The Sports Investigator

 

"ABOARD THE MOTHER SHIP WITH SAM CASSELL"

 

 

A simple equation tells the whole story...

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There had always been whispers.  A joke here, a question there...and every once in a while, the outright guarantee, but there had always been whispers.

 

Well, my friends, I am here to tell you the whispers were true- and I have proof!  I had previously referred to my post-Fiesta Bowl interview with Jim Tressel as "the journalistic coup of my career", but now I am proud to say I was wrong. 

 

In this exclusive Sports Intellectual investigative report, I will break a story so shocking that even the most ardent conspiracy theorists will be floored.  Hold on to your seats, ladies and gentlemen.  SAM CASSELL IS AN ALIEN!!!

 

And here is how I found out: 

 

After the Clippers January 28th home game against the Denver Nuggets, I used my press pass in my usual fashion to get into the players corridor beneath the Staples Center.  But on this day, I bypassed the locker room entirely.  Once inside the tunnel, I tucked myself neatly behind a laundry cart in a doorway just around the corner from the players' secure parking area.  I lay in wait as they exited.  As usual, Sam Cassell was the last one to leave.

 

As he walked briskly from the building, I noticed him looking suspiciously over both shoulders.  Little did he know I was following, lurking in the shadows 20 feet behind.

 

Shortly after he stepped outside, he stopped dead in his tracks.  And what I saw next would change my life forever.  There, under the parking lot lights, it was clear as day.  Two antennae sprouted up from his head and vibrated back and forth.  He was receiving a transmission! 

 

The magnitude of the event nearly sent me into shock, but I soon came to realize that this was only the first of many surprises the evening would provide.

 

Anxious to get a closer look, I snuck out from around the corner and tiptoed up behind him.  When I got close, I saw where the transmission was coming from.

 

Silently and out of nowhere, a giant spaceship suddenly appeared overhead, looking every bit like the classic flying saucers I had seen in so many science fiction books and movies.

 

By this time, I was right behind Cassell- and well within the circumference of a blue beam of light that emanated from the hovering vessel.  Based on what I had already seen, it was no surprise when the blue light turned out to be a tractor beam that pulled us both into the ship's underbelly.

 

There I was, inside an alien spacecraft, complete with metallic silver floors and walls, and control panel after control panel, each with an intricate series of flashing lights.  Never had I felt less in control of my fate. 

 

I tried my best to assume a non-threatening posture as a group of Cassell's peers came out to meet us.  In the middle was the leader, who wore a purple robe and triangular crown.  He spoke.  Luckily, I was prepared, as any good investigative journalist should be.  I reached nonchalantly into my pocket and turned on my tape recorder. 

 

The following is a transcript of what was said:

 

"What is the meaning of this, Glabnorb?  Why have you brought an earthling aboard the mother ship?"

 

 "Greetings, mighty Flumzok.  This is not what it seems.  The earthling must have followed me and stepped within the perimeter of the tractor beam."

 

"How could you let this happen?  How many times have I told you to make sure you are alone?"

 

"You are correct, great Flumzok.  I am not worthy of your wisdom."

 

"Enough of that talk.  Guards!  Bind the Earthling.  I have important matters to discuss.  Glabnorb, what news have you about our enemies?"

 

"As you know, I have been studying the natives of this planet for nearly three zirgons, and I believe our suspicions to be true.  The Earthlings are intelligent and crafty, perhaps moreso than we had thought.  I believe them to be fully aware of our plan to attack, and in the process of amassing an army.  And what is even more devious is the fact that they hide their intentions from their own people."

 

"Most interesting, Glabnorb.  How can this be so?"

 

"They are using diversionary techniques to numb their citizens into a state of happy confusion.  Several organizations are working in conjunction with one another, each with a specific role.  Most of the distraction revolves around entertainment and sport.  For example, while the Earthling media floods its' citizens with images of the one they call Ron Artest, the plans for war proceed without detection.  I have managed to penetrate the evil organization at the center of the plot.  It is the group known as the NBA.  Hidden behind an entertaining facade, the true role of NBA players is to populate the planet, as they travel from city to city impregnating the local females.  I know this to be true because I see them when they are without clothing.  The constant mating activity often produces a crab nebula near their genitals.  When the army is large enough, I believe they will launch an attack on our beloved home planet of Meltrax"

 

"Great mooglesnargs!  This could mean the end of Meltraxian civilization as we know it.  You have done well, Glabnorb, but we must obtain more information!"

 

"Oh, powerful Flumzok, I beg you.  Do not make me go back!  Three zirgons is a long time for a reconnaissance mission.  I miss our three moons and the delightful smell of an atmosphere made entirely of methane gas.  Every time my teammates release bodily gas through their sphincters, it reminds me of home.  They think me strange because I go out of my way to inhale the emissions.  It is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal my true identity."  

 

"Nonsense!  You will continue the mission so that we may destroy them before they destroy us!"

 

"Exalted Flumzok, please listen. Ever since my days at Florida State, I have had to downplay my abilities.  I have never done anything special in my career, and have even joined the normally pathetic L.A. Clippers to remain anonymous, but do you have any idea how difficult it is to score only 16.26 points and commit 2.35 turnovers per game when I could easily win alone?   I can levitate and even vaporize my opponents, for Quamm's sake!  Now I know how Kal-El from our neighboring planet of Krypton must have felt.  And what's more, I can't shower with my teammates for fear of revealing my Meltraxian cluster of seven reproductive organs.  This is also odd to my teammates, as I am now in my thirteenth Earth year with the NBA."

 

"Hear me, Glabnorb.  Although you could easily play basketball for another Earth century, your career will soon have to end if you are to maintain your anonymity.  A few more Earth years is all we will require from you for the mission, so your retirement will be the perfect opportunity for you to return home.  I realize you miss the dung pits and phlegm geysers of Meltrax, but you have already lived for 337 Earth years.  A few more years is little sacrifice by comparison.   In the name of Quamm and all that is sacred, you MUST go back!  The fate of Meltrax depends on you!"

 

"I will not let you down, Flumzok.  But what of the Earthling?"

 

"Release him.  No one will believe him, anyway." 

 

And with that, I was beamed off the ship. 

 

As I walked away in silence, I should have been contemplating how long we have until the Meltraxian invasion of Earth, and who, if anyone, will be spared.  Instead all I could think about was what Sam Cassell's private parts must look like.

 

 

Copyright 2006, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"