Burning Questions: A Christmas Carol

Jeff Miller

burning

This week’s Burning Questions is a lot of things. One thing it isn’t, is about fantasy football. If you are looking for a fantasy football article, check out our article archive. If you want to get in the holiday spirit while simultaneously reading the strangest thing ever published on DLF, you’ve found yourself in the right place.

 

A Dynasty League Football Christmas Carol

by Jeff Miller

 

Stave One

With the calendar showing December 24, Jeff Cratchit worked well into the eve in a desperate attempt to gain the favor of his prickly editor, Ken Scrooge. An eternal optimist, the ruggedly handsome Cratchit was hopeful Mr. Scrooge would take pity upon him and waive his Christmas day deadline this year.

“You’ll want all day ‘morrow, I suppose?” said Scrooge.

“If quite convenient, sir.”

“It’s not convenient,” said Scrooge, “and it’s not fair.  If I was to stop half-an-article credit for it, you’d think yourself ill-used, I’ll be bound?”

Jeff smiled faintly through his mustache.

“And yet,” said Scrooge, “you don’t think me ill-used, when I pay a full article credit for no work.”

The scribe observed that it was only once a year.

“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December! But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Humbug!”

With that, Scrooge logged off Voxer and made his way to the living room to watch film of illegal helmet-to-helmet hits, his favorite pastime.

Curled up on sofa, under a custom made Seahawks Snuggy clad with gold leaf and myriad jewels, Ken began to nod off while delighting in concussive blow after concussive blow. Unlike most slumbers, peaceful and resting, Scrooge’s state was about to be upset by an old friend.

Iggy Azalea blared from the speaker of the iPhone 3, “I’m so fancy, you already know. I’m in the fast lane, from LA to Tokyo.” Rolling over, still in a groggy state, Scrooge fumbled with the outdated device, trying to figure out who would FaceTime him at three o’clock in the morning.

“Hello, Ken. It’s Eric Dickens-Marley. Remember me?”

“What could you possibly want at this hour? Wait………. didn’t you die after a pie eating contest seven years ago?”

“I did. But it was worth it. Those blueberry pies were outstanding.”

“What’s with all the gold the chains and medallions?”

“Because I was once like you, I must carry them around my neck as my burden in death.”

“Like me how?”

“I was forced to spend the vast wealth I accumulated on these chains, so that I may pay for my sins financially and with my health. Seriously, my C-4 and C-5 are killing me right now. That’s a ghost pun.”

“Why are you FaceTiming me?”

“To help you avoid the mistakes I made. Nobody other than Mr. T or Tony Soprano should ever have to wear this much gold upon their breast. When I saw what you said to Cratchit this evening, I decided it was time to give you a call.”

“If he expects to be paid, I expect him to write.”

“Have you no Christmas spirit, Scrooge?”

“Humbug.”

Ken hung up, rolled over and fell back asleep.

“Ken. Wake up.”

“Huh?”

“I said wake up. We need to talk.”

“Dickens-Marley? What the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get here so fast? Will you stop jingling those chains already?!?”

“You hung up on me, so I let myself in.”

“I knew I should have changed the locks when I stole, erm, bought this place from your widow.”

“Come outside. I want to show you something.”

Still wrapped in his Snuggy, Scrooge slowly lifted himself off the couch, following Dickens-Marley to the stoop.

“What is that?”

“It’s a 1981 DeLorean. Get in. I want to show you something.”

 

Stave Two

As the flux capacitor spooled, Scrooge continued to complain in his typical petulant manner. That was about to change, as the acceleration of the DeLorean pushed them ever closer to 88 miles per hour.

“What’s happening?”

“We are going to visit your past, Ken. There is someone you need to see.”

A crack of electricity boomed across the quiet street as the DeLorean penetrated the rift in time, hurtling the pair back to the winter of 2001.

“DUDE, WHAT WAS THAT?”

“Haven’t you ever seen Back to the Future? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Now take a deep breath and come over here. Look in the window.”

“Is that you sitting in front of a Pentium 4?”

“It is. I am editing an article about Az-Zahir Hakim. I made one of our writers submit it on their daughter’s birthday”

“I’m sure she got over it.”

“Actually, she rebelled against her parents, fled home at 16 and joined a pagan cult who ate nothing but lutefisk and butterscotch candy. They never saw her again.”

“You are a real buzzkill now that you’re dead.”

“Clearly this isn’t working. Back to the DeLorean.”

 

Stave Three

The car touched down in northwest Las Vegas, out front of a quaint property on a quiet, dimly lit corner. As before, Dickens-Marley beckoned Scrooge to look through a window on the front of the home.

“Woah. Is that Cratchit’s wife about to get in the shower?”

Dickens-Marley jerked Scrooge away from the window, “Oops, wrong one. Let’s try that again.”

As they made their way to the back of the house, the grump and the ghost saw Jeff Cratchit hunched over his laptop, working on an article for Christmas day. His young daughter, Tiny Ava, sat next to him, pleading for her father to watch Elf with her as they had done each of the six previous Christmas Eves.

Jeff explained carefully that he had a deadline to meet the next morning, but the softness of his words did little to temper the blow, as she broke into tears, falling into her father’s arms. Cratchit paused for a moment before shutting his laptop and turning the movie on. It was Christmas Eve. The article could wait.

“I told him he could have tomorrow off.”

“You also told him you should only pay him half his normal rate if he didn’t submit something. It almost worked, Scrooge. You almost guilted him into working through the night, putting your greed in front of his family.”

“I….I didn’t mean for that to happen. I simply wanted the work I’m paying him for.”

“You call what you give him pay? Our babysitter made more, and that doesn’t even account for inflation.”

“Look, Dickens-Marley. I understand what you are going for here, but it’s late and I’m tired. Can we do this in the morning?”

“My life upon this globe is very brief. This ends tonight.”

As Dickens-Marley spoke, the clock struck midnight.

“We are running out of time. I have one more thing to show you.”

 

Stave Four

Once again, the DeLorean hurtled through time and space, this time destined for the near future. But this was a different setting than either of the two before.

“A graveyard? Is this a joke?”

“Just listen.”

A small group stood around a freshly dug, but empty hole, discussing the newly deceased.

“I suppose we could go to the wake.”

“Will there be food? Booze?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If there isn’t, I’m staying home. The old man isn’t worth our time.”

“Oh, I agree. I just wanted some Jameson.”

“He was so cheap they’d probably only serve rail liquor.”

“Burnett’s vodka isn’t so bad.”

“Not so bad? It tastes like rubbing alcohol!”

Scrooged listened intently, wondering how anybody could drink cheap vodka, and also how people could be so flippant over the death of the “old man.”

“How could they be so crass, standing over a buried body? Who was in there, anyway?”

“Follow me and we will find out.”

After a short jaunt, the two found themselves at a familiar location just in time to see Jeff Cratchit’s wife wondering aloud how he could be in such a good mood.

“Why are you so happy? It’s Christmas Eve and you always have to work.”

“Not this year. The old man is gone.”

“On vacation? He hasn’t done that since the thing that happened in Thailand.”

“Well, sorta. Except this one is permanent. Remember that Hawaiian shirt of mine that went missing earlier this year? Well, apparently the police spotted him wearing it. A standoff ensued and it didn’t end well for ol’ Scrooge.”

“That’s amazing! Did you hear that, Tiny Ava? Scrooge is dead!”

“Ding dong, the Scrooge is dead, the Scrooge is dead. Ding dong, the humbug Scrooge is dead!”

Scrooge shouted, “But I’m not dead. I’m very much alive!” The Cratchits continued dancing and singing, “Ding dong the Scrooge is dead…”

“Why can’t they hear me? Why are they so happy? What does the Wizard of Oz have to do with this? How did they find out about Thailand? I am not a bad person!”

“But you are, Scrooge. Or, you were. I hope. Otherwise I skipped the Over the Top marathon on TBS for nothing.”

 

Stave Five

The sun was rising and the morning fog beginning to lift as Ken woke up with a shot. He darted room to room, calling out Dickens-Marley’s name. There was no answer. Still frantic, Scrooge threw on clothes, fitting his coat as he rushed out the door.

“Where to, Mr. Scrooge.”

“Take me to the Cratchit’s.”

“Yes. Mr. Scrooge.”

“Actually, can we stop and get McDonald’s breakfast first?”

“Whatever you’d like, sir.”

“And Lens Crafters. I need my glasses adjusted, they are digging into my nose. Look at this. Can you see how red it is?”

Inside their home, the Cratchit family was celebrating a very special Christmas, for Jeff had quietly saved enough to get Tiny Ava the medicine she needed to slow her macular degeneration. A wonderful Christmas gift indeed! The joy was interrupted by a hard knock at the front door, which Jeff answered.

“Mr. Scrooge. I, uh, wasn’t expecting you. My article is almost done. I promise I’ll have it to you soon. I’m sorry I missed my deadline.”

“It’s OK Cratchit. Take the day off to spend with your family, then come in at noon tomorrow and see me so we can discuss your massive raise, profit sharing and promotion to Vice President of Awesome. Oh, and here is McDonald’s breakfast and a new Hawaiian shirt.”

“Sir. I don’t know what to say…”

At that moment, Tiny Ava fumbled her way over to her father and his boss, running into things on account of the macular degeneration. When she finally found Scrooge, she hugged him and said, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge, and god bless us, every one.”

 

I thought Burning Questions had, you know, questions?

And Columbus thought the world was flat. Or something.

 

*This story was, of course, adapted from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Some of the prose was lifted directly, some was changed slightly, but most was original material based loosely on the classing tale. Full credit for all of Dickens words go directly to him. The man was a genius.

**This is a fictional story presented for entertainment only. Any resemblance to any editors, partners or writers here at DLF is pure coincidence. The DLF partners, Ken Kelly, Ken Moody, Jeff Haverlack and Eric Dickens are a wonderful group of guys. What other fantasy website would allow me to publish this? Oh, and Ken K. isn’t just a great editor, he is a great guy. So like I said, any resemblance is purely coincidental.

jeff miller