by Scott Sigler
5-4 Lu Juggernauts
5-4 Wabash Wolfpack
5-4 Yall Criminals
4-5 Mars Planets
4-5 Hittoni Hullwalkers
2-7 Ionath Krakens
SOLAR DIVISION
8-1 New Rodina Astronauts
7-2 Jupiter Jacks
7-2 Neptune Scarlet Fliers
6-3 Bord Brigands
5-4 D’Kow War Dogs
3-6 Sala Intrigue
3-6 Shorah Warlords
2-7 Bartel Water Bugs
2-7 Jang Atom Smashers
1-8 Vik Vanguard
1-8 Chillich Spider-Bears
Excerpt from “Third Best: A Comprehensive Catalog of the GFL’s Tier Three Franchises.”
“In the short and violent history of interaction between our sentient races, there has never been anything approaching the phenomenon of gridiron football.”
— Ratak the Postulating, 2664
Ratak said those words on the eve of the third GFL expansion, which took the league from fourteen teams to eighteen. That was nineteen seasons ago, and his words have never rung more true. While broadcasts of Tier One and Tier Two gridiron football dominate galactic sports culture, the game’s real spread is seen in Tier Three. To the uninitiated, the numbers are shocking — 23 individual T3 leagues contain 288 teams.
The “Grandaddy of them All,” as it’s known, is the National Football League, or “NFL.” The galaxy’s longest-running professional football league, the NFL has operated with almost no interruptions for seven and a half centuries. Originally founded as the American Professional Football Association in 1920 (ErT), the league changed its name to the National Football League in 1922.
In 1922, there were eighteen teams concentrated in an Earth area known as the “American Midwest.” Today, the NFL is the largest T3 league, boasting 51 teams across four planets: Earth, Mars, Jones, and New Earth.
But of course, gridiron football is not limited to just Human-centric worlds. Both the Ki Gridiron League (KGL) and the Chachanna Football Collective (CFC) boast eighteen teams, and another thirteen T3 leagues each have ten teams or more.
While some leagues are single-species, like the Human-only Purist Nation Football League, most actively seek multi-species rosters. Tier Three leagues not only provide a constant supply of players to the upper tiers, they have also been instrumental as a focal point for species integration and cross-cultural interaction.
And, perhaps most important of all at least from the Galactic Football League’s perspective, T3 leagues have greatly increased an understanding of and a desire for the game of gridiron football. As the popularity of upper tier football continues to explode, GFL officials know full well that the “third best” is a major part of that success.
GFL-AFFILIATED TIER 3 LEAGUES
• • •
Live feed from UBS GameDay holo-cast coverage
“Hello again football fans, and welcome to Ionath Stadium. I’m Masara the Observant, and with me as always is everyone’s favorite color commentator, Chick McGee.”
“Thanks, Masara, your class is only out-shined by your intellect.”
“You know it, Chick. We welcome those viewers joining us after watching the Isis Ice Storm’s thrilling 27-24 overtime win against the Coranadillana Cloud Killers. Here in Ionath the action is already underway. Chick, fill the viewers in.”
“Well, Masara, the Hullwalkers took their first drive forty-five yards into the Krakens’ red zone, but had to settle for a field goal. Richfield gave the Krakens good field position on their own thirty-seven. We’re waiting for the end of a commercial time out. The visiting Hullwalkers are resplendent in white jerseys with the dark blue and crimson sleeves and numbers, crimson armor and dark blue helmets with the famous Hullwalkers boot logo. Ionath, the home team referred to by loving locals as the orange and the black, are ready for their first possession. Down three to nothing, let’s see what Quentin Barnes and the rest of the gang can do.”
“The Krakens come out of the huddle, Chick, and... wait... what’s this? Quentin Barnes isn’t lining up under center. He’s standing there, staring at running back Ju Tweedy.”
“Is Barnes confused, Masara?”
“I don’t know, Chick. And The Mad Ju doesn’t seem to know what to do. He’s halfway into his stance, he just held up his hands as if say hey, what’s going on?”
“Yes, that’s why you’re the play-by-play genius that you are, Masara. Wait, Barnes is raising his right arm. Just his right arm, and... now he’s pointing to the Ionath sidelines. Still staring at Ju and pointing at the sidelines.”
“Chick, is he telling Ju to get off the field?”
“Maybe he’s pointing to a spot on the sidelines and saying, Right over there is where I floated an air biscuit.”
“Chick! That’s not appropriate!”
“Then maybe he said he kicked a fifteen-yard stink-goal?”
“Chick!”
“Sorry, Masara, sorry folks at home. The play clock is ticking. Barnes is standing there, pointing. The offensive line is looking back, as are the receivers. The orange-and-black-clad Krakens faithful in the stands have no idea what’s going on. And Ju Tweedy, most of all, hasn’t a clue.”
“Chick! The play clock is ticking down and Krakens coach Hokor the Hookchest looks beside himself on the sidelines.”
“Hokor looks like he’s miles from the bathroom and the super squirts are making him do the brown dance, Masara.”
“Chick!”
“Sorry, Masara, sorry folks at home, but... yes, Hokor just called a time out! He’s storming onto the field, waving over both Barnes and Tweedy. Masara, we can only imagine what will be said during this timeout.”
• • •
“BARNES! WHY ARE YOU just standing there like that?”
“I didn’t think Ju was up for the play, Coach. I pointed at the sidelines to tell him it was time to get off the field.”
“What?” Ju said. “What do you mean not up for the play? It was a damn off-tackle run.”
Quentin shrugged. “I looked into your eyes and didn’t see that killer spirit, Ju.”
Hokor ripped off his little baseball cap and threw it down on the blue field. “Barnes! What is this, a day at the zoo?”
“No,” Ju said. “Not a day at the zoo, Coach, it’s amateur night.”
Quentin laughed. “Hey, that was pretty good.”
“Barnes! Can you look into his eyes again and tell me if you see the killer soul?”
“Killer spirit, Coach.”
“Fine, fine! Can we just play football?”
Quentin gently reached out and held the sides of Ju’s helmet. Quentin turned Ju’s head a little bit, tilted it, making a big show out of examining Ju’s face. Ju stared back, eyes wide and crazy like his brother’s.
“Done?” Ju said. “See what you need to see?”
Quentin let go of the helmet and nodded. “Yep, you look like a regular killer, Ju.”
“Fine,” Hokor said. “Now go run the play that I called.”
“Sounds like fun,” Quentin said, and he jogged back to the huddle. Ju stared after him for a second, then followed.
• • •
“WELL, CHICK, WHATEVER IT WAS, it seems to have been sorted out.”
“If Hokor finds a bathroom, maybe.”
“Chick, please! This has nothing to do with bodily functions.”
“It does when I’m sitting next to you, Masara.”
“Chick!”
“Sorry, Masara, my bad. The Krakens break the huddle, the offensive line takes positions.”
“Barnes walks up behind Bud-O-Shwek, the center, he bends down and... he’s standing up again. Barnes turns, and... what is this?”
“Masara, he’s staring at Ju Tweedy again, and he’s pointing to the sidelines again. I think the message is clear — Barnes wants Ju Tweedy off the field.”
“Chick, Ju is looking to the sidelines, he doesn’t know what to do. The play cloc
k is ticking again. Either the Krakens call a timeout or they will be penalized five yards. Why wouldn’t Barnes want his best player on the field?”
“I don’t know, Masara, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. What’s this? Hokor is sending Yassoud Murphy onto the field! Murphy is sprinting out, he’s gesturing madly for Ju Tweedy to get to the sidelines. If Ju doesn’t hurry off, the Krakens either get that delay of game or they get penalized for twelve men on the field.”
“Ju is standing there, Chick, and the crowd is starting to boo.”
“This is strange indeed, Masara. Barnes is lining up under center, Murphy is in a three-point stance behind him.”
“And there goes Ju, Chick. Ju is sprinting for the sidelines. He’s off, and the ball is snapped. Murphy takes the handoff and plows forward for three, no, four yards. Chick, can you explain this bizarre behavior?”
“No, Marasa, but I think we won’t see Ju Tweedy for rest of this drive. Clearly, there is some bad blood between Barnes and Ju.”
• • •
THE KRAKENS MANAGED two first downs, then had to punt. Quentin ran to the sidelines to find several sentients waiting for him: Don Pine, John Tweedy, and Coach Hokor.
“Q,” John screamed as Quentin ran off the field. “What are you doing, man?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Quentin said, pushing past him. “Don’t you have a defense to run?”
“Yeah, but Q, you’re making my brother look like an idiot!”
The crowd roared, then subsided. It sounded like the Hullwalkers punt return team almost broke it open. Quentin looked at John, then nodded to the field. John looked, saw the punt team coming off and his defense running on. He gave Quentin an expression that said we’re not done with this, then pulled on his helmet and ran onto the field.
“Barnes!” Hokor screamed. “On the bench, now! Ju, Murphy, Pine, you too. Move!”
Hokor stomped off, his fur fully extended.
Pine grabbed Quentin’s arm, more to get Quentin’s attention than to pull at him. Pine leaned in as they walked to the bench. “What are you thinking, kid? You cost us a timeout.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Quentin said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Good, then fill me in.”
Quentin shook his head. “I can’t. You just remember what I did for you, you got it?”
Don stopped short. “What?”
“You heard me,” Quentin said. “You remember what I did for you, and you do not replace me unless I say so.”
“But Quentin, if Coach wants—”
Quentin poked his index finger against Don’s armored chest. “You heard what I said.”
Quentin pushed past him, found Hokor stomping around in front of the bench, then sat down to the right of Ju. Ju’s scowl had nearly pinched his two eyebrows into one. Yassoud sat on Quentin’s right, his eyes alive and alert with excitement, his jersey already torn. It was the first time Quentin had seen that much joy on Yassoud’s face since the end of the Tier Two season. Pine sat on Ju’s left.
Hokor stomped up and stood in front of them, still having to look up with his one big eye even though the four Human players were seated.
“Now,” he said, “will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Ju jerked his right thumb at Quentin. “Ask him.”
Quentin shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Barnes! Why did you want Ju off the field?”
Quentin shrugged again. “I love having Ju on the field, Coach. He runs very hard.”
Hokor stared at Quentin, then turned to Pine. “Well?”
Don Pine held up both hands, palms-out, and shook his head. “Hey, I have no idea, Coach.”
“Pine, you always know what’s going on with your team.”
“It’s not my team anymore,” Pine said. “Really, Coach, I got nothing.”
Hokor turned on Yassoud. “And you. Is this your doing?”
Yassoud laughed. “Are you kidding me? Why would I be involved?”
“Because you’ve been on the bench for the last four games and you want to get back on the field.”
Yassoud blinked. “Yeah... I guess I do want back on the field.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “But, I just got called in to run the ball and I did, Coach. That’s it.”
Hokor again turned to face Quentin and Ju, staring at each of them in turn.
“It will be hard for us to win this game,” Hokor said, “but we can win it. Whatever you two have going on, it ends now, understood?”
Quentin nodded, then turned and offered his hand to Ju. “What do you say, pal? Ready to go win one for the Hokor?”
Ju eyed the hand suspiciously, then met Quentin’s gaze. “Sure,” Ju said, and shook. “Just knock that crap off, got it?”
“I got it.”
The Ionath Stadium crowd roared.
“Fumble!” someone on the sidelines shouted. “We got the ball!”
Hokor’s fur instantly fell flat, as if he’d forgotten all about the incident. “Our ball! We’re going to run it. I-formation, get Montagne to do isolation blocks, Ju, you follow her in. I want to maintain this field position and at least tie it up.”
Quentin stood, gently slipped past Hokor, and walked onto the field.
• • •
“WELL, CHICK, THE KRAKENS have the ball in scoring position. The offense is huddling up. I wonder if we’ll see any more hijinks.”
“Hijinks? Is that even a word?”
“Yes, Chick, it’s a Human word.”
“Well I’m Human, and it’s news to me.”
“Chick, come on—”
“Masara, look! The Krakens blockers and receivers are on the line of scrimmage, but Barnes is doing it again! He’s just standing there, pointing to the sidelines.”
• • •
JU TWEEDY STORMED forward, hands clenched into fists. Quentin just smiled. As he’d suspected, Rebecca stepped between the two men, her hands on Ju’s chest.
“Hold on,” she said, “take it easy.”
Ju pointed over her shoulder at Quentin. “I’m gonna kill him!”
Quentin said nothing, he just kept pointing to the sidelines.
Ju tried to walk forward again, but Becca stayed in front of him. Then the offensive linemen were there, subtly blocking any path around Becca that Ju might take to get at Quentin.
Ju stopped pushing and glared. “You’re making a mistake, Barnes.”
“Get off my field, Ju,” Quentin said. “And send in Murphy. He actually wants to win.”
Whistles blew and flags flew. Delay of game.
“Barnes!” Hokor in the VR display. “I’ve had it! Get off the field!”
“Sorry, Coach,” Quentin said. “I can’t do that.”
“What do you mean you can’t do that! I want you off!”
Quentin shook his head. As the zebes marked off the five-yard delay of game penalty, he walked with his team back to the new huddle.
Even over the angry roar of 185,000 fans, Quentin heard the faint trace of Hokor screaming for Don Pine. Helmet in hand, Pine ran to Hokor, listened, nodded, then started running on the field. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Quentin.
Quentin was staring at Pine. Staring and pointing to the sidelines.
Pine paused, took one step forward, then shrugged and ran back to Hokor.
Quentin didn’t know if Quyth Leaders could have heart attacks. If Hokor lived through his messageboard throwing, tiny-hat-ripping, headphone-smashing, turf-kicking temper tantrum, well, then probably not.
Yassoud ran onto the field, sprinted to the huddle and waited, his eyes wide and alert with excitement.
Quentin looked each of his players in the eye or eyes. “Everyone ready to have some fun?”
They nodded and grunted.
“Okay, I-formation, off-tackle right on two. And Murphy? Do me a favor, and run hard, will ya?”
“You got it!”
“On two, on two... ready? Break!”
• �
�� •
IN A PERFECT GALAXY or in a heroic holo, the Krakens would have won the game without Ju Tweedy running the football.
It was not a perfect galaxy.
Yassoud ran harder than he ever had, including his days in Tier Two. The defense had to pay attention to him, but without The Mad Ju in the game, the Hullwalkers keyed on Quentin. They blitzed as often as possible, double-covering Hawick and Milford. Even with excellent protection, his line couldn’t always hold back the assault. He finished the game 22-for-35 for 235 yards, no TDs, two interceptions, and four sacks.
The last sack — of course — was the worst. Although he had to admit to himself it wasn’t really a sack. He’d felt pressure, tucked the ball and ran. Instead of sliding for a three-yard gain, he lowered his head and tried to pick up the five yards needed for a first down. He hadn’t really been thinking, just reacting, doing what he’d always done through five seasons of football. The hit had cracked a rib, apparently, and once again he sat in his now-familiar post-game perch in the rejuve tank.
“I should skip the nerve blockers,” Doc Patah said. “I should let you feel this bone-stitching.”
“Aw, come on, Doc-P. Why would you do that?”
“Because you’ve got to learn to slide. If you get hurt, the franchise can’t win a Tier One title. I am not interested in working for a team that can’t take the belt.”
Quentin looked around the training room. Everyone was gone, just him and Doc Patah. If he was going to ask, now was the time.
“The belt,” Quentin said. “I like how you compare everything to fighting.”
“It is my first love. I consider it the third phase of my life. This, possibly, is the fourth.”
“You liked being a ringside surgeon for fights, then?”
“It presents challenges unlike anything else medicine provides. I love the crowds, the smells, the sounds, the sights. I love the months of target-specific training, of watching sentients spend a significant portion of their short lives preparing to briefly take on another sentient. There is a purity in fighting, in locking two sentients inside a cage and letting them decide who is better. It is primitive, to be sure, but a highly refined and elevated kind of primitive. To me, organized fighting is the embodiment of our growth as sentients, to take that which makes us barbaric and to channel it, turn it into a ceremony, a religion of the instincts that let us all beat out the other species on our respective planets.”
