Visit from an Old Cross-Dresser
Eric Schoonover... Apr 12, 1999
I had always wondered how I got the money and the instructions that led to me owning my own fantasy basketball franchise. One day, a couple of years ago, an envelope arrived at my home with a stack of lettuce and some cryptic instructions. The stack of lettuce turned out to be $50, just enough to buy my way into the ultra exclusive new fantasy basketball being formed in the west suburbs of Chicago. My dream would be fulfilled, I would be the owner of a fantasy basketball team. There was only one catch I would have to locate the team in Bhagdad, and name it the Cross-Dressers. To me, this was a small price to pay for the unbelievable honor of owning a team in the NIBL. I knew the Rubble Dome, the basketball arena in Baghdad, had recently been renovated after some U.S. air strikes, and as for the name of the team, I thought it was kind of funny.
Everything was going along swimmingly, until around the time of the draft for season number two. I had circulated some rumors regarding my thoughts of relocating the team to a more desirable locale. And, the whole "cross-dresser" thing was getting a little old. The day before the draft, another envelope arrived at my home. This time, no lettuce, just instructions and a threat. Dont change the name of OUR team or its draperies for you. At that point I knew some skullduggery was afoot. And, someone not too familiar with English colloquialisms, possibly someone from a foreign country, possibly someone from that hated nation, Iraq. Im pretty sure the writer meant "curtains."
So, on draft day, when Commissioner "K" asked me about relocation, I nervously said I changed my mind. After that, everything was going great! The team was winning, the playoff roster was coming along, when just yesterday, I heard a solid knocking at the door. When I opened the door, I couldnt believe my eyes. Immediately, I knew what was happening. Standing at my door, was none other than Saddam Hussein himself, with several of his elite Republican guard.
"Hello, I am Saddam. The great benefactor of your NIBL team. It is time I insinuate myself."
"Whatever," I said. Wont you please come in?
The whole crowd walked in and made themselves comfortable. Fortunately, my entire family was away at the time.
After a nervous silence, I asked, "what can I do for you?"
"Its that recent exchange between that one they call Johnny Rai, and that Gambino clown." He paused. Then he added, "its time I made my move."
Now understand how nervous this made me. Not just because of who this idiot is, and the fun and games he has provided for people in his own country, but there was something more he was dressed in a pink taffeta gown with white stockings and 3 inch stiletto heels, and his elite guard were dressed in baby blue pant suits with espadrilles. I felt like I was being visited by Corporal Klinger and a bunch of Ellen Degeneres wannabees. Except these guys were supposed to be really mean!
Then, things really started getting weird!
The head cross-dresser was talking about how tough life was .utterring some really random thoughts:
"Have you ever tried to baptize a cat?"
"How can my people survive under this UN embargo?"
"Where around here can I find shoes to match this purse?"
Again, I asked why he was here. He took on a very menacing look, then broke into a big smile. You have done a good job running my team, and I want you to continue. But, I have some suggestions.
First, he told me the people I picked for my team were too nice. Why cant I pick thugs and felons like West Chicago, Aruba and Joliet? Then, he said he would start to give me advice on a regular basis on who to play in which games. "Just like Gambino and Eddie DeBartolo, I can influence things the right way." When I protested, and said I wanted to either win or lose on my own, one of his elite guard slapped me with his clutch purse.
Saddam continued, "You would have beat that Tool team if youd played Mercer on the right night! You listen to me!"
Then, he started talking about Joliet. "Best of the Best my Aunt Fanny." "Did you see the E-mail he sent that Krieger?" I nodded. "At first, I was nervous and thought he was planning a coup until I realized he cant spell coop!" "If he was planning a coup, I would have been nervous. That Alonzo Mourning is so psychotic, I bet he doesnt feel pain. I admire that."
Next, he started talking about the Soux City and Bolingbrook franchises, but he started laughing so hard he couldnt continue. He composed himself and began his praise of the Manila Dogeaters. I was thankful my labrador retriever was not home.
Then, out of nowhere, 25 US Secret Service Agents stormed my house, shot 5 of the elite guard, and surprised the Queen of the Cross Dressers. He was cursing in a foreign language as they hauled him, and the remainder of his posse out to a secret jail, just outside of Roswell, NM.
Now, every time I hear about Iraq, I smile, secure with the knowledge thay are being led by the U.S. planted imitator of a cross-dresser. I also know that next year when I finally move the team, I wont have to worry about draperies!