Pontiac, Michigan, 1967. A bunch of clean-cut guys in khaki pants and letterman jackets stride past a short, chubby kid. The head jock is, by the way, about thirty-three and welcome to call me anytime. The chubby kid jumps on the head jock from behind, and wrestles him to the ground. "Say it!" he squeals. "The Cutlass 442 is faster than the Belvedeare GTX, all right?" Jocky chokes out. People -- to me, they are speaking in code. Is that cars? Calculators? Whatever. "Damn straight," Chubby says, as Jocky shakes him off. "Some captain of the football team you are," Chubby continues. Again, I have no idea what they're talking about, but I know football, and what they're talking about has nothing to do with football, so I really don't know what Jocky's knowledge about...um, whatever, has to do with football. Now, if Jocky told Chubby that he didn't know the difference between a field goal and a two-point conversion, that'd be a whole other story. Oh, maybe Chubby means that Jocky is a crappy football player because he was so easily tackled, in which case, word. Jocky calls Chubby a shrimp, and further informs him that he always will be a shrimp. Chubby ruefully shakes his head and tells Jocky that he thinks big. Real big. And when he grows up, he's going to be a "crusading publisher, and make this world a better place. Like...Hugh Hefner." Chubby leers at the schoolgirls behind him. Name that Gunman: Melvin Frohike. "Man of action."
Oh, gawd. We cut to a tri-split screen, each of the little boys on his own red, white, or blue background. "Three heroes. Three separate paths leading to one shared destiny," Jimmy says, as the boys morph into their grownup selves. "To change the world. To make history. Today's the day it happens." I'm sure.
Federal File Depository, Owings Mills, Maryland. Hey, that's where you write if you want transcripts of Wall Street Week. Which my parents used to make me watch with them every Friday night of my young life, until my grandmother took pity on me and got me a TV for my room, and then, later, of course, I got a life and used to leave the house. The voice-over, by the way? Still. Coming. Atcha: "You gotta figure, people never see history coming. It just kinda sneaks up on them" Byers exits the GunVan. "Like when the Chinese bombed Pearl Harbor[sic. Sic. SIC.]. You're living your life, them boom! You're swept up in it."
This voice-over was brought to you by the Michael Bay/Jerry Bruckheimer production of Pearl Harbor! Starring Ben Affleck, and a bunch of other people! And bombs! Starring lots of bombs! It's like Titanic, but with bombs instead of that iceberg!