“No, no, no, no, no! Is there not one player that hasn’t had a heroin addiction? Or a massive dildo shoved so far up his ass he got internal bleeding on regular intervals? or both? How is this child-friendly? Is this what we are teaching our next generation? That this is normal? One fucking thousand players and still not one that comes even close to suitable!!!” I was screaming, while surrounded by a sea of crumpled paper.

I picked up the next. Blind rage surging through my body.

“Dennis Wright, accused of murder on several occasions, never convicted. Averages at one point four with an eighteen in finishing… Are you for fucking real? Is this a joke?” I threw the crumpled paper with as much force as I could onto the ground. Then I stamped on it. Gurgled a little and spat a green flume of spit on it and gave it the finger. On to the next.

“Todd Bundy has a gambling problem as they often find him at the ponies. Averages a three-point-four. Has a twelve in both acceleration and pace…” I threw him on the ground after crumpling him with some extra force.

“Norman Krieger, Communist… an eight in throw-ins and marking. Two point three on average…” I read and then crumpled. I mean, it wasn’t too much to ask to have a few normal ones for a change right? I wasn’t being too critical was I? I had been at it for over six hours now and only got one intact piece of paper lying somewhere forgotten. My summary of the guy read “Ted Covett, Former sumo wrestler, still on the plus size. Weighs one hundred and fifty kilos. Keeper.” The only reason I hadn’t added him to the crumple sea was that he had a fourteen in reflexes and a fifteen in bravery. I hoped I could make him run laps around the field until his tears and his screams for his mummy made him lose weight.

One out of the close to one thousand I went through. I didn’t even finish a whole box yet. But still, only one that wasn’t complete bullshit. I sat with my hands on top of my head for a while staring into the pile of boxes in front of me. This was on the edges of not doable.

I took another one of the pile and read, “Edison Chester. A former con man, born and raised by a troop of touring gypsies. Will charm your wife while you are at work and asks for loans before disappearing without a trace. Plays a decent left winger though.” The guy averaged a three point nine and his crossing and dribbling were both a fifteen. By the looks of it, he was a good player, for this fine selection. Just a scumbag. Sighing, I crumpled the piece of paper. Throwing it away in an exhausted and dejected fashion.

I rubbed my eyes. I needed a cigarette, but then I needed to roll myself all the way to Norma's little balcony. It looked out over the rest of the apartment building complexes that surrounded hers. The view and fresh air were amazing, her neighbors giving me the eye for ruining said fresh air was nothing new. But I had to roll myself there. Which was a hassle. I could already walk by myself again. But something about being driven around felt good. You lost freedom but gained power over your surroundings. Weird stuff.

I sighed and was about to pick up the next piece of paper. Expecting nothing. When Little human came out of my blind spot and landed on a box.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Old bastard, can I offer my help? They allow you to use me as a search function if you wish.” It spoke in its squeaking voice. I stared at it for a moment before whispering “You mean to say, I could have used you from the start?” The voice may have been soft but my tone was menacing. Little human didn’t seem to notice and said “Yes! But your choice for realism came with the fact that I could only offer you this option after one thousand rejected players.”

“Fuck you and your realism!” I tried to strangle the little fairy but my hands went right through it. Turning it into some kind of blue gas. Little human appeared on my other side and like a game of whack a mole I tried to smash it with my fist. With the obvious outcome. It reappeared in his original location. Before I could continue with my onslaught, it raised its little arm. I stopped, and it chimed “Please refrain from using violence against my person. Otherwise, I will put my service on hold for a timeout period of twenty-four hours. You will need to manually access and navigate the digital world in that case.”

This goddamn fairy was threatening me. I could hold on to my principals of not negotiating with terrorists. Or I could be able to continue what I enjoyed. Well not enjoyed right now. But I was hopeful I would enjoy again in a few days. I looked at the pile. All right few weeks. I needed the small bastard.

“Tell me about this search function of yours,” I said. I would not apologize to some man-made piece of technology even if it cost me my enjoyment for a few weeks.

It looked at me doubtful. Then it seemed like it changed its stance, more towards a relaxing posture. Like a real human. Freaky. It squeaked “If you list certain keywords for me, I can select players for you based on those criteria.”

“Like Google?” I asked. The former search giant had gone into other branches after the collapse of the internet. What they did now though, I was not sure. Probably violating our privacy in some kind of fashion.

“Yes, this is one term you could use for it. But common terminology now has shifted into sniffing. As I will sniff out the results through these boxes. You can ask me if I can sniff something out for you. In the general populace, they generally call our kind sniffers.” it said.

“Sniffing… Sniffers… What has the world come to… All right so how many keywords do you need?” I asked

“That is up to you old bastard, but keep in mind that more keywords used, will limit my sniff result.” It squeaked

Keywords, keywords, keywords. There was only one thing I had been searching for. A great tenacity to win. A will to win greater than anything else. I would not find star athletes in these starting piles of players. That was not how the game or the world worked. You started out with trash. Then came recycling that trash into something usable. some pieces would remain trash and could go into the incinerator. Others would become less trash and could go into the recycling machine again. I needed players who wanted to make the recycling bin their home in order to win. I needed them to eat, sleep, and play bridge when I told them to and I needed them to enjoy it.

“Use the keywords: Will to win,” I said to the Little human, I refused to think of it as my little sniffer. It not only sounded weird. It also gave me the creeps.

“As you wish Old bastard.” It chimed and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Soon reappearing, standing on top of three binders chuck full of papers. “I found one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five players matching your keywords.” As it chimed its sniffing results, It looked like it wanted a compliment.

“Thanks?” I mumbled as I stared at the binders. That was still a lot of papers. I sighed, asked Little human to log me out and got out of bed. Fuck that wheelchair, I needed a walk and most of all, I needed a smoke. I needed to think how my little recyclable trash should look like. Nothing pacing on a smallish balcony couldn’t solve.