POULTRY IN MOTION
by John Moe

Reaching out a helping hand

About two weeks ago, I sent out to word to you, dear Pandemonium readers, that I was booking passengers on my rocket to the stars. I realized that after declaring myself eligible for the NBA draft, I was going to need some followers. Not just run-of-the-mill pals and secretaries to conduct my business affairs, either. Nuh-uh. I needed a full-fledged, all-out, full strength, high caliber, rock 'em sock 'em posse. It needed to be double live gonzo, it had to be live at Budokan. I wanted an entourage of only the finest suck-ups, gadflies, and hangers-on in the business. It was my intention to rescue the talented men and women who've been toiling away in unappreciated obscurity, having to settle for being fanatically devoted to CBA players, stars of the Turkish league, or Alonzo Mourning. This elite corps would follow me through my rookie year in the NBA and pal around with me pretending to be my friends all the while accepting large cash payments from me and laughing at my jokes. Shallow? Yes. Disturbing? Certainly. But if I'm going to do this NBA thing, I have to go all the way.

So I posted in the last column a call for applications to join me. And then I sat back and waited for the e-mails to flow in. And they flowed. Oh my yes, how they did flow. The response was not overwhelming. Nor was it underwhelming. Yes, I can safely say that the response was whelming.

Then the selection process began. Locking myself in an area I like to call Draft Central (which my wife still refers to as "Your little computer room") I pored over the applications. I sized up my options. I screened and scrutinized. Who, I asked myself, who would be fit to join the JMP (that stands for John Moe Posse, a name that narrowly beat out SAESG or Self-Absorbed Egomaniac Support Group). Finally I had my list. And today I am ready to announce the winners. While it's true the names I will soon list just happen to be the same names as the only people who actually sent in e-mails, I am extremely proud of their selection nonetheless. The new members of the JMP have exactly what I am looking for: tenacity, grit, determination, savoir faire, je ne sais quoi, gumption, vim, vigor, vitality, flamboyancy, regular buoyancy, and most importantly of all, an ability to send an e-mail. That's the wave of the future, you know: the e-mails, the Virtual Reality, the Atari. That's what's going on in the world. I don't want my posse going off the rails on the Information Crazy Train.

So without further ado, the new members of the JMP:

* Duffy Brook - a scrappy rabble-rouser out of the Bay Area.

* Jess Weinstein - a rabble-rousing scrapper from Portland..

* Scott "Bison" Reed - a rousing scrap rabbler from North Seattle.

* Tom Smith - a scrap-rabbling rouser from parts unknown.

And finally,

* Some Girl From North Carolina - who was under the impression, I think, that I was former mediocre NBA coach Doug Moe and who asked if I knew where she should go to grad school to learn about basketball. Yeah, I know a place, Some Girl From North Carolina, it's called the University of John Moe Posse! It'll give you more of an education than any book learnin' ever will. You'll major in punching out drunks and minor in reserving a big table at Denny's.

So, there they are. What a crew. Clearly with a posse such as this one, rabble will be roused and scraps will be available. To paraphrase Sir Mix-a-Lot, when my posse is on Broadway, it will be, in fact, time to get ill.

Sad as it is to admit, however, the JMP does have one glaring weakness. You see, nobody in the posse stands above six feet tall. Sure we got quickness, fast feet, fast hands.

Should we beset by slow-moving dirigible-like fat guys hassling us, no problem. Duffy sets the pick and Bison powers us through. Oafish autograph hounds? Easy, one pump fake by Tom and some pressure D from Jess and we're out the door. Hassle by some sick child who's only wish in life is to be near his idol, me? We can match him up against Some Girl From North Carolina. She'll know what to do. But what if we run into real trouble? Say somebody big? A group of able-bodied adults, a throng of grown-ups standing ahead of me in line at the DMV? What then? Though I love my diminutive crew, I am going to need a bigger body and a heapin' helpin' of attitude. What is the one thing that caused the downfall of the 1998 Sonics, the Roman Empire, and SubPop? Yep. Lack of an Enforcer. A bruiser coming off the bench who's not afraid to mix it up and throw a well placed elbow when the occasion calls for it. I have somebody in mind. I know just the Enforcer to get.

I am going to offer a role in the John Moe Posse to Latrell Sprewell.

I know what you're thinking. He's trouble. He can't take coaching. He's got a short fuse. You may even point out that rather than fawn over me, he would be more likely to wrap his hands around my neck and try to choke me to death. Fair enough. You may be right. But I think that living-on-the-edge mentality may be just what we need to make this posse potent and credible. When you have belligerent, angry, Latrell lurking nearby, perhaps corn-rowing his hair or preparing some legal briefs, people are going to think twice about messing with you. Particularly people with necks.

And look at it from the point of view of Latrell, or as I hope to call him, L-Dog (I hope that he will then start calling me John Moe Dog). L-Dog has been out of the league for a while now. Things have been a little bumpy for him. He needs to prove he can be a cohesive part of a team. he's been called a lot of things from "selfish" to "nasty" to "homicidal". If he wants to return to the league, he's going to have to prove himself all over again. Just like his new boss, me. Sure, he could probably hook up with a team like Dallas or Toronto or maybe even an NBA team. But to return so soon into the rough and tumble world of basketball might be hazardous. He could fall back into the same violent self-absorbed, self-abusing pattern that lead to all that trouble in the first place. Perhaps instead of being self-absorbed, he could be absorbed by me. As an alternative to self-abuse, he could abuse people I select for him. When you think about it my way, it makes so much more sense. Plus, by travelling as part of my posse, he could pick up some valuable basketball tips from me. Other coaches have failed with L-Dog, but it will be different this time. I'll make him love me.

Look, I'm no fool. I know that signing Latrell would be a very controversial move. But I'm prepared for the consequences. If it means being interviewed by news media the world over, thereby advancing my tenuous position in the draft, so be it. That's the chance I have to take. But to me, it will all be worth it the first time I see an enraged L-Dog in his pretty little cornrowed hair choking the life out of somebody who got in the express lane at the supermarket with too many items.

"Is this all right, John Moe Dog?" he will ask me.

Yes, L-Dog. You're doing just fine.

The Poultry In Motion Archives

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