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Bread and Circus
by Steven Popkes
Steven Popkes lives in Massachussetts and is currently working with NASA
on the Ares I. He gives credit for this story to his son Ben, who used to play
soccer (using pine cones) with his father while they waited for the school
bus. One day, Ben made a suggestion that triggered this fun tale of sports
and sauropods.
* * * *
His phone rang as he was setting up for the game. He switched over, audio
only. “Paderewski.”
“Mike—”
“Barney, I’ve got to talk to the team. It’ll have to wait—you know how
they are.”
“Mike! Don’t switch off. I just talked to Jim Matteson.”
Mike hesitated. “Who is?”
“Husband of Kimberly Matteson who used to be Kimberly Ross. Who
is the niece of Commissioner Hack Ross.”
Mike sighed. “Rumors. There are always rumors. You always get
wound up on these end-of-season games.”
“This isn’t a rumor, Mike. Ross is going to add another team to the
majors.”
“That’s not funny, Barney.”
“It’s not a joke. They’re going to elevate one of the minor teams. You
know who it’s got to be: us or the Legs. Who else is there?”
Major league. As in wholly better than minor league. As in a real
budget. As in not being owned by some other major team.
“Arizona,” Mike said half-heartedly. “Miami.”
“Screw them both. It’s always us or the Legs in the playoffs. Are they
going to elevate a team that’s worse than we are?”
 
Mike thought for a moment. “Who else knows?”
“I haven’t told anybody else. But other than that, I don’t know.”
Mike rubbed his face. “Don’t tell anybody. Not a soul.”
“You got it.”
The line went dead. Mike wanted to throw the cell to the floor and
stamp on it. Dance for joy at the chance. Dance in frustration that his luck
couldn’t be that good. What would the team think? What would Myrna think?
Instead, he turned and entered the locker room. A thick, fetid odor of
carnivore washed over him. Fifteen tons of therapod looked up as he came
in the door. He could tell by the splattering on the wall that somebody hadn’t
made it to the stalls in time. Pre-game jitters.
Their teeth gleamed as they watched him. He rubbed his hands
together. Time to get to work. Play it close. Play it easy.
“Okay, team,” he began. “Listen up.”
* * * *
Al: Welcome to another episode of Monday Night Sports brought to
you on the Hopkinton public access feed. I’m Albert Staab, Senior at
Hopkinton High School.
John: And I’m John Albermarle. Also senior at Hopkinton High
School.
Al: Tonight we get to bring you the sport we love, DinoBall. Also
called Dinosaur Soccer or Sauro-Futball.
John: It should have a better name. DinoBall sounds like something
you’d play in an arcade.
Al: Tonight, it’s the Minor League final playoff for the East Coast
Division. It looks like a good game tonight.
John: That’s right, Al. It’s the Scranton Legs versus the Providence
Braves. There’s no love lost between these teams.
 
Al: They’ve been rivals for, well, years. The Legs have been playoff
champions of the division six of the last seven years.
John: That sure hasn’t made any friends in Providence. Each of
those championship matches were between the Braves and the Legs. The
Braves are hungry for a win.
Al: I don’t think it looks good for Providence. There’s a rumor that the
Legs are going to take Sebastian Genzyme off the disabled list.
John: Tom Vertech isn’t going to be happy about that. He’s the one
who put him there.
Al: Cool. This could have the makings of a grudge match.
John: Yeah. Any idea why they hate each other so much?
Al: The coaches of both teams have been closed mouthed about it.
It’s pretty unusual among the late Cretaceous therapods. Up in the majors,
don’t the Miami Mosasaurs have a Spinosaurus goalie and a T. Rex center?
John: Stan Merck and Tam Lilly. Both left and right wings are
Velociraptors.
Al: Not a bad combination.
John: Then again, San Francisco has a Gigantosaur goalie with an
entire line of Allosaurs.
Al: There’s a lot of friction in San Francisco.
John: It was a bad trade. Allosaurs rarely get along with any of the
larger carnivores. But I’ve heard that the friction between Sebastian and
Tom goes back to the days when they were both in the majors playing for
the Saint Louis Claws under Mike Paderewski.
Al: When Saint Louis demoted Paderewski to Providence they sent
Tom with him and traded Sebastian to the Legs. Do you think Sebastian
resents that?
John: Could be, Al. Or maybe neither of them liked getting dumped
from the Claws. It’s going to be an exciting game. We’ll be right back after
these public service announcements.
 
* * * *
Mike didn’t see Sebastian when he followed his team past the
bleachers. Maybe what he’d heard was wrong. Maybe the rumors were just
rumors. He pointedly ignored the Legs warming up on the other side of the
field.
He ran the starting two wings in a quickness drill and watched them
dribble the twenty-five-pound ball effortlessly. That was the fun part of the
job: watching the Velociraptors run.
A shadow loomed over him and he heard harsh breathing. Oh, yeah,
he said to himself. That’s the other part of the job.
“Is it true, Mike?” Tom bumped him with his head and almost knocked
him over. “Is Sebastian going to play today?”
Tom’s head was only level with Mike’s eyes, not towering over him
like a full-sized T. Rex. Tom was about one-eighth size: one-inch teeth,
six-foot legs, eight-foot tail. It didn’t matter. An ancient mammalian shiver
rubbed its way up Mike’s spine every time Tom walked near him.
“So what? So you can go for him again and lose the game?”
Tom ignored him. He scanned the other side of the field. “He’s not
there.”
“Tom, we can win the playoffs this time,” pleaded Mike. “We can get it
all back. We can take them. If you just ignore him—”
Tom looked down at him briefly then stared back at the Legs. “He’s
not here,” he said with satisfaction. “I must have hurt him pretty bad when I
checked him.”
Mike buried his head in his hands. “Which got you thrown out of the
game and we lost, six to two. We had it in the bag, Tom!”
Tom walked away without reply and started stretching with the
Velociraptors.
Mike sighed and looked over to the Legs for himself. No Sebastian.
His breathing eased. Maybe it was just a rumor. Good.
He hooked up the transceiver and started making suggestions first to
 
Victor, the left wing. Then, he took his two defensive Megalosaurs to task
for not covering the holes fast enough. He heard the rippling tone on the
transceiver and switched over to his cell.
“Mike here.”
“Honey, I’ve been thinking.” Myrna always started a conversation that
way. It gave Mike a sinking feeling.
“Yes?” He switched channels and yelled at Victor. “Stretch your tail
and your talons together. You can’t stretch them one at a time.”
“—so the toilet is loose on the floor. The plumber came in and said
the floor would have to be ripped up. I called the tile man and he’s come
and says we have to select a whole new color.”
“That sounds okay.” Switched channels again. “Tom, you’ve got to
warm up just like everybody else.” Tom snarled at him across the field but
started stretching his tail.
“—they look as good as they’re going to be. I want you to look, too.”
“I trust your judgment, honey,” he said, then quickly changed channels
to the staff line. “Barney, we’re going to be ready to start soon and the
water jugs aren’t out. See to it.” Then, back to Myrna.
“—so he’s going to call you in about half an hour.”
“All—what? I can’t talk to him in the middle of a game. It’s the playoff.”
“Mike, you have to take an interest some time. It’s your home, too. It’s
not my fault we’re in Providence.”
“But—”
“There are no ‘buts’ here. I’ve done all the leg work. I just want you to
make sure I haven’t missed anything.”
“It’s the middle of the game!”
“You can’t take a short phone call?” in that brittle voice Mike knew so
well.
“Okay,” he said defeated. “I can give him a minute.”
 

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