“The other team wins, regardless of the score. It’s football’s version of the knockout. That rarely happens. We generally don’t lose more than a few men a game. Our uniform gives us good protection. Plus, pro football players are fanatical when it comes to building up their endurance, stamina and conditioning. That’s why you’re getting so many unkind stares.”

She glances about, noticing for the first time that the athletes around her are glaring at her.

He points to her pipe. “The smoke. Its a professional taboo. Cuts the wind. The vast majority of players avoid it like the plague.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.” Self-consciously, she taps out her pipe.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve always considered it hypocritical. The players who are most vehement about not smoking are usually the same ones who shoot themselves full of every drug in the book to keep going during a game.”

“Do you do that?”

“No. That stuff cuts down your long term efficiency, not to mention your lifespan. I play it straight. I get plenty of rest the day before a game. Maybe I take a nap between quarters.”

She tilts her head to one side, trying in vain to conceal her perplexed curiosity. “Forgive me if I’m encroaching on some sensitive topic, but from everything you’ve just told me, I get the distinct impression that the secret to being a successful football player is having the ability to injure others without being injured in return. To me, that indicates a terribly casual regard for human life. Don’t you find it disturbing to play such a game?”

“I’m sure some players do. I never have. Hell, I didn’t make up the rules. I just abide by them. Killing is part of football. If you can’t accept that, you shouldn’t be playing.”

“You’ve killed other players?”

“Sure. Just like they would have killed me had they gotten the chance.”

“It all sounds so callous.”