Robofootball: Doublespin

“Jesus, can that damn quarterback even throw the ball?” Dano pronounced “Dayno” not “Danno” Verlucci was shaking his head. “Where in the hell did you find him?”

“He’s a Gen 1, a leftover from Texas,” answered Reynolds. “This one can throw left at about 45 degrees, right the same, and straight down the middle.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, I think it was a prototype, even dumber than a typical Gen 1, it’s all I could find on short notice after our own Gen 1 backup went down.” Reynolds snuffed the last 2 millimeters of what was left of his Marlboro. Being the owner’s nephew allowed one to smoke in the private enclosed box that his Uncle Dano rented at the old Pontiac Silverdome, located nearly 30 miles northwest of Detroit. Of course, Uncle Dano smoked too which made it legit. The Ford Family who once owned the Detroit Lions and still owned the rights if for some reason the NFL was resurrected, had refused to buy into the Detroit RFL franchise as they were first offered. Pro sports were ordinarily a losing venture for most owners anyhow, and a new league altogether was quite risky indeed.

“How’s the repair going on our Gen 2?”

“Japanese parts shortage as usual, they want more money and more time. Everyone is having the same problem.”

“Not Texas.”

“Yeah, they’ve got that new Gen 3 prototype, and the dude can pivot 360 degrees and throw at any angle. I heard they paid a couple of mil for him.”

“Yeah, I see that Gabriel. He’s already thrown 4 TD’s in the first half, Ooo!” Dano exclaimed after 2 defensive robotic linemen sandwiched the Michigan backup quarterback, but not quite hard enough to bring in the sweepers. Everyone called his nephew by his last name, Reynolds, except for Dano.

Dano Verlucci 56 years of age, average in height at 5’10”, weighed a few pounds on the wrong side of 200 but carried it somewhat well with broad shoulders and well-tailored clothes. A few extra pounds from one of Sicilian descent signified prosperity even in the 21st century; yet, he would never be as physically strong as his grandfather, Vincent Verlucci. His was a softer life of privilege that did not involve trudging in the ice and snow while moving heavy cases and drums of illegal liquor while trying to make a name for himself. He already had the name.

“Get us a couple of beers will ya Bruno?” An enormous man behind them got up and cast a shadow before he lumbered off to the small bar. Bruno was Dano’s primary body guard. Like his great grandfather Don Berzzini, Dano Verlucci had been blessed with 3 daughters, but no son to carry on the family name. His sister had married an Irish Catholic named Reynolds, the right religion but not quite the right nationality. The Mick was a little on the soft side but the boy they had together was not. They named him after Gabriel, the angel. Uncle Dano would take the young Gabriel Reynolds under his wing, and turn him into a made man over time, something the weak-willed father could never aspire too; after all, one needed a thick spine and the ability to turn one’s conscience off as needed, if only for business purposes. His nephew was the same height as himself, but maybe 20 pounds less, with lighter almost blonde hair, and 18 years younger too.

At least these Gen 1’s were built pretty tough,” Reynolds went on, “They can take a beating.”

“What happened to our other Gen 1 backup?”

“Well,” Reynolds paused knowing full well that his uncle had seen the sweepers in action just last week, taking what had been their backup off the field in pieces to the delight of the hometown crowd for Michigan’s away game against the Daytona Destroyers, “I guess he took one too many beatings. The short answer is Uncle Dano, that you gotta spend to be competitive.”

“Yeah, well things are a little tight after that $32.8 million loan. Plus we’re only selling out half the place and my damn monthly payment is 200 large.” As was the Verlucci Family tradition instituted long ago by Don Berzzini and the Licavoli Brothers, Dano Verlucci had acquired 10% of the Michigan Robocats, and then in a bold move, bought them outright for a little less than two-thirds the original fee when the majority owner went bankrupt and defaulted on the loan. As a cosigner, Dano had only to assume the loan payments to get the whole team.

Yeah, but the rent is pretty cheap here at the Silverdome, and it holds 80,000, Ford Field is only in the low 50’s. You know boss, the original franchise fee was $50 mil. Remember that the Lions were worth over $700 mil when the NFL collapsed.”

“These aren’t the Lions. This team is so bad that we’re setting the spreads against them winning and still losing money. It’d be better if we had a winner, the people would bet more for them than against, then we could increase the spread the other way. We’d have more leverage in Vegas too and more people would show up here. We’re going to end up 0-12, that’s almost as bad as when the Lions went 0-16.

“You know Marty ran out of money and bought all scrap, mostly Gen 1’s, second hand stuff, he never invested much in the Gen 2’s, and now the Gen 3’s are coming out. It’s a wonder that he was able to put a team on the field at all.”

“Thank god there’s only 1 game left. We’ll be lucky to field enough of these mechanical losers to finish out the season. Thank god there’s only 12 games.”

“I’ve got an idea or two I want to run past you for next year.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“A lot, but only if you want a winner.”

“I don’t think that we can spend like Texas and New York, Hell, look at the Texas Tin Cans out of Dallas, they have quite a few, what do you call them, 3rd generation players? The Japs told me that they’re not even for general sale yet, just prototypes, how did Texas get some already?”

“It’s all about the money, Texas has learned to bribe better than everyone else, it’s how the Jappers do business.”

“Hmm, you’d think we’d be able to do that, grease a few palms as my grandfather would say.”

“Just give me the word.”

“All right then, make it so.”

“Any limit?”

Dano sighed, “Use your own judgment. I’ll see that you get access to my rainy day funds, $10 mil for starters on top of the $5 mil already allocated for next season. Anymore and we’ll have to refinance. If I have to go that far, it’d better be one hell of a team.” Dano was thinking that a winner, like Texas, would pay off in T-shirts, mugs, jerseys, attendance, increased parking revenue, concessions, and even action figures like the Tin Cans had. Rumor had it that Texas had doubled their initial investment, percentages that Dano Verlucci liked to hear. For the investment, he would put the pressure solely on Gabriel Reynolds’ shoulders, a make or break time with his nephew.

Reynolds grinned, it was just what he wanted to hear, “You got it boss.”

“And Gabriel?”

Uh oh Reynolds thought, being referred to by his first name usually meant trouble, just like when his mother called him by his full name; nevertheless, his Uncle Dano always called him that, but there was tone here backed up by a small army of killers and a giant who had returned with beer. “Yeah boss?”

“Make this work,” Dano said sternly with all of the venom of a cornered rattlesnake. A little extra lean on his subordinates never hurt. Failing with the Verlucci’s was never a good idea either.

“I will, you can count on me.”

“Good,” Dano groaned again as more parts went flying off of one of his offensive linemen. The sweepers were out in full force today, at least they were reliable. Damn, Dano thought to himself. Ordinarily he was more of a half empty glass kind of guy, but with this disastrous junk pile of a team filled with Gen 1’s, it couldn’t get any lower. You couldn’t do worse than 0-12 unless the season was longer.

“The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes

And the heart but one;

Yet the light of a whole life dies

When love is done.”

Francis William Bourdillon, Light