Robofootball: Doublespin

Reynolds turned out to be more of an administrator coach, delegating all play calling to his offensive and defensive coordinators, Rudy “The Gorilla” Garrioli and Dino “The Dinosaur” Maroni respectively. Dino was some first cousin of a cousin to Mr. Verlucci who politely requested that Reynolds take him on in exchange for some future favor - something the Italians were always good at, banking some obligation for when it was truly needed. Mr. Verlucci liked it too that Dino’s name was similar to his own, Dano, pronounced “Dayno” not “Danno” and that the heavy “A” sound came before the heavy “E” sound like in “Deeno.”

Dino Maroni had been a high school coach in Marquette, Michigan for nearly 30 years, and then served another decade as a defensive line and special teams coach at Northern Michigan University. He also once coordinated sports betting on the side for the Verlucci Family in much of the central and eastern Upper Peninsula. Dino was now well into his 60’s and was catching up to his dinosaur namesake with thick leathery skin, but with his age came experience and wisdom, though in some cases, age comes alone.

Reynolds had learned somewhat of a hard lesson in game 3, and that was the fact that they had not been prepared well for inclement weather, especially on the road; then again, one could only load so many box cars with equipment and spare parts. Luckily, the next 2 games in a row were at home indoors where repairs were easier and spare parts more readily obtained. Michigan always had an excellent manufacturing base and since nearly all of the team had been manufactured and assembled in-state, it would prove invaluable as the season went on, especially as the other teams would suffer a parts shortage later on from Japan.

Game 4 was an important one against division rival Wichita, a 2-1 team that was a game ahead of the Robocats in the overall standings while both teams were 1-1 in the Central Division. Each had lost to division leader Chicago while beating lowly Arkansas. Wichita was similar to Boston in that the majority of the team was made up of the Japanese Gen 2 models purchased later in the first season. Given that Wichita was a smaller market, revenue and assets were not keeping up with the liabilities on the balance sheet. The RFL had survived its first year but it was still struggling somewhat, particularly in the smaller markets. As a result, after the first 3 weeks, many of Wichita’s Gen 2 starters were parked in the garage so to speak waiting for money to order some much-needed parts. By the time they gathered a little income from tickets, parking, and concessions in an attempt to make ends meet, and then place an order for replacement parts from overseas, the shortage would occur, and invariably in the economic world, manipulated subtly by the Japanese, when demand was high and supplies low, artificially or not, the prices would skyrocket. The Japanese manipulations served one purpose and that was to maximize revenue; after all, they had been playing the world for generations much like China did with their artificially low currency. The Japanese however had few resources combined with a people who exhibited intense nationalistic loyalty. Since World War II, Japan had always been a world class exporter while purchasing virtually nothing in return from anyone else other than raw materials to feed their own machines.

Before spare parts or lack thereof became a major issue for Wichita, they were a competitive team with a 2-1 record. At half time, it was a 17-17 tie, but the Robocats would have a slight advantage in that they would be receiving the ball first at the start of the 2nd half. Yuri had fixed up Antwan’s latest war injury during the days between games, and Antwan caught a nice 22-yard pass as Hobson, a natural quick learner, and still young enough at age 32 to be adept with a couple of joysticks, was learning more and more beyond the basics of pitch and throw. Hobson had a large keyboard array with more controls than any other player controller. On his monitor, he could also display digital readouts on everything from biological and physiological stats on Jess to the quick-fire plays rattled off by Rudy the Gorilla.

Hobson could only shake his head in disgust at the coordinators, greasy Italians in his opinion. One was a hairy barrel-chested wop who resembled the primate of his namesake; the other a scaly old lizard of a man who had obviously been cursed with horrible acne as a teen that made his face about as leathery as a desert reptile, maybe even a roadmap. Hobson mused that chimpanzees, bonobos, orangutans, and some of the apes were approximately 97 to 98.5% identical to humans. The main differences were that the lesser primates were harrier, more muscular, had smaller genitalia, and smaller brains too in proportion. Yes, the brain was always the key, and perhaps the opposable thumb too. That was certainly an evolutionary gift. He further mused that these other primates were probably 99% identical to these Italians as he chuckled to himself.

Now that he was in the know about Antwan, he and Reynolds could take a little more advantage of the human factor during some of the pass plays, altering them slightly, making the hitch-and-go more effective along with altering their play based on what the defense was doing. If the corners played back, then Hobson could maneuver Jess to throw more quickly; if they played tighter, then they could try for a longer route. There are few areas in sports where coordination and synchronization match that of the quarterback with his favorite receiver. It was slowly becoming a coordination effort between 4 men - Reynolds typing out orders to Antwan who was able to communicate back, and the evil Dr. Hobson pulling the strings on a human that he controlled with little more than wireless signals and sensor implants. The 4 came together on 2 long scoring drives that took up most of the 3rd quarter and a little of the 4th mixed in with some nifty running orchestrated by Ichiro’s #22.

The Hobson-controlled Jess was beginning to look better than a Gen 2 quarterback which was about the level he had been playing at up until this point, including his clone. The controller named Mark had run Jess’s #18 clone without incident; although there were subtle differences between Jess and the clone, for now, Rudy had just put up to controller prejudice – try two different controllers on the same player and there were bound to be differences in style and the way the joystick was handled. The same was true for Antwan.

Reynolds’ biggest worry to this point was whether or not Jess could live up to the millions invested in him. Today at least was illustrating some progress in that direction. With a 31-17 Robocat lead early in the 4th, Wichita was stopped again. They had a Gen 2 quarterback who was functioning okay; however, a couple of the Gen 2 receivers had been knocked out and the Gen 1’s couldn’t catch a magnet if it was dropped on their heads. As a result, the Warriors were relying far too much on the run and Dino the Dinosaur Maroni was no fool ordering 8 and even 9 defenders to crowd the box and close the running lanes. It was a defensive coordinator’s wet dream when the receivers could be covered one-on-one and still couldn’t catch the ball.

With a 2 touchdown lead, the defense playing well, and a little over 10 minutes left in the game, Rudy the Gorilla Garrioli went into conservative mode to kill time. He called 6 straight running plays as Ichiro eked out enough yards on 3 plays to nab a couple of first downs. It was the 7th play that would have some far-reaching consequences for the human aspect of the team. Getting a little bored with all of the pitching: left-right-left-left-right-right, Dr. Hobson let his brilliant but somewhat corrupted mind wander when he swung Jess left for a pitch instead of right as the play had been called. When he was about to release the ball with Jess’s hand controls, Ichiro’s #22 player was not there.

“Watcha-fucky! Watcha-fucky! Dubbya Tee-Eff!” Ichiro could be heard by those around him. He was already learning the utmost important English slang.

“Shit,” Hobson muttered but hung on to the ball rather than pitching it to the bare turf like some dumbass Gen 1.

“Just run with it,” he heard the Gorilla barking uncharacteristically. Robo-quarterbacks on virtually every team, because of their value and vulnerability, were never allowed to run, or perhaps rarely on a messed up play like this one.

“Okay,” Hobson maneuvered Jess’s hand to tuck the ball into his abdomen and go forward. He didn’t quite juke and deke like #22, but he made 2 positive yards out of it before Jess was caught by the nose tackle who held him up briefly with one thick arm.

“Go down! Go down!” Both Rudy and Reynolds were shouting but it was too late. A clumsy Gen 1 linebacker, big and bulky, the full 300 pounds maximum allowed moved forward like a raging bull with lowered horns, slammed his head with momentous force that may have rolled a small car, directly into Jess’s chest, splitting the numbers “1” and “8” perfectly. It was one of those terrifying heart-stopping hits literally as Hobson sat horrified as Jess’s heart monitor flat-lined, but just for an instant before resuming a series of lines and blips that resembled that of the Greek letter lambda. The 3-layers of protection held; outer metal with inner Kevlar padding for 2, coupled with the additional inner plastic composite shelled lining with expansion joints made specifically to withstand such blows, at least for a robot. A fragile and delicate human form from within was a different story; nonetheless, Hobson would only discover an impact bruise later on, no broken ribs. Still, as Jess lay motionless on the ground, he was not responding to any movement commands that Hobson relayed to the CPU implanted in his head.

“Bring him in,” Reynolds ordered to the sideline rep as Antwan’s voice-interpreted words flowed across his monitor: “The kid’s not moving.” The sweepers rolled the cart off the Zamboni-like wagon, loaded up Jess, and had him back in the locker room in barely 2 minutes. The sweepers were getting better and better with speed to keep the flow of the game moving forward.

Something more significant happened during the jarring impact brought on by the big clunky linebacker, and that was the fact that Jess woke up! Jess’s eyes fluttered if only for a minute or so. Much of his brain had been unwittingly repaired by Hobson, but a couple of the memory suppression sensors had been jarred loose, ones that Hobson had carefully implanted for such an unwanted contingency.

“Where, where am I?” Jess mumbled incoherently as he tried to focus his eyes; nevertheless, the inside of his visor was heavily shaded and his dimensioning seemed a bit off as he viewed the truss network and inner roof decking of the Pontiac Silverdome. He was moving quickly too which left his already unfocused vision further blurred. No one heard him as he slowly drifted back into unconsciousness. The sweepers only responded to direct voice command much like a cell phone that was implanted in their heads. They were not designed for direct face-to-face communication.

“Get the backups in,” Reynolds told Rudy as he got up from his station. They would have to throw the Gen 1 QB in there before Reynolds could release the #18 clone from its office hiding place. “Hobson, you’re with me.” Hobson unplugged his control board and followed Reynolds to the locker room. Reynolds had left a quick message for Antwan to come in as well, and to help push the cart with Jess on it all the way to the office area. No one would pay that close of attention when the sweepers would leave Reynolds’ office while Antwan would in turn, switch out with his own cloned receiver. Reynolds had the switching action down pat, at least at home in the dome where the situation was more readily controlled, and he could secret away players in his office. On game day, it was a mad house with players being swept in and out and the repair bays were always going full tilt. Yuri and Doc Holliday were either busy or super busy, nothing in between, no slow days like a junkyard on a rainy Sunday afternoon, but more like 1st shift Monday morning at the factory with backed-up production orders.

“Help me….” Hobson began to say.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” it was Antwan who, still in his own armor, used his good left hand to begin extracting Jess’s armored outfit. Reynolds jumped in too as Hobson began hooking up his monitors and diagnostic equipment. Fortunately, it was indeed a home game, and they did not have to unpack any portable gear.

“The kid okay?” Reynolds inquired.

“Vitals are all within normal parameters,” Hobson went on, “Just a bruise and some sensor malfunction, I’ll need to…”

“Yeah, I know, back to the lab, I’ll call for the truck,” Reynolds cut him off and left the makeshift diagnostic room attached to the back of his office in favor of his desk.

“Mind if I take a look at your prosthetics?” Hobson asked.

“Sure, you’re a doctor right?”

“Yes, hmm, nice joint work, titanium shafts I see, not that cheap composite plastic material,” Hobson went on more to himself. He was thinking that these might be useful in his future immortality project.

“Yeah, I got the good stuff.”

“Indeed,” Hobson made a mental note to check further into this HAL company that Reynolds had made mention of.

“Tell me one more thing Doc.”

“Yes?”

“How do you make the kid, you know, work?”

Hobson thought a moment, thinking that it would be similar to explaining the Periodic Table of Elements to a monkey, “Well, young Mr. Robinson is mostly an elaborate experiment, the meshing of computers with the human brain.”

“So you found a way to map the brain, the parts that control his arms and legs, hands too, add some sensor stuff, and then make them work with computer controls.”

“Well yes, that’s about right,” Hobson was slightly impressed, it was further than where Reynolds had gotten.

“Do you use lithium power sources?”

“As a matter of fact we do, how’d you know that?”

“Because I’ve got them too, they send electrical charges down my legs from my hips, and from my right shoulder area too.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hobson examined Antwan’s legs more closely, “Where are they implanted?”

“Right in the hips, the other in the shoulder, is that what you do with the kid?”

“Only one for young Mr. Robinson, and his is no bigger than a watch battery, but it’s not really an implant. It’s adhered to his head at the base of his antenna.”

“Antenna?”

“Disguised as a hair, it is quite thin.”

“Sweet, well, the kids whole right? No prosthetics?”

“Yes and no.”

“Huh?”

“You asked two questions, so I gave you two answers, yes he’s whole, and no, he has no prosthetics.”

“Uh yeah sorry Doc, you know, do you think I could visit your lab sometime?”

Hobson was about to say no, not under any circumstances, but he was impressed at the sophistication of Antwan’s legs and arm. Aside from Hal, that little engineer Yuri appeared to have made some improvements. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Uh huh?”

“If you let me borrow your prosthetics for an hour or so when you’re there.”

“Got a wheelchair?”

“I’m sure we can come up with one.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Antwan. He didn’t care if the Doc wanted to do a little industrial espionage or what have you, that was Reynolds’ problem. He was just curious to see more about how Hobson had made Jess tick, it was rather amazing. The truck came as Reynolds returned to see Jess and Hobson off.

“We did win the game 34-17, got a late field goal,” added Reynolds. “Good game Antwan.”

“Yeah, got my hundred yards, and my first 2 TD game.”

“Yeah, it was a good division win, makes us 2-1 in the division, but damn it, Chicago is unbeaten so far.”

“Long season coach,” Antwan said. “We’re getting better, me and the kid especially.”

“Yeah, I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.”

Once Hobson got Jess back to the lab, he made his second mistake of the day. He failed to notice and consequently repair or replace the memory suppression sensors; after all, they had nothing to do with motion or movement that was the main focus of his concentration.

“I slept and dreamed that life was Beauty;

I woke, and found that life was Duty.”

Ellen S. Hooper, Beauty and Duty