Olaf imagines better times while he watches sports action rumble, commercials and promos tumble. This time-out brought to you by Father Time Timepiece, "you'll never be late for the march with Father Time," this call to bullpen sponsored by Hokura Cellular, "the whole wide world of technology in the palm of your hand," this picture of bleeding toothless hockey defenseman in penalty box brought to you by rumble tumble bumble sponsors who bring you everything else on Sports Channels I through XII.
Old Olaf steams with rage as sports, commercials, promos continue unabated in his two-bedroom furnished, heat and hot water extra, no charge for cockroaches. Olaf's legs hurt, hips hurt, back twinges every two minutes regular as if atrophied muscles attached to timer. He can't sit long without standing, can't stand long without sitting. TV sports are all Olaf has left in his misguided life. Twelve sports channels on cheap cable; he switches back and forth, forth and back, back and forth.
Ravens versus Colts, 34-7 Colts in the third quarter, game brought to you by Steinmetz Gold, world's finest hops and barley, chill-brewed in special vats, "it's liquid gold in your glass." Greater Cleveland golf tournament, Miller and Deloach tied for lead at six-under, Deloach in rough on back nine, Miller with 40-foot putt for birdie to take the lead, but first a word from our sponsor, Derry's Restaurants, Hungry Folks' Breakfast $2.99 every day all day. World skateboard finals live from Fiji, courtesy of Polynesian Airlines, "a taste of paradise in the sky." Championship tennis, Turgenov versus King, Turgenov leads two sets to one, 40-love in fourth set, serves ace for game set match, match brought to you by Matchmaker Inc., "matchmaker, matchmaker, match my ideal mate." Scores, names, games, commercial messages buzz and flit through recently retired Olaf's brain.
Olaf once believed retirement means quiet life in two-bedroom furnished, watching live broadcasts of great sports events, analyzing games along with analysts, finding some peace after forty years of dry goods and happenstance and parsing goods of useless existence. But what does he get?
This is what Olaf gets: distraction. Barrage of commercials, assault of spot promos for other sports and for sitcoms, reality shows, game shows, news shows. Olaf feels like old ugly animal in zoo cage, bombarded and insulted by talking heads, products and services and laugh tracks and prime-time time wasters hurled at him like stones. TV's highest rated show, funniest sitcom ever, coaches' roundtable, Joe Bob's Best Sports Moments, WWF Bonecrush Facedown; loudest, sexiest, silliest, most thrilling, most informative. Monster truck demolition derby brought to you by New Millennium Insurance, "our claims back up your claims." Olaf sits, Olaf stands, Olaf suffers in angry solitude. Game recap brought to you by Happyland Pleasure World, "fun in the Florida sun for the entire family." Olaf's life recap brought to you by Storr's Premium Lite and Analgesic Double Plus Pain Reliever.
Here is the life of Olaf Thorkelssen: Born in St. Paul, Minnesota same year John F. Kennedy elected president. Good student with many insights, many plans for future as business entrepreneur. Migrated east at age eighteen to attend college, met Mary Jo Petersen from Yonkers in sophomore year, got her pregnant first time in after drunken frat party. Olaf did right thing, quit school, married Mary Jo, took job with Plume Dry Goods Inc. Fathered second child bang-bang, bought house, worked hard, lived conventional life. Children grew up, moved out, devout daughter Clarice married Baptist minister in Indianapolis, drug-freak son Vernon (named after wife's brother) MIA in California. Olaf sold house for below market value because of poor upkeep, moved with Mary Jo into two-bedroom furnished, retired from Plume Dry Goods. Wanted only solace and peace for declining years, but has been denied same.
One day in two-bedroom furnished Olaf made another mistake in mistake-riddled life. Said to wife why don't kids combine interests, make commercial for religious TV network, get rich. "Today's sermon brought to you by Meth-Ease, the gentle high for pious sinners." Humor-challenged wife burst into tears, said to him "You monster!" and rushed out of room. Olaf thereafter refused dutiful marital relations, despite repeated threats and occasional begging.
After six months inevitable happens. Wife says all Olaf does since retirement is watch TV sports and drink beer, spend all day and half the night in tomb of empty beer cans, announcers' voices and crowd noise and commercials blaring, and she can't take it any more. She moves out, moves in with sister in Hackensack, leaves poor Olaf all alone. Frustrated bitter Olaf thinks he is better off without her.
Olaf now has no one except fat Lou Dinucci. Lou occupies one-bedroom furnished in same building and is also victim of wifely defection, and also recently retired from sales job with Fleet Organic Snack Food Company, "Fleet—the elite treat." Sports and Storr's Premium Lite only things Olaf has in common with Lou the mooch, Lou the know-it-all. Every Saturday and Sunday Lou comes over to eat Olaf's food, quaff Olaf's beer, make Olaf's miserable life more miserable.
Here is what Olaf and Lou do together: watch sports, drink flavorful, noncaloric brew, argue about Celebrity Bowling brought to you by New Age Burgers, "the fast food of the future," and NFL Game of the Century brought to you by Hansen's Fine Stuffed BBQ Chicken Breasts, "we fill 'em, you grill 'em," and Championship Pool sponsored by Big Fellows, "the natural sexual enhancement for the man on the rise." Argue about college football and pro football and soccer and baseball and basketball and hockey and track and field and gymnastics and croquet and curling and sumo wrestling. Argue about types of deodorant, headache remedies, radial tires, American cars, Japanese cars, German cars, hair replacement methods, potato chips, microwave popcorn, cheese (Wisconsin has the best, no California, no England, no Holland), and brands of ketchup, mustard, pickles, soup, soap, and packaged nuts. Fat Lou, arrogant Lou, he says if he makes it to heaven he'll argue with God about nature of the universe. Conflicted Olaf hates long hours spent with loudmouth nonfriend, looks forward to them at the same time.
One Sunday Olaf is seized by sudden idea in the middle of whick-whack hi-team women's beach volleyball semifinals from beautiful island of Maui, brought to you by Sun-Oil Sixteen, "as gentle as a lover's touch on sensitive skin." Excited, he stands up to ease pain in aching back and hips, says to Lou, "Brilliant money-making concept just came to me. How about we start a brand-new TV sports event?"
Lou struggles to position of attention. "There is no new sports event," he says. "All sports are already on TV."
"Darts," Olaf says.
"Darts? Did you say darts?"
"Organized series of championship dart tournaments. Beginning at local level, moving on through increasing attention and popularity to national prominence on cable sports channel, title match brought to you by Old England Dart Boards or other related corporate sponsor."
"Look at the ass on that blonde," Lou says, staring at the TV screen.
"World Series of Darts," Olaf says. "No, better yet, International Darts Federation Tournament of Champions."
"Best asses in TV sports in beach volleyball matches," Lou says.
"It's a brilliant concept and you know it," Olaf says.
"Not brilliant, stupid." Lou listens to the announcer say Rocky Mountain Ice Beer, "no brew colder south of Alaska," is best of all American beers. "Garbage," he says. "Storr's Premium Lite is the best, the coldest, any fool knows that."
"Darts," Olaf says.
"I don't know anything about darts," Lou says. "You don't know anything about darts. Who cares about darts?"
"Patrons in bars. Darts is a very big game in bars."
"To play, not to watch on TV. Darts is not a big-audience game."
"Beach volleyball isn't a big audience game either," Olaf points out. "Nobody in Minnesota plays beach volleyball, yet viewers in Minneapolis and St. Paul are watching beach volleyball this very moment same as we are. It's all promotion."
"No ocean beaches in Minnesota," Lou says wisely.
"We'll make millions with the right promotion, right sponsors, right TV channel," Olaf says. "Sports Channel X, home of Xtreme toboggan racing, is perfect for International Darts Federation Tournament of Champions."
"Another slice of crazy Olaf pie," Lou says and shakes his head in disdain. "Volleyball asses far more interesting than darts any day."
Olaf tries not to look at volleyball asses. He is not too old for sex; thoughts of blonde beach girls are very disturbing. "Brilliant concept," he says. "Golden goose eggs."
"Goose eggs, all right, but not golden." Lou stirs, belches, heaves to his feet as commercial break for Sun-Oil Sixteen interrupts volleyball match in the middle of hard whick-whack spike by another blonde beach girl. "Suppose we go down to O'Ryan's, ask him what he thinks?"
Cunning Olaf doesn't argue with this. Olaf knows O'Ryan, once drank many Storr's Premium Lites in The Rose of Shannon Irish Pub before his back and hips hurt too much for long hours of perching on bar stool. O'Ryan is a very wise man, knows more about sports than anybody in Yonkers, has connections with local TV station. O'Ryan will be Olaf's ally and perhaps not so silent partner in great darts venture.
Soon stooped aching Olaf and fat smart-mouth Lou are in The Rose of Shannon Irish Pub, Olaf making direct appeal to O'Ryan whose actual name is Isidore Gomfrey. Upon transfer of bar ownership in 2015 from the O'Ryan family, he adopted O'Ryan name as what they call in the trade his working moniker. O'Ryan listens to Olaf's brilliant proposal for International Darts Federation Tournament of Champions. Nods, considers. Olaf leans forward, expectant, dollar signs and vague beach girl Images dancing merrily through his head. "Well?" he says. "What do you think?"
"I think you're crazy," O'Ryan says.
"What?"
"Darts is not a big audience game."
Lou makes noise like a chortling rabbit.
"No money in darts," O'Ryan says. "Nobody cares about darts except drunks throwing for beers in dark corners of The Rose of Shannon."
Olaf and Lou return to two-bedroom furnished, Olaf percolating with rage and humiliation. Lou makes a fool of him, Isadore Gomfrey makes a fool of him, life makes a fool of him. Olaf the maligned, Olaf the doomed failure. Nothing he thinks or plans or does ever turns out right, even brilliant darts concept; he must be cursed by capricious gods who single him out for special torture.
Angry Olaf and chortling Lou sit-stand and sip suds, watching six-man helmetless Xtreme Toboggan Racing teams engage in thrilling, dangerous competition brought to you by Hilfinger's Custom Sleighs, "we'll give you the ride of your life." Is toboggan racing a big-audience sport? Olaf wonders. One toboggan crashes into wall, caroms off, spills helmetless men onto ice slide. Announcers very excited, Lou very excited, until snowmist clears to show none of the spilled tobogganers badly hurt in the crash. "Damn," Lou says. Plenty of mayhem and broken bones in Xtreme Toboggan Racing, Olaf thinks; that must be the reason for big-audience appeal on Sports Channel X. No mayhem and broken bones in darts tournament, unless maybe opposing contestants have boards strapped on their heads to catch thrown darts like William Tell with apple and arrows.
Olaf says this to Lou, who laughs so hard his jowls wobble like gobs of vanilla pudding. "Crazy Olaf," he says. "Forget about darts and crack me another brew. Time for the big game to start."
Olaf yearns to tell Lou to crack his own brew, bring his own brew next time, but he doesn't. Weak spineless Olaf does Lou's bidding.
Big game today is Giants versus Jets from RingTech Computer Software Company Stadium, formerly Giants stadium, brought to you by ShellEx Petroleum, "our gas is your gas," and Steinmetz Gold, and hot powerful new American Zephyr Z-8 sports coupe, "all new safety features and fastest zero to sixty acceleration of any passenger car ever built." Most important game of NFL season, winner likely to play undefeated former expansion Daytona Bulldogs in Super Bowl XLXVIV in Mexico City.
"Giants by two touchdowns," Lou says confidently.
"Jets," Olaf says. "Jets by seven."
"Bobby Immelman is best quarterback in the NFL."
"John Jay Finkelhammer has better stats."
"Immelman has better touchdown to interception passing ratio and more last-minute come-from-behind victories than John Elway. Best pro quarterback ever to play for a New York team."
"No, Joe Namath, bad knees and all, was the best ever. Namath should be in the Hall of Fame."
Lou emits a derisive laugh, quaffs beer, licks foam off his upper lip like cat licks cream, throws empty can onto pile on floor. "Namath was one-year phenom," he says, "Super Bowl hero but regular season bum."
Olaf feels rage come back. Argue, argue, argue, and he never wins even one time. Olaf deserves better than this, a better friend than loudmouth retired snack-hack salesman, a happier post-retirement existence. But Olaf's life is a tattered tapestry woven of hangovers and back pain and Saturday and Sunday arguments and five minutes of commercials to every one minute of top sports action. Olaf is fresh out of options, fresh out of future prospects.
Game starts, game progresses. Rumble tumble fumble. American Zephyr and Steinmetz Gold and Foot-Long Hot Links, "livin' high on the hog with the big dog." Giants lead 17-10 at halftime, lead 24-13 middle of third quarter. Jets go on offense, drive to Giants' 47 yard line. John Jay Finkelhammer rolls out, can't find open receiver, is swarmed over by six huge Giants' defensive linemen. Players unpile, John Jay Finkelhammer doesn't get up.
"Hurt," Lou says. "Look at instant replay. Hurt bad."
"No," Olaf says.
"Yes," Lou says. "This could be worst sports injury on TV ever."
"Worst sports injury on TV ever Joe Thiesmann's broken leg, Giants versus Redskins, RFK Stadium, November 1985."
"Wrong," Lou says. "Until today, worst sports injury on TV ever Jerome 'Slammer' Marshall's broken neck, Knicks versus Celtics, Madison Square Garden, June 2012. Slammer dove for a loose ball, jammed his head into scorer's table, spent three hundred and six days in a coma before they yanked his feeding tube."
Angry Olaf swallows more beer. Foamy brew passes straight through to his bladder so fast he almost doesn't reach the bathroom in time for usual trickle, wiggle, spurt and squirt. Olaf makes painful way back to living room, hears TV announcer say John Jay Finkelhammer still not moving, situation looks bad, could be very serious injury.
"Didn't I tell you?" Lou says, staring raptly at the screen. "Worst sports injury on TV ever."
"Finkelhammer is a very tough competitor," Olaf says. "He'll get up pretty soon, lead Jets to fourth-quarter victory."
"Wrong on both counts, as usual." Lou belches, farts. His face seems to grow bigger, wider, to open up like a white poisonous flower with a wet red center. "Finkelhammer may never get up again."
Olaf's rage grows and grows, assumes Viking proportions. Something goes click-clack, whick-whack in his head. Darts farts Zephyr Steinmetz bowling golf Bonecrush Facedown volleyball asses Fleet Fleet elite treat fill 'em grill 'em matchmaker matchmaker Hungry Folks' Breakfast high on hog with big dog Namath Slammer Finkelhammer best beer worst injury crazy Olaf hateful Lou rumble tumble mumble. Olaf gets up, goes into bedroom, finds cunningly hidden weapon bought long ago to repel intruders, goes back to living room.
Fat noxious Lou is still staring at tube, Storr's Premium Lite can raised in midair. "This might be the end of Finklehammer," he says, excited. "No kidding, I think he's dead."
"I think so too," Olaf says and the gun goes bang bang bang. Bullets punch neat round holes in Storr's, neat round holes in Lou Dinucci. Former snack-hack salesman falls over dead in tomb of empty beer cans.
TV announcer says, "This injury timeout brought to you by Mexican Village, home of Gigantico Burrito, 'big enough for two and better than mamacita makes.'"
Olaf Thorkelssen, brilliant creator of International Darts Federation Tournament of Champions, says, "This murder brought to you by Jones and Smith thirty-eight caliber Undercover Model 2015 revolver, 'aims straight, shoots great.'"
Then happy sad crazy like a fox Olaf pops open another brew, changes channels, and watches commercials and promos occasionally interrupted by rumble tumble sports action until police come and take him away.
Barry N. Malzberg and Bill Pronzini are the authors of many books and stories.