Short Story: Professional Football in 2050

The sport had become too dangerous, too injury prone, too unfair for those men, women and in-between’ers who wanted in on the game of professional football. For far too long, average Americans had been excluded from the high-paid sport and was why the politicians had stepped in and changed the rules. Liberals were now running the show, from child birth to dispensing those little blue pills that sent the deathly sick and elderly off to a better life, Valhalla.

There were now fifty-three professional football teams, one for each state of the union; Puerto Rico, Guam and Cuba having joined the club soon after the Republicans had been permanently put out to pasture.  Congress, the White House, were now positions held by tenured politicians, one only needed to be elected once to become permanent fixtures.  These geniuses were now calling the shots for the Professional Football League.  These were the brilliant minds who made the savage sport of football more fair, more nice, more thrilling.

Football 2050Professional football player Jenny-Bob made her way down the long corridor leading from the field of play to the co-ed locker room, squeaking all the way. She was a line person by the look of things, so well covered in thick, polyurethane padding that all that could be seen of her were her beady eyes from behind the wire mesh grille of her modern-day, environmentally friendly helmet.

Her team called themselves the Pigeons, or Birds of Peace.  It was what most professional football teams called themselves these days; inoffensive names, nice names, friendly names; that is friendly and nice up to the point when these 22nd Century gladiators took the field…then the gloves came off, so to speak.

Jenny-Bob, a plume of a half-dozen pigeon feathers stuck atop her marsh mellow-like protective ware adorning her noodle, was part of the offensive line, only the term “offensive line” had sounded too harsh and was now referred to as the “neutral zone.” 

It was a Sunday like any other, when the teams of Pillsbury Dough-person looking players met one another on a field of organic turf, some of it grass, some of it weeds, some of it mud, some of it hard dirt; warriors who came in all shapes and sizes from teams with aw inspiring names like: the Washington Clouds, the Atlanta Rainbows, and the Dallas Moonbeams.      

For Jenny-Bob, and the other Pigeons, it had not been a good day.  The opponent, the Puerto Rican Lilies, had come prepared…