The Rutabagas Remember (HTML excerpt)
Rutabagas don’t get much of a chance to play basketball. The big leagues overlook them. The minor leagues never invite them to try out. Even the little co-ed teams in their hometowns’ recreational leagues have forgotten about the rutabagas. And there’s never room for them on the schedule at the neighborhood gymnasium, whose manager would have certainly charged them extortionate rental rates if the thought had even crossed her mind.

So it’s left to the rutabagas to play in the dirt fields they call home, where as often as not they’re bullied off their makeshift court by wandering chickens and barn cats on the prowl. No talent scouts watch them play. No talent scout would even recognize the game they were playing, what with the lack of a ball, the absence of dribbling, the total dearth of movement.

Coach Curtis thought the talent scouts wouldn’t recognize an up-and-coming star if he or she set a down screen under their noses. It was obvious to him what the rutabagas were doing the moment he stumbled into their field. They were positioned in a 1-3-1 defense, plain as day. All they needed was an opposing team.

The very next day, Coach Curtis went to work....
This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for November 17, 2017. Subscribers can download the full-length fictionette (1042 words) from Patreon as an ebook or audiobook depending on their pledge tier.

Cover art features original photography by the author, who just happened to find an out-of-season community garden and an abandoned basketball on this afternoon's walk.

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