The kid was the complete package: speed, size, even keel, merely been to jail a few times, no felony convictions, only two illegitimate kids, never been in rehab, could write his complete name in cursive.

“Hellfire, it’s a no miss proposition,” the GM beamed. The Whupcats ponied up two million to sign him in the first round. Champagne was passed around at the ceremony like cotton candy. Not a swinging soul noticed the kid never sat down during the entire signing circus.

Then, word got around he’d developed the worst case of hemorrhoids the medical profession had ever seen. He saw proctologists, surgeons, homeopaths, psychopaths, and a faith healer who chanted, “Heal this asshole”, all to no avail. He spent all day every day sitting in a tub of warm water. Alas, he never recovered his edge. It was a hell of a deal. The news media invested almost as much blabber as if he’d declared himself gay. “Football’s Future Flummoxed by Failed Fundament” blared the local newspaper.

The GM had six martinis before he released his statement to the press. “The most outstanding prospect we’ve ever had, ruined by piles, for Christ’s sake. In thirty-one years, I’ve seen the media carry on about assholes who got busted for rape, mayhem, or the dope cops, but this here is an asshole crisis of an entirely different nature.”