On LeBron James

I have absolutely nothing to add to this discussion that has not already been said. But I think this just speaks to the fascination of this story: every single sports outlet has covered this to such an extent that every conceivable facet has basically been mentioned. From owner Dan Gilbert’s flight to Miami investigated by Internet sleuths to LeBron’s hairline (or lack thereof), everyone--not just NBA fans or even sports fans--has a bizarre interest in this story. So, while I have nothing new to say, I just think it bears reminding just how big this saga has been. In a sports world dominated by unbelievable happenings, I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility to call this the biggest sports story of the decade.

Everyone already knows the facts. Arguably the best active player in professional basketball follows the trail of money to South Beach, Florida, leaving his home city of Cleveland behind. In a heinous series of decisions that came across as tremendously arrogant, James went from being well-liked to a character of pure villainy to Ohio and most of the surrounding region. When things got tired in Florida, he picked up and announced he was returning home four years later, and sentiments of vitriol turned immediately to bliss. As highly reductive as possible, that is basically what happened. But like I said, you do not have to follow basketball at all to have been aware of this.

When it was becoming more and more apparent that LeBron was returning to Cleveland, my friend and I discussed the moves over breakfast. We tried to come up with some accurate analogy to describe the events, and it is honestly impossible without delving into the world of fiction. Comparing this to another situation in sports simply cannot be done. My friend offered the suggestion of Brett Favre. A face of the organization (check) leaving a city who adored him (check) to play for a rival team after a series of terrible choices (check). This is a good example, but it does not come close to the scale of James. For the state of Wisconsin, it’s easy to forgive Favre when you inherit a top-tier replacement quarterback in Aaron Rodgers and win a Super Bowl three seasons after Favre’s departure. When LeBron left, he took with him all hope from the Cavaliers organization.

Another viable comparison is Albert Pujols leaving the St. Louis Cardinals to join the Los Angeles Angels. Another similar story, franchise player and one of the best hitters in the league sees more money available in another town and leaves a successful team behind to a general sense of resentment. But like the Packers, did not stay down for long, replacing Pujols with Carlos Beltran and returning to the postseason the following year and the World Series the year after that. By no means were the Cardinals left in disaster. After five straight seasons in the playoffs, the hapless Cleveland Cavaliers managed a .311 win percentage without James.

The disaster in Cleveland was not limited to just basketball; the city was nearly riotous. Gone was the probability that Cleveland would receive a major sports championship since 1964. James jerseys were infamously burned. Dan Gilbert made some extremely regrettable comments, which childishly claimed that Cleveland would be more successful in LeBron’s absence. Even if someone in Ohio in 2011 did not follow basketball, they certainly felt the effects.

As much damage as he did in leaving the city, coming back had the exact opposite effect. When James finally did announce his return, the response was incredible. All of the media coverage was so positive--his apologetic letter and patching up with Gilbert--that it looked like he did everything right. I predicted it would not take long for Cavs fans to forgive and forget, but it happened much quicker than anyone expected. The joy in the city was palpable in every video shown of people cheering and crying and hugging in the streets. Watching season tickets sales sell out immediately. Even the “Wine and Gold” scrimmage attracted 17,000 screaming visitors, after four years of the arena barely filling 80% capacity. LeBron means so much more to this region than just basketball.

As the 2014-2015 NBA season is dawning later this month, many people say that LeBron is the only story they really care about this year. The sense of goodwill towards the man, the team, and the city is totally overwhelming. Even as an outsider, I find myself rooting for Cleveland sports, as long as they are not across Lake Erie in Detroit. The fact that LeBron did not shock the world and opt to play for the Pistons notwithstanding, I could not be more pleased with his return to the Cavaliers. With one move, he undid a lot of the mess he caused. Along with everyone else, I will eagerly watch him play what will probably be his final years in Cleveland. Let a new era of the King begin.

The Ideal Smash Mouth Setlist

When I was 10, the biggest band in the world (or at least my life) was Smash Mouth. I, like so many other ten-year-olds, saw Shrek, and judging from the ultra-catchy singles (“I’m A Believer” and the ubiquitous “All Star”) Smash Mouth was the coolest band ever. I was stunned to find that “I’m A Believer” was a cover and immediately disregarded the original, without even listening to it. I went out to buy Astro Lounge and when I found it sold out, picked up their self-titled third album instead¹, which inevitably became my 2001 album of the year. Promptly, I did my music report in 5th grade band class on Smash Mouth. It was established: Smash Mouth would be my favorite band forever.

Fast forward ten years. I went to college, probably having not listened to Smash Mouth since junior high. I thought those days were over. Then, I accidentally hear them again. It was probably All Star; like I said, that song is everywhere. This led to me listening to [then all existing] five of their albums in a row, a conversation with a friend, and a misguided Myspace message to the guitarist. I began to feel badly because no one was taking Smash Mouth seriously anymore. It sparked something in me that was tongue-in-cheek at first and then something I had to do. I had to create an ultimate live setlist, a perfect night with the band.

I set about putting together songs in the optimum order. Believe me: this is not the first iteration of this listing. I have rearranged this several times until I was happy with it². Every song has been carefully considered and has a reason for being there. I included the right mix of hits and deep cuts--as well as some fan service to me with some of my favorites. Think of this as a reunion tour set, two hours of the best of Smash Mouth. My goal was for this to be played at a party and really get people thinking. I’m not sure that ever happened, but all the same, I am nothing but proud of the final product.

Let me set the figurative stage, as it were: we are in an eclectic outdoor venue just outside of San Jose. The ocean is only a block away. Rain has been threatening all day, but the skies have cleared in the last few hours. There is a gorgeous sun setting red over the beach. There is no opening act; it’s all about Smash Mouth this evening. The lineup is the four original members. Steve Harwell is singing. The late Kevin Coleman (RIP) is on drums. Paul De Lisle has the bass. Greg Camp is playing guitar. I imagine some great Fush Yu Mang-era banter from the band. The band is supposed to take the stage at 9:00, but it’s now about quarter after. Just when the tension could be no higher, a dull roar rises from the front of the crowd. Steve walks on-stage to thunderous applause and wipes a few tears from his eyes. The rest of the band fills in behind him. This is it, the moment thousands of people have been waiting for. The band is in place; fans are going crazy; and they launch into:

“Holiday in My Head” I’m a big fan of bands opening with tracks that are also opening album tracks. And this one establishes what everyone already knows. Smash Mouth is the biggest summer band of the decade. Everyone is smiling. The band is having fun, and the audience is, of course, responding.

“Everyday Superhero” Within ten minutes, everyone in the audience knows this will be a fun show. By the time the chorus hits, everyone is fist pumping to the sky in pure excitement.

“Hang On” This flows directly from the last song, continuing the good feelings. Although it is from a lesser-known album, people still groove to the music.

“The In Set” As Steve banters a bit with the crowd and the rest of the band, stagehands drag out an elaborate mixing station. This is followed shortly by a sound technician wearing a black T-shirt and a backwards ballcap. Adjusting levels and turning knobs, the pre-recorded intro fuzzes into the venue. The band takes off on this little known number from their self-titled. Fans dance wildly, and there is an extra loud cheer at the words, “It’s no secret this is our big show!”

“Magic” As the chants continue, rapper, J. Dash walks on stage with a second microphone. Some fans are knowingly aware of what’s coming. To promote their newest album, Smash heads into the first and only single. More recent fans for whom Magic is influential gold, sing along to every word, even Dash’s rap.

“So Insane” Here it is only five songs into the set and a group of fans have formed a mosh pit near the front of the stage. It’s about par for the course with this song. Steve knows it, and much to the chagrin of security, encourages a fan on stage, typifying the art of being “so insane.”

“Then the Morning Comes” Possibly the group’s next-most famous song. One that everyone can surely sing along with. And they do. Blue lights dance across the screens at the back of the stage.

“Diggin’ Your Scene” Smash closes out this mini, two-song Astro Lounge jaunt with what is probably the best song on the album. As opposed to the previous song, this is clearly for the fans who have been with them since the beginning. The dirty guitars and explosive drums have everyone jumping. Some people are puzzling through the enigmatic, yet existential “Tell me why we’re all gluttons for pain.”

“Sister Psychic” (I’ll admit that this song is fan service for me. But do listen to it.) Some of the older fans can’t believe it. What a weird addition to an already great setlist. While it weeds out some of the bandwagon fans, everyone respects the song.

“You Are My Number One” Even though Get the Picture? is Smash Mouth’s sixth best album, they still need to play a few songs from the album for the sake of inclusion. But as good as the show has been so far, fans are more than willing to put up with it. And honestly, a mediocre Smash Mouth song is never really bad.

“Walkin’ on the Sun” The opening bars of this song elicit the biggest cheer as of yet. They have waited ten songs to play something from their first album. And what a number it is. One of the biggest hits of their career, they show off a bit, taking some wild, but effective departures from the studio version. This includes some banter and a lot of clapping, all over the emblematic bass line.

“Story of My Life” Still marketing the unfortunately under-published and underrated album, Summer Girl, the band works through this lead single. People respect the song, of course, but it is situated between two staples, to say the least. The reaction is middling compared to the preceding and proceeding numbers.

“All Star” Their most famous song off their most quintessential album. Some fans who thought they would never see it live are crying, and everyone--everyone--is singing along with every word.

“Stoned” By this point, the edgier fans remembering their hardcore days are thrilled. A deep cut from Astro Lounge, the stage is bathed in a purple glow and the venue is instantly a bit more relaxed.

“Pacific Coast Party” Once again, the band re-engages the party mode after the last laidback few minutes. People eat it up.

“Hot” Maybe you remember this fittingly-titled song from a Hot Wheels commercial? Either way, fans seem to love it. It appears another mosh pit has developed just off the right side of the stage.

“Can’t Get Enough of You Baby” This cover exemplifies the sultry side of Smash Mouth. Too cool to be sleazy, the band looks on as thousands of young women swoon under their appeal. In fact, this is probably wherein lies the bridge between Smash Mouth and the Beach Boys. Listen close around 1:30, if you don’t believe me.

“The Fonz” If you haven’t heard this song, seriously go listen to it. It rocks pretty hard. And the rest of the crowd knows it.

“Come On, Come On” Quite the dance-y hit. Everywhere you look, folks are air-drumming and yelling and jumping. Truly “another day in the sun / I’m having fun.”

“She Turns Me On” It’s clear now that Smash is just unleashing a frenzy of rocking songs, clearly gearing up these last half dozen for the finale. Nothing but thousands of people jumping and waving fists during this song.

“Flippin’ Out” J. Dash emerges for one more song. Taking center stage, just next to Steve, Dash spits a blistering rap. Younger fans love it, while old fans see the new age of Smash Mouth and nod appreciatively.

“I Just Wanna See” A song about youth. Fans who have been around since Astro Lounge light up and sing along, still remembering every word to the chorus. As the song ends, Kevin and Paul politely stand and wave to the crowd, who is riled up from this rendition. They exit to the left of the stage, and the lights dim to a soft red. Spotlights focus in on two stools that stagehands have swiftly brought out. Steve and Greg settle into the stools.

“Right Side, Wrong Bed” This is the best song Greg Camp has ever written, and subsequently, the reason I tried to send him a message on Myspace. For this version, it’s just Steve and Greg on stage. Greg has a neat acoustic guitar, and he looks reverently at Steve, who croons the words. The song fades out, and both men rise and wave, tears in their eyes. The applause is deafening. They walk off stage to chants: “Steve! Steve! Steve! Greg! Greg! Greg!” The lights dim completely.

Encore

“Why Can’t We Be Friends” After four full minutes, lights slowly fade up again. Cheers mount to a dull roar. The band re-takes their positions. Words cannot describe the emotions during the pseudo-ska intro. Quickly, they whirl into the fast-paced song about peace and love. The audience could not be happier.

“I’m A Believer” I know what you are thinking--another cover?! That’s right, but these are the two covers that they are most known for, and they get the already exhausted crowd dancing and singing along.

“Road Man” Everywhere, fans in the crowd are turning and looking at each other. They can’t believe it! A classic call-and-response, guaranteed to send people home happy. The crowd joins arms and begins to sway together as one. The band takes advantage of this song and jams for ten minutes, showcasing their respective talents. Some people hold back tears, but most are just overcome with joy. As the lights come back up, fans storm out to the parking lot, all abuzz, talking about the display they have just seen. As cars start to drive out, you point out a true fan, windows down, blaring The East Bay Sessions. You make eye contact with this person and nod knowingly, to which he smiles and nods back. What a magical night.

*     *     *

Of course, this evening exists only in my imagination. But, doesn’t it just sound like a dream come true?

Now, almost fifteen years later, my musical tastes have shifted slightly. I would say my tastes are now much broader. I mean, Smash Mouth still channel that “summer fun” spirit of the early Beach Boys³. Alas, they did not remain my favorite band all these years later. And that’s okay. Obviously, I’d be more concerned if my tastes didn’t change from when I was ten. But I still listen to Smash Mouth once in a while, if only to remember my childhood⁴.

Some people obsess over their favorite bands and create new tracklistings of albums or unreleased tracks, claiming that listening to them in a different order is integral to understanding. I think that’s great. That’s essentially what I did with this setlist, which I have worked and reworked a couple times now. I suggest putting these songs in this order on your iTunes and listening through (only pausing for the encore, of course). You will find they are special. It really kicks a weekend off well. Maybe one day I’ll sit down and add some fake crowd sounds to my setlist. But probably not because that would sound like garbage.

And to the band: thanks, guys, and keep the summer party alive.

---

1 I found Astro Lounge soon after. The trouble was finding Fush Yu Mang. Because of that pesky parental advisory sticker, I had to get it from a seedy pawnshop when I was 14.^↩
2 It was also updated at the release of the newest album, which came out when this was still a work in progress.^↩
3 In fact, why did they cover the Monkees and not the Beach Boys? I have a theory that Smash Mouth was right with the Beach Boys until 1967. Pet Sounds was the jumping off point for them; after that, they were just too experimental.^↩
4 Can you believe the band is over twenty years old now? They seem to never age.^↩

Challenging the Game

The game of baseball has changed. This cannot be more obvious or overstated. Now it seems that, for every other player, the third baseman is playing behind second base¹. Batters are fundamentally changing their swings; pitchers altering their windups. Some of these changes are purely situational as players adapt to the countless hours of film they have watched in preparation for the game. These changes are teams improving themselves, employing miniscule touches to gain advantages. Science creeps ever further into the sport. The most drastic change, however, is not about using strategy to better play the game. Instead, it is an attempt to manipulate plays that have just occurred. By far, the most blatant change is actually a brand new rule: the addition of the instant replay.

If you don’t follow baseball closely or just don’t fully understand the new rule (like me), here is a brief overview. It is a bit hard to follow. Like in football, each manager can use one challenge per game and earn another if the first is successful. These challenges can be used on a variety of plays. The types of plays are primarily (nearly 75%) close plays on the basepaths--whether or not a runner beat a throw or slid under a tag. After the seventh inning, managers lose their ability to challenge, and umpires decide if a play is able to be reviewed. Reviewable plays are watched by an official team of umpires in New York, in a situation probably not unlike NASA headquarters in Apollo 13. A call is then confirmed or, following “indisputable evidence,” overturned.

At the All-Star break, there had been 723 challenges, 599 of which were called by teams, the other 124 brought about by umpires. Of these seven hundred challenges, an astounding 48% were overturned. But I think the more important question--and the one that is harder to answer--how many of these challenges directly affected the outcome of the game?

Certainly, there are some plays that need to be reviewed. Major League Baseball has considered this; home runs are automatically inspected. But I have seen plays in the first inning, where a runner is thrown out trying to potentially steal second base. A year ago, would a manager consider taking the field to yell about such a call and prolong the inning? Probably not. I completely understand the logic that ‘every out counts in a baseball game’ and that runs can be scored with two outs, just as easily as they can be scored with none. But at what point does it seem overzealous to challenge a call so early in the game?

In an age when baseball seems to be slipping in popularity compared to other major sports, a constant complaint is that the game takes too long. Of the major sports, it is the only one that does not have a clock. Games probably average around three hours. But sometimes they finish 45 minutes early or hang on an hour late. People posit all kinds of fixes ranging from ridiculous to weird (two outs instead of three, seven innings instead of nine, etc.) All of these changes would definitely shorten playtime but at the cost of sacrificing integral parts of the game. But instead of making an effort to quicken the game, instant replay adds valuable time where, to an observer’s point of view, nothing is really happening. 

Originally intended to be 60-90 seconds long, some replays last as long as four minutes. Meanwhile, announcers have to invent new remarks to make about the same play they have already watched several times without commenting on the obviously long wait time. Unless the play decides a run scored, fans quickly lose interest after seeing the play themselves a few times. Not to mention the toll it takes on the players, notably the pitcher. After being constantly involved in the game, players are suddenly taken out of the moment. After particularly inane breaks, pitchers are allowed to continue throwing to keep themselves warm. Causing such a delay almost seems like an elaborate form of ‘icing the kicker.’

Furthermore, at the risk of sounding like a baseball purist, the instant replay takes away from the authority of the umpires. Before video evidence, umpires were the ultimate deciders of the outcome, for better or for worse. Managers could leave the comforts of their dugouts to get in the face of an umpire after a controversial call (an event which hardly ever takes place anymore), but by doing so, they’d be stepping out of their realm and into that of the umpire. I would love to see how former Braves manager and recent Hall-of-Fame inductee, Bobby Cox would behave under these new rules². Now, the higher powers in New York watching every tape have the superiority. Every time a call is overturned, it highlights the imperfections of close judgement calls, imperfections which were always a classic part of the game. Sure, calls were missed from time to time. But these calls went in both directions. In a sport with, arguably, the most number of statistics determined by close plays, it was comforting that the umpires were right there, getting most calls correct. Now we have to rely on precise, but faceless analysts in New York.

I’m sure baseball could use some modernization. And I’m sure instant replay is a step in the right direction. I just don’t think this move is totally right. Perhaps the situation could be remedied to specifying when a manager could use their right (for instance, if a play directly results in a run). The instant replay is just too noticeable of a break that jars the pace of the game to a halt. It’s disrupting for the announcers, the players, and the fans. I hope someone who knows how to fix it agrees.

---

1 Relatively new in baseball, or at least more common, is shifting the infield on a batter. It involves making one side of the infield vulnerable by putting most of the fielders on the other side. Formerly done by certain teams only to the most prominent hitters who pulled the ball nearly every time to the right or left side, now just about every team seems to use this strategy. It all comes down to watching video and looking at statistics. I find this to be a fascinating and positive change for baseball.^↩
2 Cox holds the record for most ejections from a game. With the new rules, this will probably be his record forever.^↩

What Am I Doing Here?

Now that I’ve been haphazardly posting for a few months, I should take the time to mention why I’m doing what I’m doing. I realized in the last few years that I really enjoyed writing, but writing for class was not the most engaging way to expand your thoughts. In course papers, you are always more pigeonholed than you think. So, for awhile I had been wanting to write more about things that interested me, and I figured maybe some of these things would interest other people. I got to thinking about subjects and thought that they might be fun to put into words.

Growing up, I developed some specific reading tastes. I was obsessed with Hunter S. Thompson, and read through nearly all of his works. Chuck Klosterman was hugely popular in my area, and he became an interest. Like many people, I turned first to the last page in Sports Illustrated to read Rick Reilly before I read the rest of the magazine. Elements of all of these writers are blatantly obvious in my writing. And I hope for that to be somewhat of an homage.

I spend a lot of time on the Internet. As I jump around from Grantland to Stereogum to IGN to ESPN’s Page Two, I realized that with all of the creative work I was reading and viewing, I would love to give some back. Trust me, this is far less noble than I just made it sound. I only felt that I could do something similar just to add it to the mix. The more I read, the more creative thoughts I came up, and the Internet is an easy place to display creativity. I realize this sounds conceited, but listen: I definitely did not say any of my writing was good. Hopefully the writing will get better over time. For now, I am only writing for fun and sharing what I come up with in case anyone else finds it interesting.

When casting around for a title for this blog, I realized that I really did not have a core theme to these writings. After explaining this to a friend, she said it made some sense. These writings are merely passions of mine that I wanted to share with anyone who was interested. That’s how I came up with the title: a general collection of diverse interests. And that is what I will continue to do. I am no expert in any one thing. In fact, you might know more about these subjects than me. But there are a few subjects I care about: music, literature, games, sports. When something interests me, I’ll try to put it into words. It’s just more fun that way.

So what to expect from me if you follow my writings? My goal is to put something new out every month or so. Reviews are easy; hypotheticals are fun. I’ll probably do a bit of both. If my current subject does not interest you, I’m sorry. The next one will probably be different. If you enjoyed one piece of writing, then I could not be more thrilled! I’m just looking to share some ideas. I can only hope they are as much fun to read as they are to write. Thanks.

Truck No. 722626

OCTOBER 1980… The clock struck 9:30, and the alarm began to buzz. Mann leaned over to grab a cigarette, pausing to shut off the alarm on the way back. Exhausted, he rubbed his eyes before sitting up. Another night, he thought grimly.

Patrick Mann stepped across his meager, but comfortable apartment to the bay window and raised the blinds. Not much seemed to be happening. The sun had just set over the monstrous skyscrapers of Midweigh, leaving the sky in a dark blue haze. The lights of the buildings made the city seem even more expansive. It always looked less intimidating from this level, forty stories above, looking down into the dark streets below. It still looked like a maze, to be sure, but it was much more terrifying turning each corner and not knowing what to expect. He thought of the thousands of other people looking down on the city, at the same time. They just do not know how hard it is, he told himself. But Mann knew what to expect when he left for work every night. He had a job to do, and he did it well. He’d lived in the city his entire life, after all.

He stepped out onto the street and headed towards the garbage plant, opening and subsequently consuming a greasy breakfast burrito along the way. Four months on the job had adjusted his daily habits, and he had gotten used to taking his meals at different times. But still he missed his other routines that were interrupted by taking this job of driving the night garbage truck. It’s only temporary--as he lit a second cigarette, his mind flashed back to the conversation with his younger sister the previous week. 

“But what if it’s not, Pat? You’re twenty-five years old. What kind of life is driving a garbage truck at night?” his sister, Pam, begged. It seemed every time the two of them shared a meal lately, the subject inevitably turned to his working life. Tonight they were sitting in Pam’s kitchen. Pam was showing off some of her prints from her sophomore art school class when the topic turned to work.

“I’ll make it work. This is only temporary until I can find something better,” Patrick replied. “Besides, it’s not actually that bad. If you make a game out of it, it can be fun.”

“Oh, how can you say that?” Pam cried. “Do you know how you sound? You sound like you’re stuck in a rut, and now you’re making excuses for it.”

Patrick thought for a moment. “Don’t worry about me, Miss. I’ll be okay.”

As these words faded from his mind, Mann looked up to realize he was at the plant.

* * *

“722626, again?” muttered the foreman at the plant, as Mann stepped up in line. Mann nodded. He did not know why, but he had grown attached to the garbage truck. Others complained that it did not handle well, that it was slow to turn, but he found it a comfort. “Problem with the user,” he would always say to those who questioned his choice.

His job was actually incredibly simple. As much as he did not want to admit it to Pam, he had actually begun to enjoy it. Not that he could see himself doing it for a long time, but now it seemed like a bit of a pastime. Every employee took responsibility for one area of blocks. Shifts rotated in three eight-hour cycles. There was no time built in for a meal, but he was allowed to bring snacks in the truck for a boost of energy. In an effort to offset his quick and unhealthy meals, he typically brought fruit such as cherries, oranges, or apples. Starting from the plant, he wound the streets of his district picking up trash as he went along.

The amount of trash in the city was truly remarkable. It always stunned him that with all the technological advancements of the day, they could not find a better way to dispose of garbage. Nearly every corner he turned, every few steps, there was another pile of junk. The most baffling part was that he never actually seemed to finish his district. Just when he thought he had gotten every bit of it, he would find more. If he drove long enough, he even found trash in places he knew he had already picked up. Mann did not have a personal route that he took every time; instead, he took inefficient paths down side streets. It did not matter as long as he stayed in his district. And, as long as he was picking up trash. That was the important thing.

Throughout his life, he had truly begun to appreciate the intricacies of the Midweigh streets. They were always winding, with few entrances or exits. But Mann had learned some shortcuts, sometimes even by accident. One night, he took a left turn that he had not taken before. It led to a tunnel that was nearly invisible. As he later found out, it was even difficult to spot from the vantage point of his apartment. Following the tunnel, he emerged in an area completely different from where he started. Or so he thought. He had never really bothered to find out exactly where it went.

The only true danger to his job were the bandits. An eerie, roving troupe, they seemed to glow a faint, pale blue in the dim street lights. “Ghosts,” he and the other drivers called them. He knew there could never actually be more than a half dozen at a time, but they appeared around any corner without the slightest forewarning. Different gangs of them patrolled the different blocks like turfs. They moved somewhat unpredictably:  sometimes he would encounter an individual rogue, other times they would stack up in a group. Worse yet, there was really no defense against them. If one approached, drivers were forced to turn their truck around immediately and continue on a different route.

Drivers were not caught often, but still there were horrific accidents. If a driver got too careless in his work, he could easily find himself trapped by three or four of the bandits in a dark corner. When this happened, hope was lost. Supposedly, the bandits suppress a stranded driver, raid the truck for everything of worth, and finally inject the driver with a unknown venom. Even if a cure was discovered, the alleyways in which the bandits attack are so desperately bare that no one could be saved in time. Postmortem analysis indicates that death occurs in a matter of minutes. When a driver failed to report back at the end of his shift, it was the duty of the next shift to locate the body and notify management. They were a vicious, godless group.

* * *

Mann sipped softly on his second cup of black coffee and smoked another cigarette. He was almost six hours through his shift and taking a small, but well-deserved break. He had had a good night, making several tours of his block. He had picked up a lot of garbage, on pace to have his best night yet. As an added incentive to keep them working, his pay was based in part on his results. He found that turning it into a game, competing against himself, made the night hours pass easier.

He finished his cup of coffee, throwing it into the back of his truck. As he did so, a rat leaped out of the nearest dumpster and hit the ground. He drew in his breath sharply. In this neighborhood, the slightest sound was enough to cause a spark of fear. Seeing it was only a rat, he laughed softly and got into his truck.

Starting up, he continued down the street, ready for his seventh pass through the streets. As he expected, trash was left in neat little piles equidistant apart on the side of the street. How can these people go through this much garbage? he thought. It truly was disgusting. 

Finishing the block he made a sharp right, taking a route that he knew had no exits. One could only go straight through--or turn around. It was better to get these areas clear when the night was quiet. If anything caught him back here, he could get into trouble in a hurry. He was proficient enough to turn around on a dime, assuming the robbers had not followed from behind. He made the full turn around the corner. Nothing there; he’d made it. He made a left onto the longest straightaway in his department.

Mann peered through his dirty windshield down the long, orange-lit street, half-expecting some action. It was not uncommon for him to see the thieves a few times a night, but tonight, they seemed less active. He had seen one near the beginning of his shift and what looked like a pair moving towards him later, flickering through the dim streets. A simple turn and they were not seen again. Still, it had been a fairly dull night.

As he looked, sure enough, he could distinguish a bluish shape scuttling towards him. Feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety, he eased into the next alley. Instantly, he spotted another bandit, distinctly orange, much closer. Mann swore loudly. Just like that, his heretofore quiet night had become a trial. 

Performing a finely-executed reversal, he returned to the straightaway, sneaking a quick glance at the oncoming thief. It was closer, much closer than he had expected. Further down the street, he saw in his rearview mirror, the two of them joining together in their approach. Not a problem, he thought, in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Just stay ahead of them. Don’t let them get me into a one-way street. Looking at his gas gauge, he evaluated that he had enough to get back to the plant for the night. He had never experienced two of the creatures this determined to get to him. Better to just head back to the plant, take his losses, and go home early. His supervisors would understand completely.

That’s when he heard the hiss and felt his truck grind to a halt.

What the hell?! he thought frantically. He took a mental calculation of his truck, his trusty truck, knowing that nothing should be out of date. Depressing the pedal, the engine revved, but the axle made a horrible wrenching sound. He had no choice but to exit the vehicle.

He took a quick inventory of what he saw. The bastards had put a hole in the rear left tire, rendering it unusable. Unbelievable! They had been known to carry guns for some time now, but he had never heard of them actually using them. No drivers had ever been found with gunshot wounds; the only known video recording of a mugging showed them using guns to threaten. Any time a gunshot was even heard, news reports had never linked the bandits to the event. At any rate, he had to move now. 

Choosing to stay inside the truck would be suicidal. Any truck that had been attacked in the past probably lasted all of twenty minutes, from the looks of their wrecked returns. No, he had only one choice: flee. He dashed away from his truck, previously his only protection against these things. Now he really had to use his wits to make it back to the plant. He crouched behind a pile of trash twenty meters away to take in his surroundings. Fortunately, he was not completely lost and could find his way back, although his preferred route home was currently blocked by two menaces.

He looked back, saving one last hope that they would stop at his truck only and disperse when they were through. It was a longshot, but a possibility. He had no idea how these things reacted when a driver was not in the truck. For all he knew, it had never happened before. He was in totally new territory.

They slowed as they approached the truck. Flitting about, one ransacked the back of the truck while the other checked the cab. At once, they both stopped. So it was true, they were not going to stop at the truck if he was not in it. Turning towards his direction, the one that he had taken for blue made a horrendous shriek, the likes of which he had never heard. Probably, no one had ever heard. No one still living, at least. Mann’s blood chilled.

He sprinted away from the pile as fast as he possibly could. He knew now that he could not stop running. Surely the two were following him. Risking one more look, he could see they were even closer. Whether it was his sleep-dulled perception or agitated imagination, Mann swore they were moving quicker. He’d heard rumors that they moved quicker later in the night. Hadn’t he? No, he could not afford to spook himself now. Not at a time like this.

He turned the corner and saw another bandit, this one with a reddish hue, coming at him down the straightaway. Darting into a side street, he took a quick evaluation of his surroundings. There were two following from one direction with a third joining pursuit. It took a second glance at the nearest sign to realize where he was: the mysterious tunnel he had discovered a few months back. Although, he had taken it before, he could not explain it. He had no idea where the other end came out, only that it felt like another district. Nor could he tell who was on the other side waiting for him. So far he had seen three bandits; how many did that leave? Would they know about the tunnel and anticipate his movements? He had no choice. They really were moving more rapidly now, he was sure of it.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the tunnel.