Four Footfall Gods

...Prolog

Once upon a time, as the first decade of the twenty-first century was drawing to a close, four gods sat on their clouds wondering what to do on a slow Sunday. After all, their boss had told them many centuries before that Sunday was a day of rest. For them, that is. But on the planet Earth, in a country of warriors known as the United States, while their brothers and fathers and sons and daughters were fighting real wars on the other side of the world, some men would get together to play a game called football. This was make-believe warfare, and leaders, known as coaches, were always throwing out war-like clichés about how the game was a battle, and how the green grass they played on was a battlefield, and they talked of violence and battle scars, and so on….

...the Story

Now there was a little confusion over the name of this game, because another game in a place called Europe was also called football. And that game was a game where players actually used their feet. So this game in the United States, this game that had a name that was a misnomer, was the topic of conversation among the four gods on this lazy day.

"Why do they call it that, when only a couple players actually use a foot?" asked Thor.

Ares Enyalius replied, "Well, in some places they call it American football."

"They ought to call it footfall," Thor said, "because everyone is constantly falling down. Ares," continued Thor, "you are always dodging my questions by giving me useless information. They have a game with four bases and a ball they call baseball, and a game with a peach basket and a ball they call basketball, and a game with a puck they call puckey."

"You are really an idiot sometimes, Thor," said Trebaruna (Thor had always lusted for this goddess, and knowing this, she loved to intimidate and tease him.). "That’s called hockey."

"Well, what’s a hock?" Thor asked innocently.

Trebaruna just shook her head and said, "Really Thor, you say some of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard."

Menthu, whom Trebaruna lusted after, exclaimed, "Look down there! The midday games are beginning." He always liked watching this game with the odd shaped ball, and admired the way the field generals, guys called quarterbacks, although they were whole, and not quartered, could heave the object. "Thor, the world would have been a better place if you could’ve hurled lightning like those guys throw that ball."

Thor woke up hungry that morning, and hadn’t eaten. On the way to the Heavenly Café he was stopped by these other three who wanted to engage him in some ribald ribbing. He was losing his patience.

"Look, look," said Menthu, "it’s the black and gold team. Last year they were the final victors, and although the game is only played in one place, they were called the champions of the world. I wonder if there are teams in other parts of the world though who could defeat them?"

Ares was a student of this game, fond of historical analysis, and he began explaining the organization of what is called the National Football League. When he got to the explanation of the teams and their divisions, he said that the black and gold team came from the best division of them all. There was only one weak team he told the others, but he added the fact that they would be victorious on this day, because they wore orange, and the goddess of the orange tree had told him so earlier. He went on to talk about how once, many many years before, the teams in the division (he detailed how one team was different then, being from the cowboy place instead of a place called Beatmore, or Biltmore, or something like that) only lost to each other. "Yes," he proudly said, as if he were a competing fighter on one of those teams, "they beat each other in games that year, and didn’t lose to any other team from any other division. Maybe that’s the only time that’s happened… hmmm… something for me to check out later."

"Will the black and gold team and their friends be victorious today?" Thor asked.

Ares almost fell off his cloud from laughter. "Friends?"

"Don’t you know this game?" Menthu asked Thor. "They are opponents, and there is often genuine hatred among these sporting humans."

"There will be only one hotly contested battle today," Ares told the others, "and all four teams from this division will be winners on this day. You know I have a fondness for tigers, and I love to watch the team with the tiger striped helmets. But today I will first watch the team with the orange helmets, because of what the goddess told me this morning. They have been defeated many times in recent years, over and over again, and their leader is a buffoon, but I like the wife of one of the linebackers, so today I wish for her to be happy."

"Happiness only comes through victory," said Trebaruna. "It rarely comes through defeat. I like purple, and I’m going to watch the team in purple today. They are competing with the team that has the great Man leader, the Manning man, and he is manning his arsenal as we speak. He has only seen victory this year, and pride has gotten the best of him. Today he must learn, and earn, a little humility, and there is a man in purple, a Ray man, who will attack him like a Ray of light, and pounce on him, and finally, the Manning will know how the tears of loss feel." (editor’s perhaps needless note: she always talked strangely... but with well meaning)

Now Thor’s stomach was growling from hunger, his face was red from the way Trebaruna was looking at him, his head was hurting from Ares’s laughing, and he knew he had to do something. He decided he would mess with this black and gold team that Menthu liked. "You like this black and gold team, don’t you Menthu?" Menthu nodded his head. Thor shook his, and said, "Well, watch this!" The game was beginning, and as Thor puffed his cheeks there was a thunder clap, and suddenly a man in red was running past all the black and gold players. "There," said Thor, "now they do have a real battle."

The hours passed, and Thor kept bragging about his little accomplishment, which was becoming insignificant, all for naught, because Menthu’s powers were greater that day (he had a pot of coffee and a mushroom & cheese omelet for breakfast), and eventually the black and gold seemed to have command. "Watch this," said Menthu, "they are about to score." Thor’s face reddened, and when the black and gold field general threw the ball it was caught not by another black and gold warrior, but by a man in red instead, and Thor began laughing and laughing.

"That’s twice, Thor," Menthu complained. "Leave them to their own devices!"

(editor’s perhaps needless note: Thor is one of the greatest of the many mythological gods of lore, and his powers were always, or at least usually, a step ahead of others, and what would transpire on this day was no exception.)

Thor then played dumb as he went back to his chess game with Menthu, and acted like he was no longer paying attention to the black and gold. Meanwhile, Ares and Trebaruna were engaged in backgammon, and every once in a while one of them would exclaim something about the game they were focused on. "Hey Ares, what’s the score of the orange game?" asked Menthu.

"My orange team is winning 24 to 3, er… wait….. 24 to 10 now, so I guess I can stop paying attention. This one is over," Ares answered confidently.

"How about the purple birds?" asked Menthu. He was smart, and he knew they were birds because the ‘B’ on their helmets stood for the word ‘bird.’

Trebaruna smiled and said, "It’s in the bag. The horseshoes scored first, and the score is close, only 9 to 7, but my purple gang has scored three times in a row, and this game is theirs."

Thor was secretly smiling to himself and plotting. "I’m hungry," he said, "and I’ll fly and buy today." In a flash he was gone, and only a few minutes later he returned with wine and cheese and grapes and a roasted pig and a goat’s head. Thor kept them busy playing their games and eating and drinking. He kept pouring and pouring the wine, and Trebaruna was feeling fine, giggling, and flirting with all three men, running her hands through their beards and particularly teasing Thor.

Thor meanwhile was darkening the skies so that the other three no longer had an easy view of the three games they were watching. They didn’t know that Thor had taken control of all three games, and instead of victories, he was leading the three opponents to deal crushing and disappointing defeats to the black and gold, to the orange, and to the purple. But he never said a word, knowing his work was not yet finished.

They continued to stuff themselves, and were resting on their soft clouds when suddenly Ares remembered the football. "What happened, I can’t see the games!"

"They finished," said Thor, not revealing the manner in which he concluded the games. The black and gold he teased, prolonging the defeat as the game went into extra time, and then dealing the loss by going after the strength of the black and gold, thoroughly humiliating them, and finally bringing victory to the sad red team. He was gleeful over the sixty thousand or so fans who were yelling and screaming and acting like children. And he knew millions more were watching those electronic picture boxes, some happily laughing and others throwing beer bottles at the screen. He’d extended this game as far as he could, taking it into an extra time period, and thought his boss would get angry if he followed the same scenario with the other two games. "Manipulation should always appear natural," he’d been taught.

So he kept the orangemen’s hopes up, until the very end, waiting until there were only a couple seconds left, and then he smashingly brought victory to the blue boys, through the air, on the last play of the game, and reveled in the delirium of the thousands of fans who were hungry for victory. He was less cruel in planning the defeat of the purple team, not waiting until the last play of the game, but instead allowing the horsemen to take a lead in the contest with seven minutes left. He wanted to fool those purple warriors into thinking the game was theirs in the last few minutes just as he’d done for a couple hours. He broke their hearts, and liked doing so, all the while thinking about the looks on the faces of Ares and Menthu and Trebaruna when they find out what he’d done. He’d killed the optimistic hopes of three of the division teams.

These four gods continued to eat and drink as they later watched the tigermen compete against a team in silver and black, a team that was no good. No good in quality of play, and no good in reputation. Ares was explaining to him that these were the villains of this National Football League, the ultimate bad boys ("Why don’t women play on any of these teams?" Thor was wondering) that no one liked, and that historically they had always been bad boys. Ares was jumping for joy over the tigermen’s seeming victory with only a couple minutes left. Because their view had been blocked, and because they assumed victory for all three was a given, the three gods didn’t know the outcomes of the previous three games.

"The boss be damned!" thought Thor. He couldn’t take it anymore, Ares bragging about this division, these four, all victorious on the same day. Ares sitting there, so self-assured, so smug. And of course Thor was a little bit jealous because Ares understood this game and Thor didn’t know the difference between a backliner and an offensive end, or whatever these men were called.

Of course, Ares still didn’t know what had transpired earlier. When Menthu finds out how Thor manipulated the games, how he fooled with the forces of nature, and how selfish he was in leading millions of those humans to tears, to disappointment, to drink, well…. Menthu will retaliate. Thor of course would tell him that millions were happy, just the other millions, not the millions Menthu was expecting. But that’s later, and Thor didn’t care. He’d had too good a day to be concerned with paybacks. Trebaruna kept praising Ares, for his knowledge of the game, for his desire to study the history of the game, for his right-on predictions.

The tigermen were leading in this game, 17 to 10, and there was only a minute to play. "The boss be damned!" thought Thor once again. He knew he would be punished for such blatant interference, but the devil in him was at play.

"More wine, Ares?" Thor asked.

"Yes, please. You know Thor, it was really kind of you today, to treat us to this meal and especially this fine wine."

"No problem. How about cutting up some more of that fine roasted pig’s belly?" He wanted to take Ares’s eyes off the game, so he rearranged some of the nearby clouds to float below them as the game was progressing.

Ares cut a few slices, put them on plates, passed them around, and then suddenly realized the clouds were blocking his view. "Wow, they came upon us quickly." Then he blew, and as the clouds began to clear he could see the game. By now the bad boys in black had scored and the game was even, but Ares hadn’t noticed the scoreboard yet. Thor’s work wasn’t finished, and he wanted to steal victory from the tigermen, but knew he couldn’t if Ares was watching. He picked up the pitcher of wine, and walked toward Trebaruna to fill her goblet. He tripped suddenly and the pitcher flew onto Trebby’s lap, she screamed, and Menthu and Ares went rushing to her. While this was going on, Thor calmly turned away, picked up a cloth, turned back and threw it to Trebby. "Here," he said, "clean yourself up my lady. You know I’m really sorry. I can be so clumsy sometimes." As he was speaking the tigermen were losing, the bad boys were scoring, but Ares didn’t see. Nor did Menthu. And of course Trebby was fuming, because she knew damn well that Thor had done that on purpose, but she wasn’t sure why. Figured he was just jealous over her attention to the other men and her lack of attraction for him.

...Epilog

Somewhere in a city called Baltimore, Scott was getting an estimate for the damage to the side of his car, a new purple Porsche Boxster, that he’d kicked more than twenty times a couple hours earlier after a football game ended. "You’re such an idiot, Scott. It’s just a game," his wife kept repeating over and over again. His cousin, Bobby, was in Pittsburgh and couldn’t stop apologizing to his wife (who was threatening divorce) as the vet was bandaging the dog. Earlier that day he was so angry over the results of a game he had viewed on his new twenty-seven inch television, that he was ready to throw a beer bottle at the set. His wife was screaming "Don’t you dare!" over and over again, so instead he turned and kicked the poodle, which he always hated anyway, breaking seven ribs. His only regret was that when the dog hit the television screen it didn’t go through it. Their cousin Alfred, in a city called Cleveland, was just sitting in a dark room, lights out, the new twenty-seven inch television silent, ignoring his wife who kept yelling from another room, "Are you coming to dinner, or what?" He just sat there, saying "Again… again… again…" over and over again as he kept aiming the tequila bottle at the television. And at the moment Thor is tossing the cloth to Trebaruna, in a city called Cincinnati, a guy named Richard, cousin to Scott and Bobby and Alfred, was throwing a beer bottle through his new twenty-seven inch television and screaming obscenities that I can not print here. His wife would leave him a week later when the tigermen would lose again and he would throw a beer bottle through the nine-foot long picture window in the living room and threaten to throw her through it if she didn’t stop telling him it is ‘just a game.’

Thor calmly looked at Ares and said, "You are right again. All four teams in that division had the same result today. Gosh, you are one smart guy, Ares." He smiled, and slowly walked away. "Wait until they find out what really happened!" he was thinking.