“Possibly there’s a complete recluse off someplace who has never heard of Harv Matision,” Enge continues. “For the benefit of that unfortunate and provincial nonentity, let me describe him. Harv Matision. He’s twenty four years old. He learned to play football in the Boston streets. He won the Silver Star for heroism in the Brazilian War. He started out his professional football career as a hidden safety, in that capacity setting three consecutive league kill records. In his first season as a quarterback, he led his team not only to an undefeated season, but also to a victory in Killerbowl XX. He was last year’s unanimous choice for player of the year. Harv, “he puts his hand on Matision’s arm, “welcome to the show.”

“Yeah, whatever,” mumbles Matision, clearly bored.

“Harv,” says Enge in the mock serious way that tells his viewers he’s only joking, “let me ask something of you. There’s a story, possibly apocryphal, going around that when you were a child, you were so tough that whenever you needed money you would pull out one of your teeth and leave it under your pillow. Is there any truth to that anecdote?”

Matision comes as close as he can to a chuckle. It rumbles forth sounding somewhat like a cross between a belch and a coyote’s howl. “No, that ain’t true. It was my baby sister’s teeth I pulled out. No sense letting all those good teeth go to waste, I figured. Hell, she’s gonna lose ‘em anyway. Kids always do, you know.”

Enge laughs, slapping his chair in delight, and turns to T.K. He consults his clipboard. “T.K., you were injured in last Sunday’s game with the Greys. Are you well enough to play in this crucial contest on Sunday? Or will the Prospectors have to rely on some other knight in shining armor to lead them on in their charge against the seemingly impregnable fortress that is Harv Matision and the New England Minutemen?”

T.K. has three shattered ribs. Every movement is sheer agony for him. Even sitting here quietly in his own living room gives him pain. He’s undergoing extensive bone re-knitting therapy at Stanford, but even the fine doctors at Stanford can’t perform miracles. He’ll be only 8o per cent recovered by Sunday. He answers the question. “I had some minor injuries. A dislocated arm and a slipped disk.” These are two very common, and very easily correctable, football injuries. T.K. has never had either. “I’ll be as good as new by Sunday.” Wearing a special brace, he is going to play in the game.

“That’s certainly good news for Prospector fans,” says Timothy Enge. “Tell us, T.K., without giving out any sensitive secrets, what will be your game plan for this critical encounter?”