A play in two acts
By Mike Matthews
The time: Present day, Sunday afternoon, about dusk.
The place: An ornate, airy chamber in the clouds, somewhere above Iowa.
Act I
An angel enters. Under his arm is a large book. At a large desk, hunched over a computer keyboard, is a wizened old man with a long gray beard. He wears tiny spectacles.
Michael. Ahem....ahem. Lord...?
God. (eyes glued to the screen) Yes, yes, what is it?
Michael. I'm afraid we've got a bit of trouble, sir.
God. Yes....
Michael. Well, it's, um, it's....
God. (tapping away) Out with it, Michael. That's why I gave you a tongue.
Michael. It's the humans, sir. They're sending up quite a hue and cry.
God. The Synthians?
Michael. No, I'm afraid it's the Earthlings...again.
God. What is it this time? Is the Holy Land in flames again?
Michael. No, sir, I'm afraid it's the Americans.
God. The Americans? Well, can't you and your squadron handle it? Sit on their shoulders or something?
Michael. I think they need a little inspiration.
God. Inspiration? Fine. Send the Gideons another shipment.
Michael. Oh, they have plenty of Bibles, sir. Plenty of books. Maybe too plenty. Actually, it's their--
God. Their?
Michael. Their.....sports, I'm afraid.
God. (He stops typing and turns to face the angel.) Michael, haven't we had this chat before?
Michael. I know, sir, but this time--
God. Michael, I think that Doug Flutie thing should hold them for a while, don't you? If you and your boys can't handle this one, then give it to some of the saints. I only know that more than a few of them have been a wee bit idle since the last purge.
Michael. Actually, Lord, it isn't just about a game this time.
God. Oh...?
Michael. Yes. You see, it's more about the rules of the game.
God. Rules?
Michael. Yes, sir. Rules, sir.
God. Rules?
Michael. Yes, sir.
God. But I already gave them rules. Ten, if I remember correctly. I did that for a reason, you know. One for each of their little fingers. Helps them remember.
Michael. Yes, sir.
God. And they needed ten, after all. You know, the Biskindia only needed three.
Michael. Yes, but the Pandolfini needed thirty-seven.
God. Don't get fresh, Michael. I've got more than a few lightning bolts left up my almighty sleeves.
Michael. Yes, sir.
God. Fifth!
Michael. Thou shalt not kill.
God. Eighth!
Michael. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.
God. See how easy they are to remember? Alright, so what about these rules, then?
Michael. Well, the Americans have this sports organization called the NCAA. And over the years, well, let's just say they've been a little overzealous in their rule-making.
God. How so?
Michael. They've gotten to the point where they seem to have a rule for everything.
God. (sighs) If they're not smart enough to figure it out for themselves, someone will have to do it for them.
Michael. (relieved) I was hoping you'd agree, Lord.
God. That's why I inspired them to create Congress.
Michael. Actually, we were hoping you could, um, step in directly, sir.
God. Me? Listen, my forté is creation. Maintenance I left to you, the apostles, and the communion of saints.
Michael. If you put it that way, this job is right up your alley, sir.
God. Oh?
Michael. Yes. As it stands now, their rules are such a crazy patchwork that they overlap and conflict. No one can hope to understand them all. And so they keep breaking them all over the place. They need a fresh start.
God. Look, this is a man-made creation. It should be a man-made solution. If they've finally started to figure out smoking, they sure can figure out this.
Michael. Please, just take a look at their rules, won't you? Like I said, it just looks to us like they need a little inspiration.
Michael hands Him the book.
God. Hmmm...perrywinkle. Nice color. (He leafs though the book.) Actually, it looks to me like they need an editor. (He snaps the book shut.) This doesn't rise to my level. Give it to the evangelists. See what they can do with it.
He hands the book back to Michael.
Michael. They'd only make it worse. Then there'd be four books.
God. (peering over His glasses) Now, if you'll excuse me....
Michael. I was hoping I wouldn't have to mention this, sir....
God. Mention what?
Michael. Well, we think they've overstepped their bounds a bit.... Take a look at page ninety-five. Thirteen...point one...point seven...point one.
God. (exasperated) If it will make you happy.
He takes the book back, opens it, and reads the rule. Several times. Growing redder and redder each time.
Michael. You see what I mean?
God. The gall! Redefining the day! 12:01 a.m. to midnight. As if that wasn't obvious! As if I didn't do that already in Genesis!
Michael. I agree.
God. I'm the one with dominion over the heavens and the earth, the sun and the stars.
Michael. That's how I see it, sir.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt, tagged "Overland Park, Kansas", appears overhead. A wave of His hand sends it hurtling downward, through the clouds.
God. Alright. Here's the deal. I'll take a look at it. I'll create the rules, you pass them along.
Michael. Oh, thank you, sir!
There is a brief flash of light from below.
God. Shouldn't take more than a few hours. After all, I created the whole world in six days. How long can this take? Twenty minutes?
Michael. For you sir, probably no more than twenty hours a week.
God. Twenty hours?
Michael. Well, certainly no more than four hours a day.
God. Michael, that doesn't make any sense.
Michael. Bingo.
God. Come back tomorrow. I'll read their book tonight; it'll help me sleep.
Michael. I'll be back at first light. Thank you again, sir. Good night.
God. Good night. (pause) Oh, and Michael..... First!
Michael. I am the Lord thy God, thou shalt have no other gods before Me.
God. Yes. My personal favorite. Fly away, now.
Act II
It is Saturday morning. God is sleeping, levitating above his desk. His office is strewn with paper and stacks of books. Michael enters unshaven and wearing a baseball cap.
Michael. My God?....Lord?...Almighty?
God snores.
Michael. Lord?
Michael nudges him gently.
Michael. Lord....LORD!
He stirs.
God. Huh? What? (seeing Michael) Oh, it's you. What day is it?
Michael. Saturday.
God. Saturday? Morning or evening?
Michael. Morning. Only one more day to go, then you get a day off.
God. I'm beginning to think this is a job for St. Jude. If ever I've seen a lost cause, this is it. (stretching) Okay. Refresh Me. Where are we so far?
Michael takes a Newton out of his pocket.
Michael. Let's see...rounding off...Monday: three hours on awards and benefits....Tuesday: an hour and a half on eligibility, Wednesday: four hours on financial aid...
God. I never should have let them invent money. Make a note of that for future worlds. No more money. And no more mosquitoes, either. If I taketh away, I should giveth, too, I suppose....
Michael. ...Thursday: an hour on playing and practice seasons and three hours on recruiting...
God. We did two bylaws in one day?
Michael. Yes, sandwiched around 45 minutes looking for the to do list for the Great Flood.
God. Oh, yes, now I remember how frustrated I was. Go on.
Michael. And yesterday: twenty minutes on amateurism. That one was easy.
God. I was tired.
Michael. That leaves us with....seven hours and ten minutes to create the marketing plan. But since we can only spend four hours today, we'll be well under twenty hours for the week. As I promised.
God. Alleluia.
Michael. (putting his Newton away) Where do you want to begin?
God. You know, I re-read that NCAA Manual again last night...
Michael. (pulling out his Newton) For how long?
God. About an hour.
Michael starts to write on his Newton.
God. You weren't here. That was a voluntary activity on My part. Ohhh, now I'm starting to speak like them!
Michael. (scrubbing out the note he just made). Oh, yes, of course. Right. Doesn't count. Sorry.
God. And the thing I was most struck with was how much these people like to count things. They love to count. Sometimes, all they can do is count! Three contacts, four evaluations, five recruiting opportunities, twenty-nine practice opportunities...
Michael. ....Sixteen person-days.
God. Sixteen person-days? Where was that? I didn't read about that.
Michael. Well, that was a late change. Applies only to women's basketball recruiting.
God. I didn't get the word on that one.
Michael. You probably weren't alone. Anyway....
God. Forty-eight hours, five official visits, ten head or assistant coaches, eleven point seven equivalencies.... Does it ever end?
Michael. Well, Lord, I mean, after all.... Twelve apostles, ten commandments, Holy Trinity, seven deadly sins, two of every kind of animal, forty days and forty nights of rain....
God glowers.
God. Michael, please take off that Notre Dame hat, will you? This is heaven. We don't play favorites here until Judgment Day.
Michael tosses away the hat. Suddenly, a small black cloud appears over Michael and within seconds he is drenched.
Michael. Point made.
The cloud disappears.
God. (calling out) Jude. Jude!
Voice. My Lord and my God.
God. Jude, what are you working on right now?
Voice. I'm trying to help Apple get back in the black.
Michael. But, Lord, we're so close....
God. (after a pause) Okay, stick with it. That's more important than this.
Michael. Thank you, sir.
God. Alright, here's what we're going to do about the marketing plan. I'm going to give you some basic ideas. You and that staff of neo-evangelists you've been assembling can work out the details.
Michael. (pulls out his Newton) Okay.
God. First off, focus on the big issues. Not the little things. Quit worrying about that extra dollar in per diem that the rowing team accidentally got. Stop splitting up days in the recruiting calendar so that a dead period ends at noon. Trim down the definition of amateurism so it depends on pay for play and not pay for reputation. In short, don't try to put too fine a point on things.
Michael. (writing) Got it.
God. Second, they've got to realize that the playing field will never be level. Ever. Personally, I like rocks and hills. Makes things more interesting. If I didn't, the whole world would look like the Bonneville Salt Flats. And that would be boring.
Michael. (writing as fast as he can) Right. God, I feel inspired!
God. Give the coaches and schools the responsibility to make decisions and allow them to respond. Making rules usually creates loopholes and doesn't close them. Write a limited number understandable rules that are easy to administrate. But swiftly and surely punish those who break them. Encourage them to try to do the right thing without passing another rule.
Michael. (writing) ...passing another rule....
God. You know, Moses wanted to hide behind the rules. He wanted huge stone pillars with hundreds of commandments on them. Nope. Ten was all he got. And handheld tablets only.
Michael. (looks up) I didn't know that.
God. True. I cut it from Exodus at the last minute.
Michael. Amazing.
God. Speaking of cutting, cut back on all the counting. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Count days, not contacts and evaluations. Count days, not hours for an official visit. Count scholarships in units, not percentages of dollars. Start practice on a given day and get rid of all those ridiculous formulas.
Michael. Gotcha.
God. Now who do you have lined up to spread all this good news?
Michael unfurls a scroll five feet long. God scans it.
God. I don't see anybody in Congress. Add Kennedy. And with him, don't be afraid to use the "H" word.
Michael is puzzled.
God. Hearings.
Michael. Oh. How many people do you think we'll need?
God. Pick twelve. With varying backgrounds and plenty of foibles. And you better put a special team on that satisfactory progress rule.
Michael. Twelve, Lord?
God. Michael, if there's one thing any coach worth His salt knows, it's to keep running a successful play until the opposition stops it. Be sure to mix in some women this time. And find out where Lucifer is. I suspect he may be roaming among them again.
Michael. Will do.
God. Also, dangle a goal in front of them. Hammer home that life will be better with these changes than without them.
Michael. Got it.
God. Who wants to remember all these rules, anyway? I know I don't. My guess is they won't mistake the carrot for an apple this time around.
Michael. Okay.
God. Are we done then?
Michael. I think so.
God. Good. I'm taking tomorrow off.
Michael. You're entitled. Enjoy it.
God. I will.
Michael. Before I go....
God. Yes?
Michael. Can we make an appointment to talk about the National Letter of Intent?
God. Huh?
Blackout.
On to the Epilogue.