TALES FROM THE METEOR! Robbed of Greatness

Editor’s Note: here at DFO, many of us are not satisfied with the Super Bowl matchup. For some of us, this is because we hate both teams at a level that rivals Robert Kraft’s hatred of the Jupiter, Florida police department’s vice squad. For others, our seething hatred of one team is more than enough to overwhelm our relative indifference for the other, leading to a Super Bowl we simply have no interest in watching. As such, we’ve been fantasizing about scenarios that might take place that would prevent the game from being played at all. These are our stories.

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INT. WELL-APPOINTED HOME LIBRARY – DAY

A handsome black man – the NARRATOR – sits comfortably behind a large mahogany desk.  He is surrounded by bookshelves, each filled with large tomes that feature a year (“1988”) and the logo of a professional sports league.  Each book features the colors of whichever team won the championship in the listed year; for example, the 2008 NBA edition is colored Kelly green with white lettering. The NARRATOR scratches the side of his head idly, exhales impatiently, and rests the side of his head against his hand. 

Finally, an unevenly shaped, doorway-sized section of air in the room begins to shimmer.  It stretches, somehow, looking like it is inflating, and then disappears with a flash of light a new occupant steps into the room.

TAYLOR SWIFT: Oh.  Of course.  I should have expected something like this.

THE NARRATOR: [brightly] Ms. Swift!  An honor!

TAYLOR SWIFT: Wait…aren’t you…?

THE NARRATOR: Yes, yes, you probably recognize me as the character “He Who Remains” from Loki.

TAYLOR SWIFT: Ah, yes.  Tom has been bugging me to watch the show, but I’ll be honest I’ve been so busy that I’ve only seen a few episodes.  And only in passing.  Who are you, really?

THE NARRATOR: To those who are aware of my true form – and I’m delighted to welcome you to such august company – I’m known as The Narrator.

TAYLOR SWIFT: So…you’re an actor, then?

THE NARRATOR: I take the form of one, at times, to pay the bills.

TAYLOR SWIFT: You have bills?

THE NARRATOR: Yes, well, that human world of yours runs on money, and I’ve got to get some somehow. [taps desk] Nothing is free, and I suppose I could be described as having expensive tastes.  Would that I had as much control over the narrative of the stock market as I do over the world of sports. Which, of course, brings me to why I’ve requested a few moments of your time.  I do appreciate you accepting my invitation and stepping into my office, as it were.

TAYLOR SWIFT glances behind her, at where the portal had been before it vanished.

TAYLOR SWIFT: Well, what can I say – I find shimmering portals in my wardrobe to be irresistibly intriguing.  How did you know I wouldn’t send an assistant through first, though?

THE NARRATOR: Oh, she’d have been sent somewhere different – to a similar wardrobe on the other side of the room, incidentally.  To show you that it was safe.

TAYLOR SWIFT: My security team is going to be getting very nervous right about now.

THE NARRATOR: [waves dismissively] Oh, it’s no matter.  Time moves differently here, from their perspective you’ll have been gone no longer than a single second.  But to my point: recently I have found that my…control over events in the National Football League seems to be slipping.  As you can see…[gestures to his own purple outfit]…the narrative I have crafted seems to have been replaced [gestures to Taylor’s sweatshirt] by one of your design. I find this most distressing. Now Ms. Swift, this Narrative – one that spans many years, I might add – has been developed with the greatest care and consideration, and while it is possible for me to adapt based on events that fall beyond my sphere of influence, this was simply not meant to be Kansas City’s year. Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever levers you somehow have been pulling, I need you to stop.

TAYLOR SWIFT: [frowns] I’m not going to stop rooting for Travis’ team, if that’s what you’re getting at.

THE NARRATOR: [nonplussed] And to make matters worse, you’ve disrupted the delicate balance of alliances that serve our realm. Such as my arrangement with Shan’Khlor. How on earth did you persuade her to betray [grows angry] MY NARRATIVE?

The NARRATOR pauses for a moment to calm himself.

THE NARRATOR: Ms. Swift, I’m not your enemy.  Let’s not be enemies.  But I would very much like to understand why you have destroyed so much of what I was building this season.

TAYLOR SWIFT: [smiles sweetly at him] Mr. Narrator, you seem to think that I’m exerting conscious control over events in my world.  Or that I have some kind of preternatural understanding of yours.  Or that I am one of…whatever it is you are.  I am not.  I do not know this Shan’Khlor person, I have not persuaded them to do anything.  I am a simple human woman, with hopes and dreams and wishes.

THE NARRATOR: Wishes that seem to have been coming true, at the expense of my Narrative.

TAYLOR SWIFT: I suppose. This has been a wonderful time for me. I’ve enjoyed myself more than you’d believe.  And I’ve grown so very, very fond of Travis, much more so than we’re willing to share publicly.  I could certainly do far, far worse for a father of the children that I’d like to have someday.  Someday soon.  And I won’t deny that I’d like nothing more than to see Travis’ team win the Super Bowl…

THE NARRATOR: [begins monologuing] …as I said before, Ms. Swift, while I bear no personal animosity towards the Chiefs, the timing of such a win…

TAYLOR SWIFT: [interrupts firmly]…but I won’t.

THE NARRATOR: [stops short] I…I’m sorry?

TAYLOR SWIFT: I won’t see anyone win the Super Bowl.  No one will.  The Super Bowl isn’t going to happen.

THE NARRATOR: It isn’t? But…how?

TAYLOR SWIFT: There’s going to be an accident.

THE NARRATOR: An accident? What kind of accident?

TAYLOR SWIFT: A tragic one.

THE NARRATOR: [furrows brow] Of what nature?

TAYLOR SWIFT: [smiles demurely] Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.  But on Sunday it will become quite clear to you that this is not a narrative I would have “crafted” as you say, by choice.

THE NARRATOR: I don’t understand.

TAYLOR SWIFT: Something you should understand about me, Mr. Narrator, is that I am an artist.  I live for my music.  Longing, anguish, despair…all of these are what generates great art, what fuels songwriters like me. In a word: regret.  The sadness over what might have been, but never was.  The love that we had…the life that we could have had. Together. To have been robbed…of greatness.

The NARRATOR settles back at his desk.  He scratches his chin.

THE NARRATOR: That should make for quite an album.

TAYLOR SWIFT: It will.

THE NARRATOR: Does it have a name?

TAYLOR SWIFT: The current working title is “Lost Love”.

THE NARRATOR: [considers it]  I like it. And the cover art?

TAYLOR SWIFT: [a tear forms at the corner of her eye] An engagement ring, among ashes.

THE NARRATOR: Please allow me to offer my condolences in advance for your imminent loss. I cannot persuade you to take another course?

TAYLOR SWIFT: Believe me, if I had that power…

THE NARRATOR: And it has proven to beyond my own ability to change as well – believe me, I have tried. It looks like we’re all just along for the ride, I suppose that’s what it’s like to feel human. I’ll have to adapt to these events as best I can.

TAYLOR SWIFT: As will I.

THE NARRATOR:  I appreciate your time – I suppose you’ll be wanting to get back?

TAYLOR SWIFT: I would.

The NARRATOR waves his hand and the shimmering portal appears behind her.  TAYLOR SWIFT turns to leave, but pauses as the NARRATOR clears his throat. 

THE NARRATOR: One last thing, Ms. Swift.  This…accident.  It will happen shortly before the game is supposed to begin?

TAYLOR SWIFT: Moments before kickoff, yes.

THE NARRATOR: I see.  Well in that case…can you at least give me a tip on one of the pre-game prop bets?

[fin]