American Football

Electrolyte infused water flowed easily in the locker room.

“This is America’s pastime,” Filio Ronson observed.

“Oh, yeah?” Dustin Harrison asked.

“Of course. We only have seventeen weeks, our playoff set up is win or go home, none of that seven game series mess, we live and die on that grid iron with a single play.”

“I see your point. I agree with you. This is the only sport that is still about making strategies that actually play out like life.”

“That’s true. We have the flea flicker.”

“So?”

“It’s disrespectful to use it early in the game or when one side is crushing the other. That among the host of other plays can only be appreciated in American football.”

“There’s some devastating plays in basketball and hockey, too. I imagine there are troll-worthy strategies in baseball, too.”

“It’s not like what we do, though. Could you imagine if we played the games that the other sports do? We’d run into the ground. Strategy and short seasons are all we have to distinguish ourselves.”

“With the amount of people who watch the Super Bow—”

“Don’t mention that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s our league’s ‘most important’ moment. The irony is that it has nothing to do with the game. We’re just a sideshow compared to the pyrotechnics and dance numbers that accompany such a display.”

“I have to disagree with you there. The performances may not be about our sport but it brings in huge ratings and that’s good for our bottom line.”

“The bottom line is the fact we’re seen as overpaid prima donnas who have to perform feats the average beer-guzzling armchair quarterback could only wish to aspire to in this life,” Ronson replied.

“That’s if they played in high school or college,” Harrison reminded.

“Those are the glory days.”