Harv Matision stands over him, tentatively touches him with his toe, then kicks him once, as hard as he can, in the small of the back.

Fifteen minutes later, the game is over. The Minutemen win it, twenty to nothing.

“Well, that was some prognostication,” remarks a stunned Timothy Enge. “Wrapping it up for you, according to our data bank’s calculations, the Minutemen will win Killerbowl XXI by the astoundingly low score of twenty to nothing, and, in the fourth quarter, Harv Matision will kill T.K. Mann.” Enge takes out the top sheet of paper on his clipboard, studies it for a moment and shakes his head. He wads the paper into a compact ball and drops it to the floor. “What more can I add to a prediction like that except to say, be with us, right here, on New Year’s Day, and find out whether or not it comes true.”

Monday, December 20, 2010

Contrary to the rosy reports published in various newsmags and sporting journals, participating players detest the four week layoff between the end of the regular season and the Killerbowl. They would be much happier if they could get it over and be done with it. During such a break in their seasonal regimen, they have a chance to mend their bodies. They also have a greater opportunity to become flabby, both physically and mentally. Deprived of the weekly toning rigors of a game, players must turn, instead, to cross-country running, isothenics, weight training, and, even worse, daily practice sessions. All of which they find excessively boring, especially when compared to the exhilaration that accompanies participation in a real game. The television network requires time to enhance anticipation, boost viewership. So the players wait, wait and train.

The Prospectors’ weight room has a solid metal floor covered with six inches of absorbent padding. For their exercises, the players wear special pliant crystalline flux magnetic belts strapped to their bodies. At prescribed intervals, trainers make the rounds, adjusting the belts to new levels of magnetic attraction, either up or down, depending on a player’s particular physical needs.

T.K. is on the incline board doing lung presses. He has twenty pounds of force on each wrist, thirty five on each forearm, eighty on either bicep, and an additional fifty five across his chest. This set requires him to do forty eight repetitions, pause for thirty seconds, and begin again, keeping it up until he has done so eighteen times.

He is midway through when he hears a voice behind him. “Mr. Mann,” it says, “Mr. Mann, may I take a moment of your time?” He gazes up into the mirror positioned over his head. There, upside down, looking back at him is Senator Abelman.

“I can’t interrupt my workout,” huffs T.K.