Hooliganism
By
Mike Houlihan
Hugh Hoyle returned to his car after leaving the Old St. Pat’s party. He’d had several beers and was worried his wife, Caitlin Corrigan Hoyle, would be bitching about his behavior. She was having a party for her friends from Planned Parenthood that night and told Hugh to be home by nine, “at the latest!”
Hugh was just crossing the 90/94 overpass when he came upon an older black guy leaning on the railing, playing the Flintstones theme on his sax.
Hugh slowed to sing along with the music:
You’ll have a yabba dabba doo-time
A dabba doo time
You’ll have a gay old time!
Hugh was loaded and started laughing and applauding the street guy’s performance.
Black guy eyeballed Hoyle, “Watch you say about being gay, Jack?”
Embarrassed, Hugh took out his wallet, “Oh no no no, those are just the actual lyrics to the song. I’m….well…I’m cool dude. Can you change a twenty?”
What you say, Mr. Notre Dame jacket? Twenty is my minimum, you racist preppie.
“Oh no I’m not racist… I voted for Obama. I’m Hugh Hoyle, what’s your name?”
Dr. Leroy Coleman.
“Hi, Dr. Coleman. You can keep the twenty.”
You voted for Obama? Man, you are one cool white man.
“Thank you.”
Now you gotta give me a lot more than twenty, you racist bastard.
Hugh was getting irritated with this guy and puffed out his chest, “I just told you ‘I’m not a racist, I voted for Obama.’
Gimme more, then you won’t be a racist. Ain’t that what Obama be saying all the time? ‘You gotta spread it around, Jack!’ So cough.’
Hugh started backing up slowly, “It’s okay, I’m cool with that. What’s your beef with Obama?”
I’m a doctor. That Obamacare is bulls—!
“What hospital do you work out of Doctor?”
The hospital of shut the f— up, motherf——.
Hugh plunged his hand into his wallet to offer more.
Dr. Leroy Coleman snatched the dough from Hugh’s hand, picking up the coins in his case and packing up his saxophone.
Hugh was angry now and having buyers remorse over his donation. He stuck out his chin, “Hey man, relax with the racist stuff. I told you, I’m cool, I’m hip to what you’re saying, spread it around, yeah I’m down with that, just like Obama.”
You think votin’ for Obama bought your certificate of racial absolution, dude?
“I’m on your side, it’s okay. I’m going to vote for him again.”
Dr. Coleman’s eyes flashed crazily beneath the brim of his fedora. “You what?”
Hugh staggered back warily. He looked over his shoulder for any other people from the fest while sizing up the doctor. Maybe he should just run. Maybe he has a weapon, he’s not really that big, Hugh had at least fifty pounds on the skinny old black guy with the straw hat on his head, swinging his saxophone case back and forth in his hand until it HIT HUGH IN THE FACE.
Hugh went down, his heart beating like mad, as blood spurted from a cut opened over his eye.
Dr. Leroy Coleman went into a trance, stood over him seething, “You racist piece ‘a crap. You the reason we in this mess. What you know about Obama? A light-skinned Kenyan, socialist, Marxist, Jew hatin’, baby-killing, economic terrorist systematically bankrupting our country to reduce us to a third world power as we continue to shovel our scratch into the Islamic Brotherhood? Obama takin’ your church, your schools, your hospitals. Don’t you see evil? Catholic boy? You stupid honky, whatchoo about to do? Can’t you see what’s goin’ down here? Don’t you know Obama wasn’t even born here? He was born on the planet Uranus and his father was actually Osama Bin Laden. What you know about that, Hugh Hoyle? Obama killed his father just like Luke Skywalker had to bump off Darth Vader. Obama is the anti-Christ, dude, and you are going to vote for him ‘cuz he black? Gimme all your money, you racist!”
Hugh cowered on the bridge and handed over his wallet. Dr. Coleman whipped it open and took the rest, another couple hundred bucks, and then flipped Hugh’s wallet over the side onto the Dan Ryan as he walked into the darkness.
The lights of a van came squealing up the ramp and swiftly knocked Dr. Coleman about twenty feet across the street, where he lay stock-still.
Hugh called 911 on his cell phone as he ran to the motionless body of the Doctor. He looked down at him; a look of peace upon his face, his head just slightly bloodied, the sax case had never left his hand and lay by his side.
Hugh could hear the sirens in the distance and the voices of other bystanders and the driver exclaiming, “He walked right in front of me!”
A young woman turned to Hugh, “Who was he?”
Hugh looked at the face of the old black man and thought about what Dr. Coleman had said. He was crazy, that’s pretty obvious…. or was he… a messenger…an angel… a voice of one, crying in the wilderness, to warn him?
You decide. On November 6th.
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