Hello boyos!
well, here is the first rough installment. Yes... I know... it's shitty... I just sat down this afternoon and wrote it. any suggestions on how to make it suck less would be liked.....
it would sound alot better if read aloud..... so yeah....
Smoky Mountain Football Arena, Earth
Earth Arena Football League Championships (EAFL)
The Swain Devils (7-2) at the Smoky Mountain Mustangs (7-2)
Broadcast on Fox Sports Galactic and trans-light radio 645.6 TL, “The Fan”
3rd down and five on the Mustangs’ 24 yard line. The Smoky Mountain Mustangs jogged up to the line. Jake Robinson, the Mustang’s quarter back, looks up at the score board. 42 seconds left to go, his Mustangs trailing the Devils 43 to 50. He singled for a time out
The referee, a short human, blew his whistle and said over his microphone, “Time out, offense that is their third and final time out.”
“Well folks, if your just tuning in, you’ve missed quite a ball game, isn’t that right John?” said the announcer, Caleb Crawford
“That’s right Caleb. Injuries on both sides have kept this game close, right to the very end.” replied his counter part John Jameson.
“John, seeing as this is the first every live broad cast of an Arena game to get galactic viewing, why don’t you explain the rules once more for the folks at home.” Said Caleb.
“Ok, I’ll try and keep this short and sweet for you folks. Instead of the standard hundred yards long, fifty yard wide football field, an arena field is only fifty yards long and twenty-five yards wide. This small of a field means high-scoring games, with touch downs on almost every possession. Running yards will almost always be less than a hundred yards for both teams the entire game.” Explained Jameson
“Well is looks like the teams are lining up again, back down to the field!”
Mark Johnson lined up behind his quarter back in a strong I formation. His jersey, like that of all of his team-mates, stained blue and red, and black. Blue from the blue colored astro-grass that covered the fifty yard long field. Red from blood. His blood. The tingle of nanosites burned through his arms, as is re-grew the skin that constantly was being torn.
He watched his quarter back closely, watching for the head bob. There was no way he could possibly hear them, not over this standing-room-only capacity crowd of just under 40,000 beings. From his spot at the fullback position, he could see the entirety of his team. The two Skorono, Waynesville and Canton, five yards to ether side of the Offensive line. All three Ki, Ja-Ah-Tunweti, Ka-Li-Weta, and Fhe-Ko-Lato, had definitely seen better days. All three had several of their many multi-jointed arms hanging limply at their sides, their jerseys covered in black blood. Mark’s jersey had some of that blood on it as well.
He saw the other full back, a smallish Qyuth Warrior named Halbord the Stunted, lined up in the tight end position, obviously in to run block.
He saw the defense of the Devils screaming at each other, making adjustments for this new offensive scheme.
He saw the crystal panels rattling on the out side of the arena from the noise of the crowd, mostly in Mustang blue and silver, screaming and cheering their team on.
He saw the blades of astro-grass shaking from the bass tones of Queen’s We Will Rock You, one of those football traditions, like that of the adoring fans, that never changed as almost everything else in the sport did.
He saw all this… And laughed to himself under his breath. The defense was doing just as his coach had planned, all keying on himself to receive the hand-off.
The quarter-back’s head bobbed, once, twice, thrice, and then the line launched into is endless war. Mark pumped his legs like pistons in the ancient NASCAR V-8’s he still raced in the underground illegal racing leagues. Raising his hands up to his chest, he prepared to take the hand off, then, at the last second, Robinson pulled the ball away. Mark’s momentum carried himself on into the line. Full back fake.
The defense, so intent on Mark, didn’t notice that he no longer had the ball. Mark ran the left defensive end over as his powerful frame smashed into the line. Turning, he looked to the back field, he saw Robinson hand the ball of to Halbord the Stunted.
Halbord ran pell-mell to the right side of the field. The defense, catching on to the play, rounded and chased towards the small Qyuth Warrior. The Swain Jack Linebacker, dove for him, for a game saving tackle.
At the last possible second, just before the larger Qyuth Warrior made impact, Halbord stopped, using the amazing lateral movement that his smaller than normal frame possessed, and shovel passed the ball to the right side wide receiver, Waynesville.
Using the acceleration that only a Skalorno can possess, she ran to the left side of the line, leaving the slower Qyuth in her dust.
The defensive, entirely confused by this triple fake, stumbled; all save for the lone Skalorno from the back field. Running as fast as her body could, the safety seemed like a red and white clothed blur from the backfield, making contact with Waynesville.
The crowd let out a collective moan that turned into a yell of excitement, as Waynesville threw a last ditch lateral pass. Mark Johnson, caught the ball and turned up field, using his powerful body with 3.6-40 speed, powered down the field to slow to a walk as he entered the Red painted end zone standing up.
The crowd let out a scream that shook the arena from floor to ceiling. Mark pounded his chest with a primal fury.
The team lined back up for the two point conversion, in the exact same formation, not letting the defense catch its collective breath, Robinson snapped the ball on a quick count, slamming the ball into Mark’s chest. Mark lowered his shoulders, and rammed right into the line, feeling a ki’s leg break as it tried to hold him out of the end zone. He crossed the goal line, the defensive tackle, a quivering mass below him.
Two-point conversation good, game tied, 51, 50.
“Did you see that Caleb? Did you see that?!?” shouted John Jamison.
“That I did John. You don’t have to scream it down my ear! Mark Johnson is the toughest human I’ve ever seen. His punishing running style can only be compared to the late great Mitchell “The machine” Fayid.” Responded Caleb, “Its not wonder that he is slated to be the number one pick in this years GLF Tier Two draft.”
“That’s too true Caleb. Back to the game. The Mustangs are lining up to kick off back to the Devils. They’ll have 15 seconds to try and score. In this league, that is more than enough time, as the entire field is in field goal range.”
“And there’s the kick. Its returned by Jamestown, he’s up to the five, the ten, the twenty the, OH MY!!! What an amazing tackle by Waynesville, the ball is loose and the Mustangs recover!!!! That’s the ball game folks! What a game, what a game!!!”
"For future reference, I was sort of hoping for a suggestion that didn't sound like it came from that Bolshevik Muppet with all the dynamite.”
- Jim Butcher
