Like the referees, the cameramen will work only six hours out of the game’s twenty four. Also like the referees, they have colleagues stationed around the playing area to pick up the ball carrier on any deceptive maneuver.

One of the two co-head referees, both of whom will preside at the coin toss before taking up a position with the program coordinator in the television control room, brings over the two goalyard referees and the two scrimmage line referees, and introduces them to T.K.

T.K. instructs his players to run pass patterns. He then goes off with the co-head referee.

At Anderson and Pinckney streets, the other co-head referee meets them. He has Harv Matision with him. One of the co-head referees says, “Harv Matision, Captain of the New England Minutemen, meet T.K. Mann, Captain of the San Francisco Prospectors.”

T.K. extends his hand. Matision ignores it. “Flip the fucking coin and let’s play ball.” He sneers.

“Mr. Mann,” the referee says, “as visiting team, please call heads or tails while the coin is in the air.” He throws the coin spinning skyward.

“Heads.”

Three cameramen, T.K.’s, Matision’s and one of the rovers, perch about a half block away, covering the toss by way of long-range, telephoto lenses. The cameramen never get too close to the players for several reasons. They don’t get all tangled up in the action that way, an important consideration with forty eight cameramen involved. Probably of more importance to them personally, it keeps them out of the way of an accidental knife thrust or rifle shot.

The coin comes down tails.

“We’ll receive,” says Matision.

“We’ll defend the west goal,” says T.K. The playing area isn’t exactly rectangular. The west end is slightly wider than the east. T.K.’s selection will give the Prospectors the east goal in the final quarter, a tactical advantage. Late in the game, when both teams are always dog tired and often shorthanded, it helps to have a small area surrounding your goalyard. It cuts down on your opponent’s mobility. Conversely, a large area around your opponent’s goalyard gives you more mobility.

The referee, for the benefit of the people watching at home, conveys the results of the coin toss via exaggerated arm motions in the direction of Matision’s cameraman.

“You may both return to your teams,” he says.

One of the co-head referees accompanies T.K. back to where his teammates, still shagging passes, await.

At precisely 11:45 P.M., the co-head referee again approaches T.K. “Your hidden safety, please.”

T.K. motions Gus D’Armato forward. D’Armato comes, clutching his rifle as if it’s an integral part of his arm.