"....Keep up the pace or it'll take too long."
More prophetic words were never spoken.
I looked down at the list of player names.
It's here that I need to give you a small factoid about the metro Detroit area. Detroit has one of the largest Polish communities in the country. And a lot of Polish Americans went to my school. And the minute I looked at that list, I realized that every Polish kid in our school was on the football team. Sitting on the counter before me was an endless list of names, none of which were less than ten letters long and all with a definite shortage of vowels. These were names that looked more like "words" a toddler with a bucket of plastic consonants would construct than the proud family monikers of onetime immigrants who fought and struggled to come to our country. Names like Krymnikowski and Pfekotovsky stared out at me like a street map of Warsaw. Before I could even consult with my mustachioed cohorts, the band hit its warbly fanfare and three guys kicked my chair.
"You're on!"
--from "And Now a Word from the Booth..." by Paul Feig
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