The Taming of the German: A Tragedy in Three Acts
"To Bee or not to Bee? That is the question..."
Dramatis Personae
DIRK NOWITZKI, a gentleman of Salt Lake
PAU GASOL, his page
TED BARNES, a beekeeper
TRUMAN BARNES, duke of St. George
DWIGHT HOWARD, lord attending the duke
MONTA ELLIS, a clownish servant to DWIGHT
THREE WOOD SPRITES
Scene: SnowHive at Mr. Mac Arena
ACT I
Scene I.—The low post
Enter DIRK and DWIGHT
Dirk. Soft! Who goes there? What ribald intruder
Dares transverse this sacrosanct line
And enter the painted area near the vaunted hoop
Which I have been charged to defend?
Dwight. Detain me not, fair-haired sentry! For lo, thou canst not,
By merely standing in my path, alter fate's immovable
Will, nor deflect me from my destined course.
Dirk. Nay, mighty warrior. Thou hast mistaken thy destiny.
Tis not to enter my painted domain, but rather
To swallow thine own teeth, with help from mine elbow.
Nevertheless, know thou that tis not thy presence alone
To which I must object—tis the object which thou bearest
In thine oversized paws. Drop the ball, and thou mayest
Freely pass.
Dwight. Thou dost wrong me, white knight, or dost misjudge
Mine intent. Tis mine object, not myself, that hath need
To pass this way. Tis mine object, not myself, that must embark
On a holy pilgrimage to yonder shrine behind thee,
There to place a kiss on the upright glass and nestle
Softly, blissfully, into the netting below. This it will do,
With or without thy consent. [Rises to shoot over Dirk]
Dirk. Never! For behold, my hands, too, are oversized.
And like an alluring roadside tavern, they shall alter
Thy pilgrim's path, that he shall never complete his
Unholy trek. [Blocks Dwight's shot.]
Wood sprites. Halt! Cease thine interference! Know thou not
That this dark-skinned centaur, whose shot's trajectory
Thou hast altered, is a rising, shining star in the constellation
Of this fair league? Yea, a star brighter than Orion, Virgo, and
Leo join'd together. With a single note played on our magical whistles,
We shall halt the relentless march of time and award Sir Dwight
An unobstructed chance to do what thou didst so foully prevent.
He shall project his projectile, free from thy nefarious interference. [Exeunt]
Scene II.—The free-throw line
Enter DWIGHT, DIRK, and MONTA
Dwight. O precious orb! Thou golden sun! Behold, yonder
Is thy West. Settle thou there! How oft hath this wobbly earth
Made thine appointed trajectory appear to vary. But nay, thou art
True, and there is but one West.
Dirk. By my troth! Dusk approaches, the moon waxeth,
And my patience doth wane! Send thine orange orb on its
Unpredictable way. [Dwight shoots and misses]
Dwight. What! Is the horizon so narrow that the sun can fail
To find it? Up now, another try. The weary world longs to sleep.
Set thou beyond the western wall, and let us rest!
Dirk. [Aside] Behold, I shall don my mason's garb and gather
The shards after his brick shatters against the wall. [Dwight shoots and misses again]
Monta. Come, wayward sphere. Come to softer hands.
I'll carry thee hence to a land where thy
Nourishing rays shall bear fruit, yea, threefold. [Rebounds the miss over Dirk, dribbles behind the arc, and makes a three-pointer]
ACT II
Scene I.—Visitors locker room
Enter TRUMAN, DWIGHT, and other U-Dogs
Truman. My brave soldiers, our quest is half complet'd.
Continue ye on the course ye have now begun,
And vict'ry shall follow, as gnats do follow the sun.
Dwight. Yea, sire. Our goal is nearly reach'd. But behold,
The course which thou praisest doth strain our strength.
Will not the gnat follow the sun e'en if our effort
Should slacken a measure? Suffer us to cease our
Strenuous oaring, and let the strong current propel
Our ship toward the port of victory.
Truman. If it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
Proclaim it, Dwight Howard, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This week we are not Underdogs but Spittin' Llamas:
He that outlives this week, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the week is named,
And rouse him at the name of Old Timey Week.
He that shall live this week, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'This week is Old Timey:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Old Timey Week.'
This story shall the good man teach his son;
We in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of hooved Andean pack-beasts;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my llama; be his saliva ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in St. George now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Old Timey Week. [Exeunt amid rousing cheers]
Scene II.—Home locker room
Enter BEEKEEPER, DIRK, and other SnowBees
Dirk. My lord, the foe is within reach. We await
But thy command, thy subtle plan, 'ere we lengthen our gait
And o'ertake those vile Dogs.
Beekeeper. [Eating a hot dog] In due time, my Bohemian behemoth.
I'll grant my thoughts have at sundry times this week
Run with dogs, but you'll soon see that these are dogs
Of a diff'rent breed than what thou speak'st. Tho' both be hot,
Mine be more savory.
Dirk. Sir! Thinkest thou of broil'd, beketchup'd victuals
At such a time as this?
Beekeeper. Fear not, dear friend. I've brought brawts
Enough for all. [Locker room fills with contented grunts]
Dirk. But should we not be scheming our attack
On Dwight and his hounds?
Beekeeper. For what purpose, my shaggy-headed gentleman?
Thinkest thou that by taking thought we can add to our
Own stature, or take from theirs? What amount of plotting
Can alter the plotted course of fate? As well we might attempt
To stop the mould from growing betwixt thy lengthy toes.
We'll defeat our foe only if Nature wills it, and accept her will
Gladly. For now, she wills that we feast on her bounties.
Hot dogs for all! [Exeunt all joyously, except Dirk]
ACT III.
Scene I.—Same.
Dirk. [Staring at a hot dog in his hand]
To Bee, or not to Bee: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
Another season of SnowBees fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To demand a trade: to retire;
To start anew with another team, another life, and end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That all SnowBees are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To demand a trade, to retire;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this hardwood coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a season;
For who would bear the taunts and scorns of fans,
The Beekeeper's 'experiments,' the postgame interviews,
The pangs of undigested hot dogs, the halftime promos,
The insolence of officials and the Village People songs
That the patient superstar must endure,
When he himself might his exit make
With a stubborn tantrum? who would the Beekeeper bear,
To roll one's eyes and scratch one's head,
But that the dread of something with another team,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
For what shall I trade the lunacy of the SnowBees?
The chains of tyranny in Maracaibo?
The chains of apathy in Bayside?
The chains of anonymity in the commoner's workforce?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Enter PAU.
Pau. [With beketchuped face] Sir, the summons to resume the
Contest sounds. Shall we go discover what result the gods
Doth will for our matchup with St. George?
Dirk. Yea, young page. And methinks, to watch their will
Unfold, the view is best beyond the three-point arc,
Away from scuffs and elbows, bumps and bruises.
Pau. I have found it so to be, my lord. Tis also easiest there
To not unduly influence the matchup's destined course
And perchance frustrate the gods' all-wise plan.
Dirk. Come, then. And let's endeavor not to interfere.
Perchance the gods, seeing our meek submission,
Shall reward us handsomely.
Pau. With a vict'ry?
Dirk. Nay. Twould be unjust to bless a moderate effort
With aught but a moderate prize.
Neither win nor loss for us, good page.
'Ere this week ends, we shall wear ties!
Pau. Aye. And by the by, dost thou intend to eat thine hot dog? [Exeunt]
DIRK NOWITZKI, a gentleman of Salt Lake
PAU GASOL, his page
TED BARNES, a beekeeper
TRUMAN BARNES, duke of St. George
DWIGHT HOWARD, lord attending the duke
MONTA ELLIS, a clownish servant to DWIGHT
THREE WOOD SPRITES
Scene: SnowHive at Mr. Mac Arena
ACT I
Scene I.—The low post
Enter DIRK and DWIGHT
Dirk. Soft! Who goes there? What ribald intruder
Dares transverse this sacrosanct line
And enter the painted area near the vaunted hoop
Which I have been charged to defend?
Dwight. Detain me not, fair-haired sentry! For lo, thou canst not,
By merely standing in my path, alter fate's immovable
Will, nor deflect me from my destined course.
Dirk. Nay, mighty warrior. Thou hast mistaken thy destiny.
Tis not to enter my painted domain, but rather
To swallow thine own teeth, with help from mine elbow.
Nevertheless, know thou that tis not thy presence alone
To which I must object—tis the object which thou bearest
In thine oversized paws. Drop the ball, and thou mayest
Freely pass.
Dwight. Thou dost wrong me, white knight, or dost misjudge
Mine intent. Tis mine object, not myself, that hath need
To pass this way. Tis mine object, not myself, that must embark
On a holy pilgrimage to yonder shrine behind thee,
There to place a kiss on the upright glass and nestle
Softly, blissfully, into the netting below. This it will do,
With or without thy consent. [Rises to shoot over Dirk]
Dirk. Never! For behold, my hands, too, are oversized.
And like an alluring roadside tavern, they shall alter
Thy pilgrim's path, that he shall never complete his
Unholy trek. [Blocks Dwight's shot.]
Wood sprites. Halt! Cease thine interference! Know thou not
That this dark-skinned centaur, whose shot's trajectory
Thou hast altered, is a rising, shining star in the constellation
Of this fair league? Yea, a star brighter than Orion, Virgo, and
Leo join'd together. With a single note played on our magical whistles,
We shall halt the relentless march of time and award Sir Dwight
An unobstructed chance to do what thou didst so foully prevent.
He shall project his projectile, free from thy nefarious interference. [Exeunt]
Scene II.—The free-throw line
Enter DWIGHT, DIRK, and MONTA
Dwight. O precious orb! Thou golden sun! Behold, yonder
Is thy West. Settle thou there! How oft hath this wobbly earth
Made thine appointed trajectory appear to vary. But nay, thou art
True, and there is but one West.
Dirk. By my troth! Dusk approaches, the moon waxeth,
And my patience doth wane! Send thine orange orb on its
Unpredictable way. [Dwight shoots and misses]
Dwight. What! Is the horizon so narrow that the sun can fail
To find it? Up now, another try. The weary world longs to sleep.
Set thou beyond the western wall, and let us rest!
Dirk. [Aside] Behold, I shall don my mason's garb and gather
The shards after his brick shatters against the wall. [Dwight shoots and misses again]
Monta. Come, wayward sphere. Come to softer hands.
I'll carry thee hence to a land where thy
Nourishing rays shall bear fruit, yea, threefold. [Rebounds the miss over Dirk, dribbles behind the arc, and makes a three-pointer]
ACT II
Scene I.—Visitors locker room
Enter TRUMAN, DWIGHT, and other U-Dogs
Truman. My brave soldiers, our quest is half complet'd.
Continue ye on the course ye have now begun,
And vict'ry shall follow, as gnats do follow the sun.
Dwight. Yea, sire. Our goal is nearly reach'd. But behold,
The course which thou praisest doth strain our strength.
Will not the gnat follow the sun e'en if our effort
Should slacken a measure? Suffer us to cease our
Strenuous oaring, and let the strong current propel
Our ship toward the port of victory.
Truman. If it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
Proclaim it, Dwight Howard, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This week we are not Underdogs but Spittin' Llamas:
He that outlives this week, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the week is named,
And rouse him at the name of Old Timey Week.
He that shall live this week, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'This week is Old Timey:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Old Timey Week.'
This story shall the good man teach his son;
We in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of hooved Andean pack-beasts;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my llama; be his saliva ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in St. George now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Old Timey Week. [Exeunt amid rousing cheers]
Scene II.—Home locker room
Enter BEEKEEPER, DIRK, and other SnowBees
Dirk. My lord, the foe is within reach. We await
But thy command, thy subtle plan, 'ere we lengthen our gait
And o'ertake those vile Dogs.
Beekeeper. [Eating a hot dog] In due time, my Bohemian behemoth.
I'll grant my thoughts have at sundry times this week
Run with dogs, but you'll soon see that these are dogs
Of a diff'rent breed than what thou speak'st. Tho' both be hot,
Mine be more savory.
Dirk. Sir! Thinkest thou of broil'd, beketchup'd victuals
At such a time as this?
Beekeeper. Fear not, dear friend. I've brought brawts
Enough for all. [Locker room fills with contented grunts]
Dirk. But should we not be scheming our attack
On Dwight and his hounds?
Beekeeper. For what purpose, my shaggy-headed gentleman?
Thinkest thou that by taking thought we can add to our
Own stature, or take from theirs? What amount of plotting
Can alter the plotted course of fate? As well we might attempt
To stop the mould from growing betwixt thy lengthy toes.
We'll defeat our foe only if Nature wills it, and accept her will
Gladly. For now, she wills that we feast on her bounties.
Hot dogs for all! [Exeunt all joyously, except Dirk]
ACT III.
Scene I.—Same.
Dirk. [Staring at a hot dog in his hand]
To Bee, or not to Bee: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
Another season of SnowBees fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To demand a trade: to retire;
To start anew with another team, another life, and end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That all SnowBees are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To demand a trade, to retire;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this hardwood coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a season;
For who would bear the taunts and scorns of fans,
The Beekeeper's 'experiments,' the postgame interviews,
The pangs of undigested hot dogs, the halftime promos,
The insolence of officials and the Village People songs
That the patient superstar must endure,
When he himself might his exit make
With a stubborn tantrum? who would the Beekeeper bear,
To roll one's eyes and scratch one's head,
But that the dread of something with another team,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
For what shall I trade the lunacy of the SnowBees?
The chains of tyranny in Maracaibo?
The chains of apathy in Bayside?
The chains of anonymity in the commoner's workforce?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
Enter PAU.
Pau. [With beketchuped face] Sir, the summons to resume theContest sounds. Shall we go discover what result the gods
Doth will for our matchup with St. George?
Dirk. Yea, young page. And methinks, to watch their will
Unfold, the view is best beyond the three-point arc,
Away from scuffs and elbows, bumps and bruises.
Pau. I have found it so to be, my lord. Tis also easiest there
To not unduly influence the matchup's destined course
And perchance frustrate the gods' all-wise plan.
Dirk. Come, then. And let's endeavor not to interfere.
Perchance the gods, seeing our meek submission,
Shall reward us handsomely.
Pau. With a vict'ry?
Dirk. Nay. Twould be unjust to bless a moderate effort
With aught but a moderate prize.
Neither win nor loss for us, good page.
'Ere this week ends, we shall wear ties!
Pau. Aye. And by the by, dost thou intend to eat thine hot dog? [Exeunt]
Around the WFBL
Butchers 6, Abominables 2, Everyone 1
Iguanas 6, Tigers 2, Everyone 1
Gators 6, Sundancers 3
Kings 5, Jai-Rai 4
Trojans 6, Stratagem 3
Week 5 Old-Timey Game of the Week Voting Results:
Magna Spittin Llamas 1 (16%)
Salt Lake City Buzzers of West Valley 5 (83%)
Week 4 EBP:
LeBron James, Rigby—4 votes (66% of vote)
________________________________________________________
Fun Facts: Nov 26-Dec 2, 2007Gallon of gas: $2.29
Gallon of milk: $2.45
#1 Song: "Gold Digger"—Kanye West ft. Jamie Foxx
#1 Movie: "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"
Each week, This Week in the WFBL looks back and shines a light on a moment in the WFBL's illustrious history. This week, we look at Week 5 from 2007 (Nov 26- Dec 2). It was early, but it was quite clear that the class of the regular season was the St. George Underdogs. Dwight Howard's potential was tantalizing, Chauncey Billups was solid, Manu Ginobili was not yet a sixth-man, and Shawn Marion was still the Matrix. What was the secret to owner Truman Barnes' success?
WEEK FIVE, NOV 26-DEC 2, 2007
Truman's Hands-Off Approach Makes U-Dogs Untouchable
ST GEORGE (AP)—The WFBL's runaway leaders, the St. George Underdogs, tied a league record with a fifth-straight regular-season series victory by serving the Park City Sundancers their lunch in a doggie dish to the tune of 7-2. Only five weeks into the season, the first-place U-Dogs already have a 6.5-game lead over second-place Salt Lake and Maracaibo.
It's ironic, then, that in a sport known for its frantic wheeling and dealing and constant tinkering from obsessive-compulsive owners who sweat over every missed free throw and strained calf muscle and for the first time understand why their grade-school teachers said that math is an important part of everyday life in the real world—I say, it's ironic that in such a sport the Underdogs are excelling without having made a single personnel move all season.
Five-year-old owner Truman Barnes, who has never even had a grade-school teacher, hasn't so much as learned the names of all his players—let alone change his starting lineup—since week 1. He wouldn't know how to propose a trade if he wanted to (and why should he at 33-12-0?). He thinks waivers are those old guys who greet you when you walk into Wal-Mart.How, then, did he manage to guide his Underdogs to the top spot in the league?
"I don't know!" Truman says with a shrug. "Do you know?"
We really don't. But there must be some explanation. When pressed, Truman wonders aloud whether his players—the ones he knows about—might not have something to do with it.
"I guess my players must be just really, really good," he offers with another shrug.
The U-Dog players, for their part, seem open to that possibility.
"We take full responsibility for where our team is right now," says forward Shawn Marion. "Coach Tru trusts us to do our job, which is win basketball games, and we trust him to do his job, which is to sit on the sidelines and make paper airplanes and practice writing the letter W."
There is, of course, a little bit more to it than that. Truman is also responsible, as team owner, to make sure his five best players are on the court week-in and week-out. But even that job is fairly simple for Truman.
"Every week I ask each player, 'Are you good?'" Truman explains. "If he says, 'Yes,' then he gets to play." As soon as he has five yeses, Truman has his starting lineup. He reportedly has never had to ask more than five players that question.
If such a simple formula has been so successful in St. George, why haven't other owners around the league tried it?
"I've tried it," said Truman's brother, TJ, whose New York Kings are 19-25-1. "But some of my players lied."
The Underdogs would continue their early-season tear, going without a series loss in 7 of their next 8 matchups. It was a sight to behold, and their dominance was so apparent that the WFBL changed the format of the All-Star Game that season from Wasatch vs World to the Best (Underdogs) vs the Rest (everyone else). The Underdogs prevailed in said showcase 5-3-1.
