“Well, Timothy, I plan to rely on the fundamentals. Running, blocking, passing, defense and conditioning. I think we’ve got the best team in the league. This Sunday, I hope to prove it.”

“A commendable aspiration, T.K., one which I am sure you will do your utmost to achieve.” He swings around toward Matision. “Harv, you’ve heard your opponent. Tell me, what does your game plan call for?”

Matision stares straight ahead at the camera. When he speaks, his voice has a menacing growl to it, the snarl of a caged meat eater, overlooked at feeding time. “I only got one game plan. The same one as I got for every game I’m in. I do my best to kill every fucking ball carrier I get my hands on.”

“I see,” says Timothy Enge. “So you’re going to rely on weaponry to bring about an attrition of the opposition.”

“Shit,” clarifies Matision, “I’m gonna use my knife to kill Prospectors. I’m gonna start with Mr. T.K. Mann.”

T.K. halfway bolts out of his chair, but a burst of pain forces him to sit back down.

Matision goes on. “I’m better than T.K. Mann ever was. I’m better now than he ever will be. Just so there’s no doubt, I’m gonna slit his throat on national TV.” Matision pulls out a knife.

My God, thinks T.K., I’ll bet he takes it to bed with him. Flipping his wrist, Matision opens his knife. “For you folks at home, here’s a little sampler of what you’re gonna see.” Abruptly, he lunges for T.K.’s throat.

Completely unprepared for such an action, T.K. reacts by rolling sideways. The pain of doing so throws him off balance. Instead of clearing the chair, he hits its arm, flops ungracefully over, and, chair and all, falls to his apartment floor with a dull thud. Matision stands over him laughing. From the floor, T.K. swings at Matision, barely able to see through tears of pain. Of course, since Matision is only hologramically present, T.K. doesn’t connect. His swing, as altered by the camera’s angle, appears to miss Matision by six inches. The two are abruptly frozen, T.K. lying on the floor, Matision towering over him in laughter.

The scene cuts to a close-up of Timothy Enge. “As you have just seen for yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, nerves are stretched to the breaking point for this game. This was only the beginning. I urge you to tune in this coming Sunday to see the end.”

The scene fades to black.

Friday, July 23, 2010