Semi Champions

Wearing a shirt, tie and white jacket, Dr. Drake Saturday night’s Texas date plans ended abruptly when a west coast text, chimed, “Please come ASAP.”

Staring the lone star sampling’s eyes down, the colonial medical professional spoke the truth, “I must catch the next stagecoach and go forward.”

“But why?” The beautiful Texan realized the red, white, and blue seasonal position fetish window, shut, closed immediately.

“Bo, no longer can throw, and has been nixed from the championship celebration,” Dr. Drake telegraphed diagnosed the issue.

“As a Texan, these health care related duties are mine,” Houston referenced, “I know my way around a barrel, you all northerners should comprehend.”

“But can you do it in eight seconds?” Dr. Drake intriguingly asked.

“You a northeastern European influenced patriot can do something in eight seconds?” Houston, the Texan challenged.

“Give me a week,” Dr. Drake typed back, heading out the door.

Days passed and Dr. Drake proper upbringing confronted the ‘cowboy up’ instant result mentality and invaded the mountainous country. Climbing the mile high scenic landscape Dr. Drake pondered, “where is this, Bo?”

“I tell you, he got nixed,” the driver screamed back, “this is just a quick stop over before the sixtieth anniversary panhandling fool's gold mining experience of a lifetime, Dr. Drake.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dr. Drake counted; his fortune cookies certain the future was navigated properly honoring him with this year’s victorious escort.

Inside a hospital room, Bo could be heard yelling “bills, bills, bills! That is what nixed me.” Second in command, Jar Rett fully prepared, already magically conjured many spicy concoctions, storing the containers in the Rett zone, “I texted the patriot Dr. Drake to come.”

“Not Houston, the Texan?” Bo responded.

“I know those Patriots workings, more than Texans,”

“But Houston has nice oil fields,” Bo remembered.

“We need to fix your Achilli's heel,” Jar Rett suggested, “and what is in my crock may do the trick, only problem is it won’t be fully resolved until next season.”

“You should just send flowers, Jar Rett,” Bo told him.

Suddenly, a disturbance flared, loud voices exploded, “Dr. Drake you need hospital identification?” Informed a nurse inserting computer paperwork data.

“Jar Rett, the official bench clipboard watchdog, sent me the guest relations text, requested my professional opinion,” the independent minded freedom fighter stated.

As the single spotlight illuminated dark surroundings, Dr. Drake entered, confronting an interesting visual, making the Boston General double take.

“You are not Jar Rett,” he declared following further review, “your Stidham, and you are a missing person advertised on Wanted poster for leaving our ‘it takes a village site’,”

“Well, its Dr. Drake,” Jar Rett greeted, “maybe I am Stidham from Sussex, but you should tell your pub crawlers I am no longer sought by those enjoying their Kraft cheese riches, so I left, and created my own secret condiment.”

“Really,” Dr. Drake acted surprised.

“It has its good vibration and orange crush,” Jar Rett retaliated.

“Like I never heard of something like that before,” Dr. Drake noted, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Showdown at the ‘you are all’ ok corral,”

“I will be there,” Dr. Drake RSVP’d.

Carrying an affordable staff, Matthew endured the northern journey, leaving home an angelic city behind, shepherding his faithful ram, nicknamed ‘Rampage’.

“Come ‘Rampage’,” a featherily conference rival observed, gripping binoculars, using small claws.

“That is not a bear,” Too Darn Old mumbled watching the biblical invasion, “I am the one with twelve men, who will defend this territory from those southern golden, rams.”

“Hark, are you a herald angel?” Matthew shouted and the Seahawk waved,

“No, I am a frustrated bald eagle wondering where the Bears went.”

Not knowing what to say, Matthew paused, “just writing another chapter in my book and God told me to visit you.”

“Are you looking for forty niners pan handled gold?” Too Darn Old investigated.

“I did pray,” Matthew informed, “Yahweh mentioned subtly it was in the plan.”

“Sammit,” Too Darn Old beak chiseled, knowing his rejuvenated turnaround storyline had one more chapter.

Widely reported throughout the country Too Darn Old spent time back east flying Jets until the thrill seeker decided to head toward an emerald paradise where he could flap his wings in paradise. Encountering Boeing supersonic power, winning success started, and today Too Darn Old was one small step from the prospector's wealth.

“My good Matthew join me here in my nest,” Too Darn Old offered before stating under his breath, “I will show you the true definition to the term, ‘pecking order’”