I sat in the back, unnoticed and ignored, my presence a speck beneath the bones of ancient giants. Here, in the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, the Moonies gathered, their whispers an affront to the stoic silence of the skeletal titans. Great consternation was evident. Thankfully none of it directed at me.

One of the Moonies, visibly trembling, unsealed a letter marked with a vintage logo. He began to read aloud. "To the esteemed owners of the Pittsburgh Steelers," the letter began, the words dripping with ceremonial menace. "We, the undefeated 1972 Miami Dolphins, demand that you uphold the sanctity of our legacy. Ensure the Snworb's defeat or face consequences unknown before in the annals of football history. We will not tolerate the tarnishing of our perfect season." The room fell silent, the weight of the threat hanging heavily in the air.

Suddenly, a giant video screen flickered to life above the fossils, and President-elect Tar Llodem's face filled the exhibit hall. His voice boomed through the room, a chilling mix of command and menace. "Ensure a Steelers victory, no matter the cost," he demanded, his cold, unyielding eyes staring out from the screen. "Failure is not an option. Our future depends on it." The Moonies shifted uncomfortably, their faces pained and anxious.

An elder Moonie stood up, clearing his throat as if preparing for some grand performance. I slouched back, already knowing what was coming - I'd heard it a hundred times before. "In his final moments," the elder began, eyes wide with fake reverence, "Sun Myung Moon had a vision - a prophecy so powerful it nearly tore the veil of reality itself!" My fingers drummed impatiently on my knee. "He saw it," the Moonie continued, "a brown-and-orange besleeved arm raising the Lombardi trophy, and the fall of our empire!" My jaw tightened as he recited the familiar words, "With his last breath, he cursed them, 'A Cleveland football team must not win.' Brothers, we are condemned to an eternal struggle to thwart The Snworb's every success, lest our own downfall be sealed!" I bit back my frustration, wishing they'd just get to the point and let me get back to football.

Verna rose to speak, her presence commanding the room as she made promises and threats soon to be backed by the power of the Executive Branch. But I'd tuned her out before she'd even finished the first sentence. How did I get here? I glanced around the room, feeling more like a spectator than a conspirator. Missing a block here and there seemed like an easy way to get out of the hole barbeque had dug for me. But everything spiraled. And now 3GR on ice. Cown's legs. And Kocy...

~~~

The roar of the crowd shook Snworb Stadium as the game raged. I spotted Hild Sonawp on the sidelines, his focus sharp, as always. This was my chance - maybe I could reconnect. I jogged over, trying to act casual, but the words tangled up before they even left my mouth.

"Hey, Hild… uh, remember when we used to, you know, hang out?"

He barely glanced my way, eyes still on the field. "Yeah, Tho. Busy now."

I felt the sting of dismissal but pushed on, desperate. "Just thought... maybe after this, we could grab a drink or something. Like old times?"

Hild finally looked at me, his gaze cold and distant. "Old times are gone, Tho." And with that, he turned back to the game, leaving me standing there like a fool, the chasm between us wider than ever.

~~~

The game was well in hand now. We were winning 21-9. I mean the Snworb were winning. Was it right for me to say we?

Still feeling the wound of Hild's rejection, I drifted toward Juke Soohnnd, who was stretching with intense focus. Juke lived for special teams - those crucial moments that could turn a game.

"Juke," I started, trying to sound upbeat, "ready to break something wide open?"

"Always," he said, not looking up.

I fumbled for connection. "Special teams can be the difference, right? Ickbe got something planned? You've got that fire today?"

Juke met my gaze, eyes dark. "Fire? I got fire. I'm here to win a Super Bowl for my mom. What about you?"

Before I could answer, he jogged off, leaving me pondering.

~~~

I knew there was one person left I could turn to - Coach Hueson. He was standing on the sidelines, orchestrating the chaos with his usual calm intensity, his sharp eyes catching every detail. I approached him slowly, my stomach tightening more with each step.

"Coach," I started, in a whisper deeply out of place on a sideline during an NFL game. "Got a minute?"

Jack didn't take his eyes off the field. "What's on your mind, Tho?"

I hesitated, unsure how to put everything into words. "Just... trying to find my footing, I guess. Seems like the team is...leaving me behind. I can't find my place."

Jack finally turned to me, his gaze steady and probing. "Your place is on this team, protecting that quarterback. That's all you need to focus on."

"But what if—"

"There's no 'what if,'" Jack interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You do your job for your team. You put everything else aside. The moment you start questioning where you belong, you've already lost."

The game was in a TV timeout; not much was happening, and no one else was looking for Coach's attention. Still, he let a long pause elapse before he continued.

"Acta non verba. Protect your quarterback. Protect this team. You know what you need to do, Tho."

He gave me a firm nod, then turned back to the game. I stood there for a moment, feeling like I'd been handed a lifeline, but also wondering if it was enough to pull me out of the mess I'd gotten myself into.

~~~

As the weight of Jack's words settled in, something shifted within me. Acta non verba. Deeds, not words. The phrase echoed in my mind, igniting a resolve I hadn't felt in a long time. I decided, then and there, to grow a goatee.

Advance Regress