An excerpt from Terry Lloyd Vinson's upcoming release 'GAUNTLET': 

With that, Kentucky steps back as the interviewer practically leaps in front of the camera, flashing teeth so hideously white they threaten temporary snow-blindness.

     “Next up after this short pause to pay the bills, we’ll rap with the woman chosen to rep the Lone Star State. Remember gang, the one and only Iron-Will Gauntlet will be available in all its live streaming glory at gauntlet-thon.com. For the poor remaining souls on the planet, all eighteen of ya, still marooned on a desert isle without internet access, there is the archaic yet still available pay-per-view option. Contact your local cable carrier. Back in moments with the beauteous belle that all of Texas will be hootin’ and hollerin’ for come tomorrow morning. Cue promo!”

     Leaning against a nearby podium that has, strangely enough, gone unused in what the sponsors billed ‘media day’, Kentucky peers across the massive lobby to a collosal flat-screen dominating a far wall as one of many Gauntlet-eve promos flash flamboyantly to life. 

    In taking in its comically overdone, borderline gaudy production, he feels less amused than woefully bemused. A nation on the verge of utter financial ruin forced to bank the foreseeable future on an event that, less than a decade previous, likely would never have made the cut in an endless sea of mostly pathetic reality-based TV programs. 

   As the promo kicks into full gear amid a jarring hip-hop beat and blinding flashes of pyrotechnics, he glances over to his left while being joined by a tall, lanky brunette wearing a white-tee adorned in yellow roses. Keeping her focus pointed directly at the screen, she skips over wearing a wry grin, never actually making eye contact.

   “What marketing genius birthed this overcooked slice of ham, ya think?” she asks in a drawl so thick it sounds a tad manufactured.

    “You got me, but somebody at the top had to green-light it,” he replies with a solemn shake of the head. 

    “True enough, Sugar. Sad, sad, sad,” she concludes with a scowl, her overly thick eyelashes batting at warp speed and thus resembling a pair of fluttering moths attempting to take flight.

    The promo concludes before inexplicably replaying in all its horrid tawdriness.  Kentucky gives the swarming masses standing both in and outside the hotel lobby a parting glance and begins to turn toward a nearby elevator, but soon enough finds himself hypnotized yet again by the spot’s campy yet undeniably stout draw, the luridness of which he can only compare to a live auto crash. 

     “This isn’t your mom and dad’s Iron-Will Gauntlet, no sir!” shrieks the MC as a covey of lithe, scantily-dressed fem fatales dance a wild jig over what appears to be a faux nature-trail setting, the background of which appears a garish hybrid of CGI and ancient ‘jungle-movie’ footage from the mid-twentieth century.

     “Fifty-one brave, life-tested, determined souls, one chosen from each state in our great nation, will challenge the limits of human will in order to bring home the federal bacon to those they so proudly represent. Unlike the previous Gauntlet, which was solely a test of endurance, this new and improved competition will provide potentially fatal dangers at every twist and turn; an obstacle course filled with chills and spills-with the biggest dangers being cooked up and served by none other than that sometimes ruthless, sometimes cunning, sometimes unforgiving goddess of the elements, Mother Nature herself!”

     As the dancers continue to jiggle and gyrate in unrestrained glee, the background images shift and contort to showcase various calamities of nature to include raging floodwaters, multiple funnel clouds, black skies littered with lighting strikes, and ferocious snowstorms, all cheaply executed as to amuse rather than strike fear.  

    “It may take days, it may take weeks, but in the end, when the smoke clears and the fat lady has belted out that final, lingering note, only one will emerge victorious; victorious to bring home the spoils to those so badly in need in whatever state they so gloriously represent, while simultaneously cementing their place as a treasured icon for all times! A tried and true champion whose Iron-Will prevailed over not only fifty other similarly brave souls, but the considerable wrath of the four season’s harshest elements as well!”

     Just as a fresh hip-hop riff thumps forth, the screen temporarily fades to black only to flash back to life to display a gleaming gold trophy in the form of a man poised on his knees and reaching skyward with outstretched hands; the design and theme of which obviously falling under the heading of ‘winner triumphs over insurmountable odds’. With that, Kentucky hears the interior crowd practically swoon in awestruck wonder, as if viewing the trophy for the first time, though its garish likeness has been showcased on both TV ads and the internet for several weeks as part of the public-appetite-wetting process. 

    “Make no mistake, America…the man or woman with the mental and physical stoutness to carry this solid-gold beauty home will have, no ifs, ands or buts, mother-(bleeped for content) earned it!” 

     Wearing a wry smile and with a final, bone-weary shake of the head, Kentucky whirls about and heads for the elevator. Keeping his back turned to the lobby even after entering the boxed space, he hears the crowd erupt yet again as no doubt the lady with the butterfly lashes steps forward for a live grilling from Mister Ivory-Choppers with the golden mike. Allowing his shoulders to slump and his chin to rest atop his chest, the overwhelming sense of relief he feels while riding smoothly upwards towards his fourth-floor suite isn’t merely palpable, but a full-blown cloak; a soothing message for a soul battered not merely by obvious outside pressures, but an inner self-expectation whose confidence grows weaker with every tick of the clock.  

Author's note: For the record, I penned the first rough draft of 'Gauntlet' a full year before the release of 'Hunger Games'.  I'm proud to say not a single reference to 'teen love' or 'angst' resides within the final manuscript.  This is a tale written exclusively for the children of the '70's and '80's.