin to Archon.
"Archie buddy! Long time, haven't smelled ya. What can I do you for?"
"You know Spike, I noticed Brice Boggs' locker was cleaned out? What's the deal?"
"Oh, Brice. We sold him! We got quite a price too, we got two tickets to a Wham! concert, a picture of Sean Connery signed by Roger Moore, and a cornish hen. If he would have had one of those potty putters I would have thrown in Dermot Lavelle as well."
Archon walked out of the office in disgust. Who let this incompetent boob have a management position? In his hurry to leave, he bumped into behemoth defensive lineman Bork Björnsson who snarled in his general direction. Archon decided to defuse the situation.
"Hey Bork, did you hear about the Hawks' complaint to the league about criticism of their team?"
"Urf, Bork sees all. Let me tell little story to small chickenhawks. In the episode of South Park show Here Comes the Neighborhood, character Token is upset about being made fun of for being rich. After much complaining and many adventures, he comes to terms with it and tells his friends he does not mind their jokes about him being rich. However now the boys say they will now make fun of him for being a bitch about being made fun of. The chickenhawks want to cry and whine about not being cheaters? Fine, you are not cheaters. But you are criers and whiners. Bork no like boo hoo sad baby kids. They are food for Bork. Now you little agent man, be gone from Bork."
Archon skedaddled while the skedaddling was good. On his way out of the facility, he passed by newly drafted Eidur Gustavsson. The defensive end had headphones on, listening to death metal. He was leading the rest of the defense in calisthenics by doing the Urkel. Was this really the team to beat? Archon wasn't sure if his time in Yellowknife was going to pay dividends, but as long as Spike Crown's postdated checks kept eventually clearing, he was going to stay put. He just prayed that Francois Lamoreux wouldn't get traded on a whim for a mixed reality holodeck. Although, admittedly, that would be a good trade. Archon would find out who had these holodecks and see if any were in need of an offensive lineman...
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