I second that nomination.
It's 2009. I am holding a round rubber ball. Its atomic structure is pliant, spongy. A sphere designed to compress and bounce. It intrigues me, briefly. A clock ticks on both sides of me. In twenty-two seconds a buzzer will sound.
It's 1959. Another clock is ticking. It is Janey's pocket watch. The door has locked behind me. A loud humming begins, increases in intensity. In twenty-two seconds I will change forever.
It's a time without a date. Trillions of years after humanity has disappeared. Before me, the last star winks out of existence, with a tiny quantum whimper. It makes a sound not unlike the slow final tick of a pocke****ch that needs to be wound. I am alone.
It's 2009. Again the clock ticks. An opponent, a man of vast power, charges me. Not for me. He desires the sphere. Absentmindedly, I turn myself and the sphere into gas. In eleven seconds, a buzzer will sound.
It's 1959. The intrinsic field subtractor begins to take hold of me. The hum has become an howl. The ringing in my ears is unbearable. In eleven seconds, there will be no ears to cause me pain. I feel fear for the last time.
It's 2009. A menagerie of teammates and spectators are shouting. Shouting at me. I think about human emotion, try to remember the experience of it. It is slipping away. There is a deeper purpose to their shouting, but it is meaningless. Five seconds later, the buzzer sounds. A man in a striped shirt is demanding the sphere. I give it to him. In twelve seconds, the other team will surrender the sphere after hurling it through a metal circle. Six seconds after that, I will be holding it again. All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again in the second half. Repeatedly. My teammates are ****ed. They will be ****ed again later.
It's 2009, later that evening. A group of badly dressed men with recording devices are shouting questions at me. They want to know about a game, and failure. I explain that failure and success are meaningless distinctions, outcomes viewed subjectively through a set of arbitrary criteria. They are not pleased with this response.
The press, the press is taking me apart...
FWF this was solid gold.
*blush* Thanks guys - I'm pretty fond of that post, but I'd still have to say if I had to choose I'd go with Celtic's Solomon post. Will was the perfect man for his time and place, and Celtic's post summed up what we were all going through when we heard he was gone
Beyond the post, though, one way or another Will Solomon or the Solomon thread needs to make the HOF. That was probably the most fun I've ever had on here.