We have some helaciously talented athletes residing at the Nebraska State Penitentiary. Obviously, I can not name them, but they range from Super-bowl participants to college bowlers. More frequently, we have dreamers, who think they are the next Ron Leflore, who was recruited by Billy Martin, then manager of the Detroit Tigers, out of the Michigan Penal system back in the summer of ‘73. Inmate Haflas was a basketball player, pending parole, who claimed to actually have a try out pending his release.
The facility often hosted town teams and semi-pro clubs that needed some variance in their competition. Many of those clubs entered the facility thinking they would have a cake-walk coming, only to get trounced by an organized group of inmates who had nothing to do all day everyday but play ball together. Haflas claimed that today’s opposing team had a coach who scouted for the New York Knicks.
Due to a fight involving Haflas’s celly, his cell was temporarily secured, and nobody could enter it, other than staff, until the investigation was complete. Haflas returned to his cell after eating lunch.
“Ten down.” Haflas called for his cell to be opened. “Your cell is secured pending investigation. I can not
open your door for you at this time,” came the professional response from the control station officer.
“I’ll just get in quick and grab my Jordan’s, go head, open it up,” Haflas knew this often worked with inexperienced control station officers.
“Haflas, if you have a problem with my orders, take it up with the caseworker. I can not open your door at this time.”
“Where is your new post, under the Lieutenant’s desk?”
“Haflas, I’m just enforcing orders.” “Well, you just go and get Batiste then.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Haflas. I can not abandon my post to appease you. You will just have to find him yourself.”
“But dude, I gots to get my shit so I can get my game on; you just don’t unastan…widdout my Jordan’s, I ain’t gonna ha my game! Why it gotta be like dat?”
“I will not risk my job, just so you can get your gear, Mr. Haflas.”
“But they bringin’ a scout!”
“I don’t care if they are bringing ESPN.”
“You better check my pedigree! He come jus to watch me play. I get my game on, he get the contract on! I’m gonna make millions. He even know the parole board. He gonna get me out early, so as I can play for the New York Knicks!”
“And your point would be?” “Are you gonna let me in?”
“Mr. Haflas, you have two choices as I see it. You can either find Caseworker Batiste on your own, or you can attend your activity without your gear. Please notice that those options did not include entering your cell. That said, if Caseworker Batiste orders me to allow your entry, at that time, you may enter your cell.”
“Look man, I ain’t got no time for this shit. I promise I won’t tell. I promise I won’t forget you. I’ll even get you courtside seats when I play. I won’t forget you little people.”
“Why do they yell at you?”
“So everybody else knows not to do it.”
The facility often hosted town teams and semi-pro clubs that needed some variance in their competition. Many of those clubs entered the facility thinking they would have a cake-walk coming, only to get trounced by an organized group of inmates who had nothing to do all day everyday but play ball together. Haflas claimed that today’s opposing team had a coach who scouted for the New York Knicks.
Due to a fight involving Haflas’s celly, his cell was temporarily secured, and nobody could enter it, other than staff, until the investigation was complete. Haflas returned to his cell after eating lunch.
“Ten down.” Haflas called for his cell to be opened. “Your cell is secured pending investigation. I can not
open your door for you at this time,” came the professional response from the control station officer.
“I’ll just get in quick and grab my Jordan’s, go head, open it up,” Haflas knew this often worked with inexperienced control station officers.
“Haflas, if you have a problem with my orders, take it up with the caseworker. I can not open your door at this time.”
“Where is your new post, under the Lieutenant’s desk?”
“Haflas, I’m just enforcing orders.” “Well, you just go and get Batiste then.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Haflas. I can not abandon my post to appease you. You will just have to find him yourself.”
“But dude, I gots to get my shit so I can get my game on; you just don’t unastan…widdout my Jordan’s, I ain’t gonna ha my game! Why it gotta be like dat?”
“I will not risk my job, just so you can get your gear, Mr. Haflas.”
“But they bringin’ a scout!”
“I don’t care if they are bringing ESPN.”
“You better check my pedigree! He come jus to watch me play. I get my game on, he get the contract on! I’m gonna make millions. He even know the parole board. He gonna get me out early, so as I can play for the New York Knicks!”
“And your point would be?” “Are you gonna let me in?”
“Mr. Haflas, you have two choices as I see it. You can either find Caseworker Batiste on your own, or you can attend your activity without your gear. Please notice that those options did not include entering your cell. That said, if Caseworker Batiste orders me to allow your entry, at that time, you may enter your cell.”
“Look man, I ain’t got no time for this shit. I promise I won’t tell. I promise I won’t forget you. I’ll even get you courtside seats when I play. I won’t forget you little people.”
“Why do they yell at you?”
“So everybody else knows not to do it.”
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