“All right, gladly.” Abelman nods briskly, setting up wispy currents in his long, sparse white hair. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want an end to legalized murder. Instead of giving football players more weapons, I want them disarmed completely.”

“Now, Cy, you sound like one of those End Blood Sports people. Next thing I know, you’ll be parading around outside my office with a placard and a list of dead athletes.” Barin steps in closer, warming to the battle. “Come off your high horse, Cy. Street football is no passing fancy. It’s the most popular sport in the world, the most popular sport ever. Hop on the bandwagon while there’s still room.”

Abelman doesn’t back away, literally or figuratively. “Senator, you and your media cohorts are turning this country into a perversive nation of depraved, voyeuristic ghouls. I want no part in serving up bloodshed for breakfast, death for dinner and a smidgen of torture with tea.”

“Splendid alliteration, Cy, a linguistic tour de force, albeit a bit on the sensational side. The actual facts are quite to the contrary. My media friends and I are simply giving the American people what they want. Exciting entertainment. You act as though I’m trying to equip football teams with machine guns or bazookas, for goodness sakes. When all I want to do is provide football’s hidden safety with four bullets instead of one. Do you honestly think giving one man three more bullets can pervert a nation?”

“No, not pervert. Destroy.”

Senator Barin gives forth a round, hearty laugh. “I can make it worth your while to come over to my side, Cy. I can help you a lot. Keep that in mind. Or I can hurt you. I can do that, too.”

Abelman puckers up his lips and crinkles his nose. “You make me want to puke,” he says in decidedly non-diplomatic fashion.

A shrill, squeaky voice cuts short Senator Barin’s renewed laughter. “Friends,” screeches Koko Hofsteder in that breathless way she uses to announce the arrival of yet another important dignitary. “Here’s someone I just know you’ll all want to meet.” She habitually introduces her guests with the slam-bang come-on of a TV talk show hostess. “A most prominent figure in the sporting arena, the winner of the last Killerbowl, as cute in person as he is on the TV screen, Harv Matision.”

Matision swaggers into the room. He’s dressed completely in white, a white leather headband, white cape, white silk shirt open to the navel, white doeskin pants, white boots. Around his middle he sports the white belt and six inch gold buckle of a Killerbowl winner. He has with him an albino German shepherd. The dog snarls at the assemblage. So does Matision. Koko Hofsteder squeals with delight, takes Matision by the arm and escorts him into the throng.