When the final buzzer sounded in Sturgis, SD, signaling the end of another grueling playoff match between the Dakota Bikers and the Galveston Sand Dollars, the hometown Bikers were once again victorious, coming away with a 10 point victory. The Sand Dollars, although their effort was valiant, did not seem to possess the answers to the Bikers' weapons, nor could they overcome their stifling D with their usually rapid-fire trademark offensive punch. The team's playoff inexperience showed against a strong veteran club, and the finesse style they were used to playing had been reduced to down and dirty physical play, making every bucket harder and harder to earn. The team was simply physically exhausted.

The players, typically in decent spirits and positive-minded after any game, showed none of those emotions in the locker room after the game. They showered silently and slowly, getting dressed for the obligatory media appearance to follow.

JTigerclaw (Tiger, PG) sat on the far corner of the bench, practically isolated from everyone else. He was staring blankly at the floor while he buttoned his blue dress shirt.

Sarah Lancaster (Cheetah, G) seemed to avoid eye-contact with the others as she placed her shoes and other random articles in her locker, a stone-dead expression on her face.

Quintessa Hartnett (Leopard, C) silently played with her oPhone, the phone and stylus both comically small in hir massive paws. Shi did not look up at others as shi fidgeted away, feigning an interest in whatever was on hir tiny screen.

Joshua Koda (White Tiger, C) stayed to himself in the corner... although he always did that. His mood was indistinguishable from how it normally was.

Other players, such as Omar Castilla (Snake, C), Jack Howell (Wolf, F/C), Ione Estrada (Chameleon, G/F) and Gary Wells (Turtle, G) appeared disappointed, but not unusually so. While the sting of defeat was felt by all on the squad, it was clear there was an elephant in the room that was not being addressed... and that was not referring to the portly elephant gentlemen with security who was present near the doorway of the locker room.

Coach Owen "Inky" Michaels (Black Cat) paced around the locker room, a pensive and frustrated look on his muzzle. He looked around the room, examining the demeanors of his players, calmly analyzing the situation so he could best arrange his wording to be effective, not just blunt (which is what he really wanted to be right now). These were different players than your average FBA fare. They did not require babying, but many were so young, their postseason confidence still very fragile, and with the exception of Jack Howell (Wolf, F/C), none of them had tasted championship gold. Bluntly regaling them with their on-court mistakes would not be the most effective method here. The Coach thought carefully, then decided to break the silence.

"Hey", Michaels said in a low tone and with a nod of his head, about as formal as someone's uncle at a backyard barbeque. "Guys, look up. Fall in," he urged with a gentle wave of his paw.

The players slowly began to lumber over towards him, in various levels of progress of dressing. Some players, like Sasha Ivanovich (Lynx, F) and Nathan Robinson (Sidewinder, F/C) were still in their towels from having just completed their showers. Sharon Sawchuk (Cougar, F) had been in a brown suit jacket with cream dress pants all evening, as she had been deactivated for a still undisclosed reason.

"JT" Coach piped up, eying the tiger in the corner who had yet to move. "That means you."

The tiger raised his head in a sudden jerk, indicating he had probably been deep in thought and hadn't heard the original call to arrange in front of their leader. He stood up from his seat and moved in closer, yet still on the outskirts of the group.

Looking around the collection of players and blank faces that had just assembled, Coach Michaels began his carefully crafted motivational speech.

"Hey, listen guys. We can't get down because of this loss, ok? You all played your hearts out and I'm very proud of you. The Bikers are a tough squad, and it's going to take all of our mental and physical focus to beat them. But they can be beaten... We just..."

Coach paused as a shining light caught his roaming yellow eyes. "Yo Q! You mind?" he snapped at the lanky, hunched over leopard, still fidgeting absent-mindedly with hir oPhone.

"'m sorry Coach," shi apologized, putting the phone in hir gym bag and directing hir attention up at the now indignant black cat in the tan suit. He continued.

"You guys... see, this is part of our problem. We have to be 100% mentally tuned in to winning this series. We have to be tuned in to each other, to our opponents, to ourselves. We have the talent to beat this team! The talent is there!"

Then his demeanor got a bit more stern. "But what I'm seeing is head-hanging after a turnover... hesitation to shoot after missing a shot... intimidation when these brutes try to scare us or pound our bodies... Quintessa," he looked over at the tall leopard, who proceeded to sheepishly dip hir shoulders at his concentrated gaze.

"Quintessa I see you working hard out there, I really do. I know you are giving up a fair amount of weight and muscle to Munt in the post. But you can make up for that with your size and tenacity! Use your quickness! Get to the box-out position before he can! If he throws you to the ground, that's a foul! If he lowers his shoulder, that's a foul! Use your basketball IQ and energy! Will your way around him, or over him! You've got that ability!"

"Yes Coach. I will." Hartnett replied, nodding.

"Sarah!" the Coach said firmly, looking over at Lancaster, who was already staring at his eyes before he turned to her.

"Yes Coach?" she replied softly.

"Sarah, you're one of the best offensive players in the game. Do not be discouraged at your effort on that end of the floor. You had a mediocre scoring effort tonight, this is true. But I understand Skywalker is making you work for every shot. But you don't need to force your game. If the shot isn't there, pass the ball and let the offense come to you. Or be aggressive, drive the ball inside and either get fouled or pass out to an open man. He may be making it more difficult, but if someone builds a wall higher, you don't keep trying to get over it, you figure another way around it. You've got tons of weapons at your disposal. Use them. Oh, and I want to see more ferocity on defense. Stay in front of Malone as best you can, but don't foul. Don't be afraid to bump bodies. You've never been afraid to body up a man in a game before, right? Get into him and show him you mean business. Am I clear?"

Sarah nodded, her face and eyes cold as stone, brow furrowed. "Yes Coach. I understand."

Michaels then rose up from the bench and walked over to the whiteboard next to the lockers. "Now, I could go into more individual details of how each of you can improve your performance for next game, but that's what tomorrow's practice is for. However, I can address something that applies to all of you, and it's something you can't practice. You just have to have it. And that is..."

He grabbed a black marker and turned to the whiteboard, then began to scribble in large letters across it.

"Toughness" he exclaimed as he scribbled the word on the board. "They are a physical group. You have to match their physicality. Don't let yourself by bullied."

"Confidence" he bellowed as he wrote, like the first word. "You guys are loaded with talent. Don't stop believing that you have what it takes to win, because you DO. Keep your cool, stay focused and don't hang your head. Just play your game. That's what got you here."

"Resolve. You've got to roll with the punches and give them right back! They're not going to make this easy. You're going to have to go out and take what you want, and you can do that by sticking to your guns and fighting fire with fire. Don't let them pressure you into doing what they want you to do. Again, stay focused and persevere."

"And Heart," Michaels scribbled haphazardly, as at least one person in the room stifled the urge to yell "Go Planet!"

"Heart is why we're here. Heart is why we play this game. We love the game, we love the competition, and we WANT what's at the end of this journey. We WANT that CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHY."

Some of the players start chiming in with "Yeahs" and "Woos", along with a few scattered claps.

"And NOBODY can tell us we don't deserve it. We just have to go out there and prove that we want it MORE THAN the other guys want it! We DESERVE it more than the other guys do. And we will do anything we have to to get it! You've GOT to BELIEVE THAT. And you've GOT TO GO OUT THERE AND PROVE IT!"

Almost every player by now is buying in to the Coach's inspirational words, clapping their paws and nodding excitedly. The mood that was such a staple for this club had slowly begun returning to the locker room. Even Joshua Koda was seen flashing a bit of a grin and nodding at what was said. But one player wasn't following along with the cheers, continuing to stare blankly and anxiously at the ground. The Coach soon noticed this. With a snarl and flashing of sharp teeth, Coach Michaels slammed his fist against the side of the locker. Everyone froze, as looks of shock and confusion filled the room.

"GODDAMMIT JT!" Coach Michaels hissed loudly. The tiger was startled out of his daze again, looking up at the Coach with a look like a scolded puppy.

"WAKE THE HELL UP BOY! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO A DAMN WORD I'M SAYING?!"

The tiger nodded his head meekly. The Coach remained unimpressed.

"Then what the hell is the matter with you?!" Michaels growled. "Why are you over there in LaLa Land while I'm trying to get the team focused?! How are these guys supposed to stay focused when their team captain can't even pay attention to his goddamn coach?"

JTigerclaw cowered slightly at the harsh words, a look of hurt on his face. "Coach, I... it's just..." JT stuttered, grabbing his tail and twisting it nervously.

"What boy?! Spit it the hell out!"

JTigerclaw paused, looking Michaels dead in the eye with a look of deep guilt. Then, he stood up and asked flatly.

"Coach, is our team a specist team?"

The look on Inky Michaels' face at that moment went from angry to incredibly perplexed. The locker room had gone silent, as all the players turned to look at the Coach, perhaps equally taken off guard and anticipating a reaction.

"I... WHAT?!" the befuddled black cat finally exclaimed.

JT continued, shaking slightly yet visibly as the attention once again focused on him regarding this touchy subject.

"I... heard all these accusations from the media... and a few from other coaches. They think our team is biased towards feline players, that our organization is against diversity. That the team is specist... and... it bothers me that people would say this. I don't want to be known as a team that makes decisions based on species. And I feel bad because... I don't know if the others on the team feel the same way... if they believe the rumors of discrimination... and if they feel like they don't belong."

The Coach could only shake his head in disbelief as the group at large descended into murmurings and noisy chatter. "Oh for Christ sa-" he began before being drowned out by the crowd.

Among a few surprised "Whats?" and "No ways" and "Yeah, I heard..." the voice of a couple of felines spoke up.

"Coach, I've thought about this too," Sarah Lancaster chimed in. "I know it's probably baseless rumors, but it's been weighing on my mind some since I heard it after last game. It's not true, right Coach?"

"I thought about it too," Quintessa Hartnett admitted, hir face hiding behind long dreads. "I don't want to be given nothin' just because of my species."

Coach Michaels raised his paws to the fervent crowd, attempting to restore order in the locker room.

"Ok, hold on, that is just some straight bullsh-"

"Guys," interrupted a random head with antlers poking in through the door. "The media is waiting for you in the confere-"

"Tell them to wait a minute," Michaels interrupted. The gazelle reporter gave an indignant look, then left.

Coach turned his attention back to the team, paw on forehead, a headache forming.

"Ok... look guys, seriously. When do you believe everything the media says?" Michaels asked his team, almost rhetorically. "I'll say it's a valid concern as far as team chemistry goes, but let me put a quick end to these so called 'rumors of specism.' It isn't real. It's fabricated by the media, ok? Half of them make up the stuff as they go along so they don't have to hear it from their boss the next day. And the ones that don't, it's still sensationalist journalism meant to stir a reaction in people. Gets them talking and paying attention to the articles and the writers. But none of them have any real insight to why managers and owners make the decisions they do. It's all hearsay and baseless opinions from internet jockies trying to stir the pot."

"But Coach," JTigerclaw retorted, still slightly shaking, "This report wasn't from just any journalist. T. Matt Latrans said it. Said the team was... aiming towards homogenization. That it's not ethical, and it's ... a step backwards from the true vision of the FBA."

Coach Michaels quirked a brow at this statement. "T. Matt said that? Really?"

A spattering of nods and affirmative noises filled the room.

"Well, that is a bit surprising, coming from him," Michaels admitted. "Nonetheless, he's a journalist, and it's only one opinion. T. Matt doesn't know what motivates our manager's decisions. All he can do is look at the number of felines on the team and speculate that there's some sort of hidden feelings of species superiority going on in the front office and such. He doesn't know the truth."

"So... what IS the truth?" Georgette Hawyer (Fennec Fox, G) asked, speaking up for the first time.

"The TRUTH," Michaels replied, "is that it's not true. Obviously. Really, our owner is a freaking harbor seal and he's going to build this super team of nothing but felines? And we're gonna make the Conference Finals based off of that strategy? Come on guys! We built this team by scouting talent, pure and simple, regardless of species. We saw talent, we'd grab it. That's how we've built a winning club. We didn't build this club simply for marketing, although you can see how well that's working for the Dawg Pack." He got a few chuckles from the group with that.

"Point is, ok, a lot of you are feline. I'M freakin' feline for Christsakes... But that must automatically mean I am going to chose my starting line and my rotation based on that fact, right? Of COURSE NOT. The first person who openly accuses ME of adjusting my lineup based on you guys' species is getting a feline fist to the face!"

Loud laughter filled the room again.

"Also," chimed in a low, slow voice not yet heard from, 15 year veteran Gary Wells, "diversity, or lack thereof, is in the eye of the beholder. It's a shame that Mr. Latrans chose to insert species into a discussion where it was not present before, but he also chose to ignore the diversity of gender on this team. Nooow I'm just a creaky old turtle with bad knees, but I hope I can admit, without sounding too creepy, that I for one am quite pleased that we have all these lovely and talented ladies on our team, driving us towards victory."

"Oh Gary, you never fail to lay on the charm, huh?" Ana Azara (Snow Leopard, G) chuckled.

"But he's right," Coach Michaels continued. "And you don't see people getting up in arms at teams with hardly any females, do you? And we're hardly the only team that others can claim to favor one species over another. Why, the Typhoons and the Minutemen have pretty... "homogenized" teams, if we do..."

"Yeah, he beat on the Minutemen for that too," Lancaster replied.

Coach Michaels turned with a very surprised look on his face, eyebrow quirked up as high as it would go. "Really?! What, was T. Matt drinking when he wrote all that?"

"Yes..." said at least 7 people in unison. Then some light chuckles.

"Wow," sighed the Coach, shaking his head.

"Well, Coach," Gary Wells added again. "As a reptile who's been around the block a few times, including every year of my career with this fine organization, I can give you my honest word that I do not, nor have I ever, felt uncomfortable in the presence of my teammates. I don't care if every single one of them was a cat, dog, fox, squid, or tasmanian devil. When I look at you all," he said looking around the room, looking very natural in his speaking pose, "I see my friends. I see my teammates. I see my FBA family. An odd one, undoubtedly, but a family nonetheless. And my friends, no amount of differences or similarities in any arrangement is going to make me see that differently."

Everyone in the room then began applauding the old turtle, moved by his words and team loyalty.

"I don't feel uncomfortable neither!" exclaimed Nathan Robinson in approval.

"Me neither. Y'all all my homies," added Omar Castilla with a grin. "Y'all some cool cats, mang."

"Ok ok, settle down you guys," Coach interjected, smiling widely. "Before we group-hug, we're gonna have to go out and greet the media before they fine us." The team laughed in agreement.

"But let me first say this, in closing. What Gary said is right. We ARE a family. And all families are different. Whether it's made of cats, dogs, reptiles, or an assorted mixture of every animal on the planet. And families may acknowledge differences, but we certainly don't dwell on them. And NONE of you guys... Jack, Georgette, Omar, Gary, Nathan, Ione... better think that I treat ANY of you differently because of what you are and not what kind of ball you play, you got it?!" The black cat mockingly shook his fist at the team as they reply with laughs and shouts of approval.

"Now go out there and talk to the damn media already, ya knuckleheads! And hey, keep the political upheaval to a minimum, ok?"

The team finished dressing and left the locker room, each giving a high five or a fist bump to the Coach as they walked by him and out the door. When JTigerclaw, last to leave as always, made it to the door, he gave Michaels a huge hug.

"Thanks Coach, for helping get that monkey off my back."

Michaels' face turned serious for a second, prompting the tiger's face to lean towards serious as well.

"Why's it always gotta be a monkey, huh? Can't it be a walrus or an anteater or a giant yeti or a coconut? Why can't you be more diverse?"

JT's face broke into a wide smile as he got the joke. "Love you too, Coach" he said as he jogged down the hallway into the sea of waiting tape recorders.

Coach Michaels' stood there for a few seconds afterwards, grinning and shaking his head to an empty locker room, playing through that whole scenario that just occurred. He walked over to his locker and grabbed his bag of stuff, his playbook, his clipboard, his markers and his toiletries and clothes to take back on the plane back home to Galveston after the interview session. Then he stood up, gazed across the empty room once more and, with a big smile, muttered to himself...

"To think, Jake Velox (Swift Fox, G, TAL) refuses OUR free agent offer to HIM because of a bunch of cats on the team and WE'RE the specist ones. Heh heh... ohhhh gotta love the media."




_________________________________________________________________

Silhouettes -
Logos -
FBA -