Setting: Midnight, a dimly lite conference room in New York City

“Gentlemen, I need a status report on Project Nerf. Are we still on schedule Twisted Skinner?” Bellowed the intimidating man known as Commissioner X. Draped in a Jet green tunic and hood covered in a metal suit that makes him look more machine than man.

Commissioner X motions to a short man cloaked in darkness and a blood red silken robe. The figure starts to speak with a shrilly voice; every sentence burns with a squeaky upspeak as if he is always asking a question.

“I’m not sure if these codenames are necessary? I’m just not sure, but what are you going to do? Right? Anyways? I have positioned my organization? As planned? Your Dark One. Taking an example from the CIA’s handbook on sabotage the American? public will never see us? coming. My organization has been actively encouraging destruction as we discussed. I have been drafting the best and brightest athletes? as early as I can and running? them into the ground? And when? they get injured? I help to encourage them to go back early? as if it was in their best interest?”

TWISTED SKINNER STARTS TO CACKLE

“I’ve been acting like their friend while at the same time using my control of the local media to question their toughness and man-hood in order to make them think it was their own idea to come back early?”

The dim room erupts in assortment of laughter

“I have also been working hard on discouraging? The unaware locals by promoting incompetent people within my organization to top positions. I have also swiftly removed anyone who disagrees with me or shows a form of free thought? The propaganda machine is in full swing as well. By keeping the apparently controversial name around, I can control the conversation. When too many people talk about the organization’s incompetence. Boom! Is the name too controversial? When the name gets too much press? We discuss the player productivity? And once again owning the majority of the radio stations and local news outlets does help.”

TWISTED SKINNER STARTS TO CACKLE SO HARD HE SNORTS

“That is some damn fine work there TS, my friend” Yells the wild man in the back. Kicking his cowboy boots up on the desk. “I sure have taught you well my friend. why I’ve been keeping my dumb-dumb in a head position for a while now and paid high dollar for incompetent back-ups too.”

“ENOUGH!” bellows Commissioner X “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR YAMMERING. Now get your damn foot off my desk before I have it removed and sent to the wastelands of Luchenbach. Then we’ll see who will be trying to ‘keep up’ with you there. Now for an update on player safety, Mack”

The bespectacled bald man pushes the brim of his glasses up as he shuffles his prepared report.

“Sir, if it were to please this board I have done as requested. I have created a committee of nine including myself as a way to undermine any real progress. When an issue arises about competition, or indirectly, player safety I ‘insist on doing everything through the proper ‘channels.’ Never permit short-cuts to be taken to expedite decisions.’ and then defer to the committee to effectively slow down all forms of decision making and discussions. Per article 11, section 1 and section 3 of the CIA Handbook. I also advocate caution as we don’t ‘rush’ into a decision too quickly. In other words, everything is going as planned.”

Commissioner X looks at his watch. “That is enough leave me. EVERYONE!”

The room empties out except for two figures. The sound of cowboy boots echo in the now empty room “That was a little rough wasn’t it?” The man asks facing the now calm and quiet Commissioner X.

“It had to be,” said a voice from behind “We can’t let the others know what we are doing. If they find out that Commissioner X is just a puppet we put in place after the other guy left this would be pandemonium in here.” The man with a thick northeastern accent walks towards the window. “There is a storm coming, my friend. The slightest miscalculation on our end could shatter our years of preparation and shared vision of professional touch football. We are so close I can taste it!” Says the man clenching his fist hard as he stares off into the dark New York City skyline. “Just imagine people will soon pay us hand over fist to sit in uncomfortable chairs to watch a game on a jumbotron screen. All while shoveling over priced, cheap food in their dumb faces. And with the move towards a safer sport we don’t need to spend money on the genetic freaks. Instead, we pay them less and keep more money. We have already made ourselves private by letting our ‘non-profit’ status change. We will not be mere kings. WE WILL BE GODS!”

“I must say this is running far better than I could ever expect. However, do you think your public ‘fight’ (the man in the cowboy boots said with finger quotes) with the puppet earlier this year over proper equipment was a little too obvious? I mean the whole thing just screamed over the top.”

“It was a necessary diversion my friend. How else could we show separation between us and the puppet and garner trust with the pions in the field?”

“I have much to learn from you. Will we finally get an update from the Ohio branch soon?”

“Who? Him? HAHA. No, we will never hear from him. That poor man isn’t a part of this.” slapping the other man on the back joyfully “He’s been running that sad factory on his own this whole time.”

The two men join in a loud roaring laughter as lightning flashes outside the windows.