Now that the Colt’s season is over, your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers can finally tell you what we were up to the week prior to the Super Bowl. We feel totally comfortable in telling you that we, like many other starving artists, musicians and writers, felt the crunch of the economy as we fell into the role of Indiana’s unemployed.
Indiana’s unemployment rates have been hovering around 10 percent for a while now but that didn’t stop Charles and I from hitting the pavement in search of whatever gainful employment we could find. We got a tip from an Indiana Workforce Development counselor to follow up on the dream job of a lifetime. He said that he was telling us about this cush job in confidence, but when we arrived at the work-site there were nearly 400 people standing outside braving the cold. He said the job was for men only, but we when we got there and surveyed the applicants, some of these men looked pretty suspicious. That is to say, some of these supposed men forgot to take their pumps off, and we could have swore we saw a couple of these fakers breastfeeding. Once, they got near to the front of the line they were found out by the facility staff and were quickly whisked away. We felt sorry for these women because they weren’t allowed to apply for the position. We knew that the facility was practicing discrimination but neither Charles or I were about to raise any stink about it because we needed this job. There were only two positions available. “Damn the women!” we thought to ourselves,”we need the money!”
The base salary for this position was unbelievable: a cool $900.000 with another bonus of $280,000 just for doing a good job. On top of this, the employer would furnish all our meals, air fare, hotel and other transportation cost, if we went anywhere they wanted us to go. Who on earth would turn down a job like this. Charles and I did the numbers in our head; “That’s about$1,180,000.” We were so excited we could hardly keep our breakfast down.
“But, what do they want us to do?” Charles asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but unless they want us to smuggle dope, high grade uranium, or strap a freakin bomb to our chest, I’m in!”
“I’m with you, brother.”
The closer we got to the front door of the building, we could see name of the building coming more into focus:
Indianapolis Colts Complex 7001 West 56th Street
The facility was beautiful. A young man smiled as we approached the desk.
“We’d like to apply for the clipboard positions,” I said.
“The job requires that you be able to stand on your feet for long periods of time,” he said. “Can you do that?”
“Yep.”
” How good are you acting abilities?”
“huh?”
“I mean, can you pretend like your doing something when you’re not?”
“We make a living at pretending like we’re doing something when we’re not, sir,” Charles said.
The man looked impressed. There’s only one more test. He gave us each of script to read and told us to make up our own hands signs. I went first.
“Yabba- dabba Do, red-dog, red dog, doin the coal minor’s daughter on 10.”
“Wonderful” he exclaimed. “Your turn.” He motioned to Charles.
“Shimmy-shimmy, got jimmies, got jimmies, knockin boots, on 1″
“Outstanding,” he said. “I think you two are exactly what we’re looking for. We’re looking to free up money for Peyton next season. Anybody can do Sorgi’s and Painter’s job. He paused for a second a thought over what he had just said, and then he added, “Well, not Painter’s job. He took one hell of a beating those last couple of games of the season. We might keep him around next year. Anybody who can eat turf like that will take a bullet for you. His face tightened up a bit. “But, that freakin Sorgi,” he said, “never got his uniform dirty. The contract clearly states that the clipboard carrier must get his uniform dirty at least once a season. Do you think you can handle eating dirt at least once?”
“We most certainly can, sir.”
“All right then,” he said. This doesn’t mean you’ll get the jobs, but I will send your names on to management; they do the hiring. Have a good day gentlemen.”
We left the Colt’s headquarters more excited than we had been in years. “Stop here,” Charles said. He was pointing to Payless Liquors store. “I want to celebrate this occasion with a drink.” He was unusually giddy, grinning from ear to ear.”
“What are you smiling about,” I asked.
He pulled the clipboard from inside his jacket. I couldn’t believe it.
“You kept their clipboard?”
“Sure,” he smiled. “Just feel it.” I ran my hands over the smooth plastic and shiny metal pen holder.
“You’re right,” I said. “Feels like gold to me. We’ll take turns walking around with it. We might as well get use to it. Something tells me, Sorgi might be out of a job.”
Your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers
C.H. Wyatt & L.E. Coleman
*Done in the Spirit of Fun*








