Charlene has a chat with Travis Buckner. Special guest star, Patrick Suarez!

Art is by  pac
Travis Buckner is by  Tazel Sixpaws
Patrick Suarez is by  steviemaxwell
FBA is by  BuckHopper

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The Finals were over and the Biker's were taking home the trophy. Charlene watched the games, and there was a fevered pitch of excitement that gripped the crowd in a way even the playoff games didn't. There was also a somber undertone to it that she picked up, and a major topic of discussion from almost everyone was the kidnapping and near killing of Tazel Tawner, the coach of the Typhoons. She had seen pictures of the strange blue vixen, with too many limbs and digits, but had never met her. Putting her head into that particular story would be something she'd have to consider. After a talk with her boss about it, though, she was told to mention it only in relation to the game.

"Don't go investigating a crime down there," the rhino told her gruffly over the phone. "Keep things focused on the game. You're a sports reporter now."

As if she needed reminding. She'd been to more basketball games in the last month than she had ever thought about. And every one was the same. Practice, playoff game, final. It didn't matter. It was still the same white noise of active bodies and pointless scoring to her eyes. The only difference is that she now was at least understanding why some shots were worth different amounts. Free-throws, standard shots, and three-pointers from beyond that arcing white line. She could see some players were clearly better than others with her own eyes, not just because the name was constantly being announced.

With the finals over, she followed the Bikers to listen to their post-game announcements and watched the award ceremony for the players and staff. The shaking of hands with the Typhoons, and the show of mutual respect. That was nice, she thought. Just for show, or do they really mean it when they shake hands and say "good game" to the people they just lost to? She honestly couldn't tell. There was too much in this whole industry that was pomp and visual - when she watched the recaps of the games on her hotel TV, she was flabbergasted by the incredible amount of CGI and grandiose music scores that accompanied every TV spot, interview-program, and commercial.

As luck would have it, she managed to score an interview with one of the draft candidates, Travis Buckner, a koala from BTU. He was having an impromptu Q&A with the press, and she managed to hear about it in time to get there and ask some of the questions that were tickling her mind. Things that she would like to ask any player, if she could get close enough. When she met him, there were already a few other people there. One she recognized vaguely, a brown jackal. Seen him at a number of games. The others were all strangers.

When Travis gave a wave of his hand and said he'd take some questions, the first to respond was the jackal, Patrick Suarez.

"Based on many of the scouting reports, you seem to shoulder a lot of responsibility on the floor. What kind of team player do you want to be the court, and what kind of role do you expect to get from the FBA coaches?" Well, the rat thought, this guy did a little more homework on the koala than she did. Still, she listened to Travis' response curiously enough, as he laid out an answer that was long enough that had it come from a politician, she'd have known it to be pre-written. Maybe it was. Or maybe he just knew what he wanted to say.

"Good questions. I've proven my pointmaking ability close up to the post, especially when I need to get around larger individuals. They may have the height on me, but that does no good if I can dribble the ball around them and put in an easy floater or two while they're still looking at where I *was*. Most opponents underestimate me like that - they're big, but usually not as quick. They don't know how fast a koala can move until it's too late." He sighed. "And yes, I've heard the 'Kwickie Koala' joke many times. Was funny, until my teammates decided they'd call me that outside of the game... when I was buying a girl a drink... *ahem*... Anyhow, koalas have strong legs - from being an arboreal species - so my jump is pretty good. I've dunked quite a few times, but that's usually when I had fast breaks for the momentum. Alas, my height means I don't get rebounds as often, but I'm continually working on leg muscle, toning - I had gotten a couple rebound doubles in my time at BTU - as for team role, I'm looking for the role of 'paint bucketer' - as I've done in BTU. Get me the ball close up, and I'll climb the trees and stuff it down."

Switching his weight from foot to foot, he went on, making Charlene smile lopsidedly. The guy just kept going, didn't he?

"And what do I expect to get from coaches? Most of my old coaches have been pretty laissez-faire when it came to me. 'Just give Travis the ball and screen for him.' And they do. Mostly. Grudgingly. I'm not a ball hogger, nor a glory hound, but I work hard and deserve to be recognized for that. Just as my teammates would want it, I'm sure. Most of my previous teammates have been... quick to blame me. They think I'm bad luck. I'd dribblepass to someone who was looking right at me, and they'd ignore it, focusing on the hoop for the rebound. Bounces off their tail, other team picks it up. The screwup blames *me* for not 'letting them know'. I shouldn't HAVE to let them know. They should be cognizant, pick up cues and focus on plays, not daydreaming about getting a double double! The coaches all agreed with me too - that didn't make the screw-ups any happier, and as a result... well team relations were usually strained." Pausing long enough to lean forward, his arms folded neatly, he went on in a lower tone, "Mr. Suarez, 'luck' is an expletive in my book. A four letter word that shouldn't see the light of day. There's no 'luck' that gets a player to the FBA. There's ability. There's malleability. And there's stability. And that's what I'm hoping from a coach. Recognize the ability, temper me into a sharper instrument, and aid me and the team in supporting each other. And that's all I can ask for."

"Thank you for the answers, I'll be sure to quote you in my draft pool review. Good luck in the combine challenge," the jackal responded, still writing down the long-winded response.

"Thank you," the koala said dryly, "But, how about wishing me to 'play well' instead? I think that fits better, don't you?"

"Sorry, force of habit," Patrick replied with a cheeky grin. "But I do hope you perform well."

Travis seemed ameliorated by this, and then sent his gaze around to the few others gathered. Spotting her, he gave a friendly smile and a flourish of his hand.

"Did you always want to play basketball?" Charlene asked him pointedly.


"Pretty much," he said at once. "When I was growing up, my dad noticed I was really good at putting trash in the basket from across the room. When I was about nine, he put me in a junior league. Did pretty good but never got along with the kids, so dad pulled me out. Kinda continued through high school and college. It was mostly high school that I saw my performances really starting to come to play, though everyone around me really wasn't pulling their weight. Same for college, too. When I was outscoring everyone else repeatedly, I knew I found what I wanted to do for my life. Marketing... that was a backup plan, though I did pretty good on my finals." Charlene wrote it all down, and moved right onto her next question.

"What do you like about the FBA?"

"The diversity. You wouldn't expect snakes, elephants, a stingray, squirrels and such all on the same court in high school or college. Most of the players there were predators. Big. Toned. Muscular. And the attitudes to boot. But the FBA, proves anyone can be the best, no matter what species they are. I like that. And I plan to add koalas to that list." This answer made her pause in her writing and give him a longer, more speculative look. It was the one thought that had been on her mind, the only redeeming thing she could find about this ridiculous sport. His answer started hammering around the head of an idea she had, but she put it away for later and went on to her next question.

"What would you change, if you could?"

"Hmm. I don't like the attitudes I see in some of the players. Some of them are rather disinterested. Whether or not it's because they think they're the best thing since sliced bread - and they may be - I don't enjoy the idea of people getting paid to do nothing. Some players enjoy riding the bench. I think everyone has to work for the money the fans give to the FBA. No free rides. If you're bored, then you practice more, improve, until you become a starter. You won't see me twiddling my thumbs, getting paid for nothing." She realized, now, that this koala was doing a better job at self-advertising than most of the blowhards she was used to talking to back in the courtrooms and political offices. So one more question came to her, one that she didn't have ready beforehand.

"Ever have any bad experiences, or good ones that stand out, on your journey to the draft?"

"Being on the draft matchup list - definitely a good experience. It makes for great brand recognition. But as I've said on Twitter, it doesn't mean anything unless you can back it up. And sell yourself on and off the court. I know what is needed to sell a product, and *I'm* the product. Are there better players out there than me? Maybe. But I got here on my own, and once I prove pointmaking ability, I'm going to go farther with a team that respects me, and whom I can respect. Really wish I had that during college - everyone just was sluffing." He shook his head. "I may need a bit of tweaking - I gotta work on my long balls, and defense is a bit of a challenge due to my height - but I guarantee you won't have a pine rider with this marsupial. Work ethics - you either have them, or your contract gets ended."

Charlene nodded her head a few times, taking the last of her notes. That should be enough talk from one hopeful to fill some space, to get some perspective on it that she could mold into something worth reading down the road. She thought about adding one more question, his opinion on Tazel Tawner, but decided to take Jacob's advice for once and let others handle that. There was already somehow too much, and yet too little, for her to think about.

As she got back to her hotel, she sat on the edge of her bed and began to unlace her shoes. The shoes were quite large. While the number on the bottom may say size ten, which was large enough for a lady, it was the modifications to the top half of each that was bigger, and the cleverly integrated bulge in the heel. A person might look twice at them as she walked by, but dismiss them just as quickly, which is what she wanted. As the laces came undone, she was able to pull each one off with a deep sigh of relief.

Stretching her legs out in front of her, letting her long toes unfold and stretch, she gazed at them for a few minutes, then ran a hand through her hair. Here and there she paused to finger at something, then plopped her hands down to either side of her. Not yet. Time to start writing.