The Beast Bowl

By Tom Chaikin

From the plains, jungles and rivers of Africa, the mountains, forests and prairies of North America, the jungles of the Far East and the frigid North Pole, the best football players in the world risk everything to come play in the greatest and most ancient of all football games . . . the Beast Bowl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9780977749119

Book preview

hands.

PART I

The Defeat

Sammy broke the huddle and glanced up at the time, which showed three precious seconds remaining in the game. Just enough time for one more play to make it all happen, he thought. As he moved purposefully up to the line of scrimmage, Sammy looked toward the sideline. There he saw his coach pacing up and down the line. The coach stopped and their eyes met. You can do it, Sammy! he barked, clapping his hands hard.

Sammy nodded to the coach. As he did so, he glimpsed his battered and bloodied teammates, who were now crowding the sideline, their barks, screeches and growls mixing in with the roar of the crowd. He shook his fist in their direction as a surge of much-needed adrenaline pulsed through his body. Walking up behind his center, Sammy scanned the opposing defense prowling the field in front of him. He watched as the defensive front line hunkered down and scratched at the ground with their sharp claws in an attempt to obtain the best possible toehold. Their heavy breathing echoed up and down the line of scrimmage.

Several yards behind the defensive line, Sammy’s eyes locked onto those of King, the middle linebacker. King paced back and forth as he furiously growled out adjustments to the defense, his blood-tainted drool spraying and dripping from his mouth.

King’s already narrowed eyes drew into slits as he noticed a tackle who had slipped out of position. Darting over, King smacked the massive polar bear—The Big Chill—hard on his backside.

Get your big butt over! King growled.

In response, The Big Chill snapped King a look, his lips quivering with anger as he grudgingly scampered over to the indicated gap. Flitting back to the middle of the field, King locked eyes with Sammy.

Come on, chimp, hike that warthog skin, he snarled, as he licked his bloodied teeth. You got one more play to get all the glory … but I’m waiting for you over here to steal your dreams! Sammy ignored King’s trash talking, which had been as relentless as his play, and now turned to the other linebackers and the secondary as they moved into animal-to-animal coverage. No surprises, he thought. Just sell the play, Sammy, and everything will take care of itself. Bending down, he placed his arms under the center and shouted out his cadence. Blue twenty-two! … Blue twenty-two! … Set! … Set! … Hike!

The ball slammed up into Sammy’s hands from the center. Quickly dropping back, Sammy faked a handoff to his running back then set himself in the pocket. He nervously patted the ball several times then pump-faked. The secondary and all the linebackers dropped into coverage, biting on the fake. Now, where is that gap in the line? Come on; open up, he thought as he nervously bounced in the pocket, feeling like each moment spanned an eternity. Suddenly, a crack of an opening appeared in the middle of the line. Seizing the opportunity, Sammy tucked the ball under his arm, planted his feet and was about to take off when his heart stopped.

King had sniffed out the play way in advance and had only feigned that he’d bit on the pump-fake. He now rushed up to fill the gap, his eyes narrowed and ablaze. Caught off guard, Sammy jerked to a stop and pulled back into the pocket. In that moment of hesitation, the pocket closed and was now pressing inward. All around him, the growls of the onrushing defensive line were mixing with the groans of the offensive line as they fought to keep their opponents back.

Sammy the Slinging Simian is the West Team’s quarterback.

Nowhere in the quickly closing-in circle of massive flesh could Sammy find a hint of an opening to escape through. He knew he needed to find a break in the line … and fast. Otherwise, it would all be over in a single brutal moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sammy saw one of the defensive linemen, Smiley, a seventeen-foot, three-thousand-pound crocodile, break free from his block. Sammy had only milliseconds to react as the croc lurched forward, baring his teeth. Sidestepping the beast’s cavernous mouth just in time, Sammy ducked his head, knowing the croc’s tail would soon follow. Like a bullwhip, it snapped by Sammy’s head and lodged itself in the face of The Big Chill, who had just freed himself from his block and was bursting up the middle.

The Big Chill’s head snapped back in response to the impact. His body responded in kind to the force, opening up a small gap in the wall of onrushing defenders. Sammy, who could hardly believe his good fortune, took off through the opening. As he tried to rush his way through, however, he came face to face with King, who was standing on the goal line waiting for him. He knew he had two choices: either try to fake King out or drop his head and drive through him. In the time it takes to blink one’s eyes, Sammy made the decision. He snapped his head to the left then surged his body forward and to the right with everything he had. Even before he planted his right foot, he knew that he had made the wrong decision.

King is the East Team’s middle linebacker.

To his horror, King had anticipated his move and caught him square in the chest, right at the goal line. King lifted Sammy off his feet and drove him hard to the ground, popping the ball loose from his grasp. Gasping for air and pinned to the ground by King, Sammy desperately reached out for the ball, which rested on the ground, mockingly spinning just out of reach of his fingertips. Within moments, the football was pounced upon by a bevy of defenders, whereupon a vicious battle ensued to gain its possession. Dirt, fur, drool, blood and any number of other unspeakable substances filled the air, creating a cloud of arms, legs, heads and tails. The twisted, interlocking body parts made it impossible to tell who was who and what was what. Amazingly, amongst the massive, lethal defenders who had jumped in to gain possession of the prize, it was a small, cagey African wild dog, The Tick, who squeezed out of the thousands of pounds of flesh to emerge with the ball locked securely in his teeth. Snorting the dust out from his nostrils, he cockily kicked up dirt behind him as he proceeded to prance around his larger and more powerful teammates. His victory dance consisted of bobbing the ball up and down mockingly as he snarled, I got it and you can’t have it, over and over.

The Tick’s defensive teammates burst into a flurry of envious taunts and growls. But after their initial displays of discontent, they soon put their jealousy aside and lifted The Tick onto their shoulders. Holding him high above the ground, they began parading him around the field as the fans of the East Team roared out in approval.

A gloating smile inched its way across King’s thin black lips as he watched his celebrating teammates. Scampering up next to him, his manic laughter filling the air, was Iron Jaw, a gnarly looking hyena.

Sammy, devastated and still reeling from the hit, was attempting to pull himself off the ground when King’s paw slammed him back down.

Where you going, chimp? I haven’t finished with you yet, King jeered.

Or is that chump? added Iron Jaw, cackling maniacally, obviously entertained by his own humor.

King threw his head back and roared out in laughter, in appreciation of his teammate’s retort. I like that one, Iron Jaw! Even for a mangy hyena, that was pretty quick.

The Big Chill, a polar bear, is a defensive tackle for the East Team.

Sammy looked at the feline paw planted on his chest and glared up at King. Through clenched teeth he snarled, Get your stinking paw off me, King! In case you haven’t noticed, the game’s over.

King released the pressure and Sammy attempted once again to scamper to his feet. King was far from done with Sammy, however, and slammed his paw down on the primate’s chest, pinning him to the ground once more.

I’ll tell you when you can get up, Monkey Boy! King ordered, the once condescending smile quickly turning to a murderous one.

Sammy’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled up in anger, baring his canines. He knew King could take him, but there was nothing that infuriated him more than being called the M word.

What did you just call me, King?

King smirked, knowing full well he’d gotten under Sammy’s skin.

I called you Monkey Boy! You want me to spell it for you? he asked, dropping his head closer to Sammy’s neck. As he moved in for the kill, his muscles tensed, a clear sign he was ready to pounce. Well, do you want me to, Monkey Boy?

Sensing that King was going to make quick work of Sammy and not wanting to miss out on the excitement, Iron Jaw positioned himself closer to Sammy’s midsection, drool dripping from his lips in anticipation.

You’re a murdering, no-good scoundrel, King, spat Sammy, his muscles tensing and his hair standing on end, in preparation for the fight he knew was about to ensue.

In that brief moment before the battle, all grew silent. But then a thundering voice sliced through the tension.

Excuse me! Coming through. Field’s in need of some cleanup!

Iron Jaw, a hyena, is the East Team’s free safety.

King and Iron Jaw had only enough time to look up at a wall of wrinkled gray hide moving toward them. Then they were both scooped up and catapulted into the air by a pair of huge tusks, their bodies somersaulting head over heels and landing with a sickening thud, right on the ten-yard line, in a knotted mess.

Leaning on his elbow, Sammy nodded at the huge bull elephant to which the tusks were attached.

Nice to see you could join the party, Carl, he said nonchalantly, as one would to a friend in such a circumstance.

Next time, I’ll expect an invite, Carl said, glaring over at King and Iron Jaw, who were trying to untangle themselves from one another.

Get your mangy ass off me, growled King, flinging Iron Jaw off his body.

Iron Jaw clambered to his feet and took a couple of deep breaths to gather his wind. He wanted nothing to do with the massive pachyderm and quickly scampered toward the safety of his celebrating teammates, his nervous, manic laughter trailing off behind him.

Carl the Pile Driver is the West Team’s offensive left tackle.

King watched Iron Jaw with contempt for several moments, then glared angrily toward Sammy and Carl. You’re going to pay for that cheap shot, you pile of dung, grumbled King through hidden but gasped breaths.

Bring it on, furball! said Carl, lifting his trunk up and shaking it defiantly.

The two longtime enemies stared one another down; but King, like Iron Jaw, knew better than to mess with a male tusker of Carl’s size. He fixed his stare on Sammy instead.

How does it feel to lose three in a row, Sammy the Slinging Simian? I want you to meditate on this, Sammy. You were one score away from taking it … but you weren’t quite animal enough to get it done, he taunted, glancing up at the scoreboard, where the score read, East Team 26, West Team 21. He then glanced back at Sammy, a cocky smile fixed at the corners of his mouth. I’ll see you two losers another time.

Instinctively, Sammy and Carl followed the direction of King’s glance. Both felt the sting of seeing the score up there, with no time remaining on the clock.

King waited for a couple of moments so he could savor the pain he was seeing on both their faces. He then turned and trotted away, defiantly kicking up the dirt.

Carl shook his head slightly as he curled his trunk around Sammy and lifted him to his feet. I gotta say that may have been the only good hit I had on that big mouth all day.

Sammy placed his hand on his ribs and winced. Now that the game was over and the adrenaline was ebbing from his body, the surging pain of all the hits—combined with the agony of losing—was setting in.

Three in a row, he muttered. How’s that? asked Carl.

I said three in a row. We’ve lost three Beast Bowls in a row, Carl. When was the last time a West Team did that, huh?

Carl shrugged. I can’t say for sure, Sammy … . And if anybody could remember, I’d be the one. But, look on the bright side. You’re still in one piece. I can’t say the same for everyone else.

The two best friends stared over at the sidelines, where their teammates hobbled, crawled, limped and dragged themselves up to their coach. They both knew that some were so badly injured they probably would not make it to the next day.

Yeah … I guess you’re right, Carl, Sammy agreed after some pause, his stomach sickened at the sight.

Come on; let’s go, Carl suggested. I’m sure Coach will find the silver lining in all this.

Sammy nodded in silent agreement, and the two somberly headed toward the sidelines. There, they caught up with the rest of their teammates, who were now forming a semicircle around their coach. Sammy slipped between a couple of his larger teammates standing in the back and knelt down in the front, wanting to be close to his coach. As he studied his coach’s face, a sadness of a magnitude he had never felt before immediately pervaded him. Sure, they had just lost, but Coach Rock always seemed to keep a positive air about him no matter how bad things were.

Coach Rock, an old but still powerful-looking silverback gorilla, forced a smile at Sammy. As he turned his attention back to the group, he dragged his coaching hat from his head as he always did before addressing his players. He cleared his tightening throat before speaking.

I want to first say that I’m proud of each and every one of you for how you played today … . You fought your hearts out … that’s a fact. And you played well enough to win today. But like life, there are times when you put everything into something and it still doesn’t go your way, he said, pausing to clear his throat again. This moment of hesitation caused many in the group to glance at one another as they, just like Sammy, sensed something was not quite right.

Remember this: You have nothing to be ashamed of. I just wish I had called a better game.

Sammy frowned, now sensing something more was going on than just a typical postgame losing speech. That’s not true, Coach, he protested, looking around at his teammates in confusion. We’re the ones who didn’t get it done. Hey, we’ll just have to work a little harder next time; that’s all.

Coach Rock, a silverback mountain gorilla , is the West Team’s long-time coach.

The coach shook his head and cracked a slight, sad smile. Thanks, Sammy, but there isn’t going to be a next time for me. Sammy cocked his head in disbelief as a volley of incredulous murmuring permeated the group. What do you mean there isn’t going to be a next time? he asked, his voice unsteady and cracking with emotion.

What I’m saying to you boys is that it’s time for me to retire … . I’ve been at this a long time, and it’s been a good run … a real good run. A lot of great moments and memories. But a coach has to know when it’s time to move on and let someone else have their shot.

Coach Rock paused in his retirement speech for a moment, looked at the ground, then looked up again. My time is over here, he concluded.

He then placed his hat on his head and methodically adjusted the bill. Walking up to Sammy, he removed his coaching whistle from around his neck. I want you to have this, Sammy.

He placed the whistle in Sammy’s hand, squeezing gently and then nodding. I think you should be the one who gives it to the next coach.

Sammy looked down at the whistle dejectedly, then back up to the coach, shaking his head in defiance. I don’t want this whistle, Coach … . It’s yours. He tried to push his coach’s hand away. I wouldn’t know who to give it to.

Coach Rock gently but firmly squeezed Sammy’s hand once again. No … you must, Sammy, for the sake of the game … . Remember that some of us must be the ones to bear the responsibility for its continuation. You, Sammy … you’re the one who has the love and passion for the game to keep things going. I have faith that you’ll get the right coach for the job. You must do it … . You must.

The coach stared at Sammy in silence, his tired eyes echoing his resolve. He then patted Sammy on the back and backed up several feet to gain a better view of all the players. Good luck to you all, he said in parting.

With those words still echoing in the minds of the players, he turned and disappeared into the dense jungle that surrounded the field. Sammy and the rest of the team stood speechless, staring agape in the direction he’d gone. Not a word or groan arose from the group, all of them shocked silent over what had just transpired.

Wow, didn’t see that coming, Carl finally remarked after what seemed like an interminable pause, his words breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Sammy glanced at Carl incredulously, then shifted his gaze to the other teammates. I can’t believe he’s gone. He’s been the coach of our team for as long as I can remember. What … what are we going to do about next year?

Well, I know what I’m going to do, grumbled The Moose as he limped past Sammy and moved toward the spot where their coach had disappeared. "I’m going to The Watering Hole to have a beer.

Wait! said Sammy, dismayed at The Moose’s apparent disinterest in what Sammy perceived to be a horrible crisis. We need to discuss our plans for the next Beast Bowl. Things are not settled.

Plans? asked The Moose, stopping and glancing over his shoulder, his head shaking in disbelief. Look at us, Sammy, for crying out loud! Most of us here are going to struggle to make it through the next day without being eaten. You know the rules. After it’s over, we go back to what we do. The predators do their thing and we prey animals do our thing. Planning and thinking into the future are luxuries only humans are afforded, not us. You want to plan? Well, you do it on your own time, not mine. You want to deal with the ‘need’ for a new coach? Then I suggest you take it upon yourself to find one. After all, it was Coach who said it should be you.

Moose began moving away again, then stopped and looked over his shoulder once more. Oh, in case you’d forgotten, I have a long trip back to my home. Remember, I live a continent away. So it’s a bit of a walk.

He then turned and walked into the jungle, whereupon many of the other players echoed the same sentiments. They too began to move into the surrounding vegetation.

Dejected, Sammy shook his head as Carl walked up beside him and the two of them watched their teammates disappear silently into jungle. Finally, just one of their teammates remained.

Air Roo, a red kangaroo and one of their best receivers, limp-hopped over to them, his poor mobility the result of having taken a vicious shot from King during the game. He awkwardly stopped in front of Sammy and cracked a crooked smile.

"You did the best you could, mate; it just wasn’t our day … .

Maybe it’s best to let it go for now."

I suppose, mumbled Sammy after some moments of pause. Ah, come on now. You’ll figure things out all in good time, Sammy … . No worries. Look, my suggestion to you is to get down to that bar and throw back a couple of cold ones. Things won’t look so bleak then … . And you know how many good-looking females will be at the bar as well. Don’t want to miss out on them now, do we? The kangaroo winked, then limped off into the jungle.

Carl turned to Sammy. "I have to agree with him, Sammy.

Maybe it’s best just to let things simmer a bit."

Sammy stood, staring morosely at the path his departing teammates had created. Seeking comfort, his eyes filled with disappointment, he looked up at his massive friend.

Yeah, maybe you’re right, Carl. I suppose there’s nothing we can do right now, Sammy admitted. His voice died off as he glanced at the empty field where a few scavengers were looking for any leftover pieces of flesh that might have been ripped from the bodies of the players.

Carl wrapped his trunk around Sammy’s shoulder and gently tugged. Come on, Sammy. The beers are on me.

Yeah, why not? replied Sammy.

Carl curled his trunk around Sammy’s waist and placed the chimp on top of his shoulders. The two disappeared into the jungle.

The Watering Hole was a bar deep within the jungle, purposely situated far from the curious eyes of humans. Carved out of the natural surroundings, it was built to cater to any animal willing to brave the bevy of unruly beasts that frequented it. The bar’s ambience mirrored the wild, with all its risks and potential for sudden death. If you were a prey animal who couldn’t fare well on your own, you would dare not go in without the protection of significant numbers of your kind, lest you fall prey to a drunken and hungry predator.

But right before the Beast Bowl and the night after, the rules in the bar were different. Predators were not allowed to attack and eat any of the prey animals that came to the bar. It was a rule that was enforced by the largest, meanest and most feared bouncers on the face of the earth. Bull elephants, silverback gorillas, cape buffalos, hippos and rhinos kept the peace. Any animal who disobeyed the rules was dealt with harshly, often doing some air time while being unceremoniously flung from the bar. No exceptions!

The animal kingdom wanted it to be a once-a-year thing, where players, coaches, fans and pundits congregated to enjoy the annual event without worrying about being eaten. The result was a menagerie of animals who normally avoided each other rubbing shoulders and drinking abundant amounts of alcohol, in a social setting that reeked of both excitement and the potential for explosive danger. It was the biggest social event of the year, and everybody who was anybody made it a point to be there.

The Moose plays tight end on the West Team.

Excuse me! Pardon me! shouted Carl as he tried to negotiate his way through the jam-packed bar, doing his best not to run anyone over in the process. After almost crushing several gazelles under his feet, he finally neared the bar, where a rather large cape buffalo and a hippo blocked his way. He recognized them as offensive linemen from the East Team.

Carl cleared his throat loudly and fixed an exaggerated fake smile on his face, his eyes reflecting his aggravation. Excuse me. Would you two please move aside so a parched pachyderm can get a beer? I would be deeply obliged.

The two smirked at Carl, shook their heads and then continued with their conversation, ignoring his presence. Carl waited a couple of moments in the hopes that they were just being difficult and would soon tire of their nonsense and move out of the way. But they continued to talk, never even hinting that they had any intentions of moving, only looking over at Carl on occasion and snickering. Carl knew he could move to an empty gap that had just opened up nearby and avoid the issue, but it just wasn’t in his elephant nature.

Alrighty then! he said, stepping back a few yards. If that’s the way you want it, then that’s the way you’ll get it.

He cocked his eyebrow mischievously, as he made sure no bouncers were looking his way. Not seeing any, he lowered his head, and, with surprising quickness for such a massive animal, he wedged his tusks between the two path blockers.

Hey, what the heck do you think you’re doing, tusker? the angered cape buffalo shouted, as he spilled his beer all over his face and chest.

Getting a drink, that’s what! grunted Carl.

With another mighty push, he split his two conspirators apart. In the process, the tips of his tusks pierced one of the giant horizontal logs that made up part of the bar. Carl yanked his tusks out as splinters flew, floated down and landed on the bar and floor. He then lazily leaned his huge wrinkled bulk against the bar and glanced back and forth at the two, a cocky smile at the corner of his crinkled mouth. Both the hippo and the cape buffalo muttered in anger as they wiped the spilled beer from their bodies.

Carl chuckled. Hey, I asked you both nicely but you couldn’t find it within yourselves to give me just a smidgen of common courtesy, he said, holding up his trunk and showing a small space between the tips of his proboscis. Just a smidge, that’s all I asked. The cape buffalo’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated taking a shot at Carl. But he was at least five drinks away from making that kind of mistake, and he stepped back.

He motioned with his head for the hippo to leave. Let’s beat it! I think it’s time to join the others and celebrate our VICTORY! He yelled the last word right into Carl’s ear.

The hippo nodded and gave Carl a disrespectful up-and-down look. Yeah … let’s leave the loser to drown his sorrows.

The duo grabbed what was left of their beers and joined their celebrating teammates, who were congregated in a corner of the bar. There they surrounded King, who could be heard bellowing and bragging about his accomplishments during the game.

Air Roo, a red kangaroo, is a wide receiver on the West Team.

Carl cracked a smile at the satisfaction of sending the two away, but his joy was short-lived. King’s bellowing cut through the moment of satisfaction and brought the pain of the game’s loss right back to the surface. As much as he resented and hated King, at the end of the day, the East Team were the victors and it was the victors’ right to celebrate and rub it in. Gloating over the win came with the territory. And if his team had won, he could just as easily be bragging a bit as well. Well, maybe more than a bit, he thought.

Still, Carl could digest the loss, and, in the whole scheme of things, he was thankful he still had his physical health. He knew that Sammy, on the other hand, was not going to put this loss behind him so fast. He glanced toward Sammy, who was sitting at a table by himself. There he waited for Carl to deliver the beers, his face etched with sadness. It pained Carl to see his friend in such a state. And yes, he was concerned about the fate of the team, much like Sammy; but Sammy’s love for the game bordered on obsession. Chimps are so darned emotional, he thought. Nothing but a bundle of uncontrolled emotions. Sammy is certainly no exception. He shook his head a little, perturbed that he felt himself being dragged down by Sammy’s blue mood.

So … what’ll you have, Haus? asked a gruff, thundering voice.

Carl welcomed the interruption of his melancholy thoughts.

Carl jerked his head toward the voice. He found Zeeker, the bartender and proprietor of The Watering Hole, standing in front of him. Zeeker was an old and grizzled bull elephant with a serious reputation for being one of the toughest animals to have ever lived in these parts. His scarred, wrinkled and battered face told much of the story. His right tusk was almost completely gone, having been broken off during a notorious fight with another male pachyderm many years prior, during his rutting days. The tusk had broken off in his enemy’s chest; Zeeker got the better end of the deal, having left his enemy to die. The remaining tusk was massive from its years of growth and stretched endlessly across the bar.

His left eye was fixed and long since dead. It was the unsettling scar that told the defining story about Zeeker. The tale was so often recounted—but never by Zeeker, for it held too much pain—that all who lived in the area, as well as many from other parts of the world, knew how it had happened. He had been the lead male of his herd when it was attacked by poachers. The story went that as the herd was being shot and elephants were falling dead around him, he had spotted the poachers hiding in some tall elephant grass. As he charged in anger, one of the poachers fired a volley of shots in Zeeker’s direction; and one of the bullets ripped into his eye. But according to those who saw what happened, Zeeker never broke stride; and, within moments, he killed the three poachers. Still, he had not prevented the slaughter of most of the herd.

All that Zeeker cared about had been wiped out. According to the story, he went on to lead another herd, somehow overcoming the loss of the eye. But in time other dominant males figured out how to exploit his disadvantage, casting him out into the savannah as a rogue. Lonely and depressed, he found new life when he won a healthy wager on a Beast Bowl game and gained ownership of The Watering Hole. He had been a permanent fixture there ever since.

Zeeker’s colored past had always impressed Carl and he had developed a strong bond with the older bull elephant because of it. Carl would come into the bar to have a brew, to hear about the old days on the savannah and to talk about everyday problems. Zeeker always found the time to lend a big ear; and, like all elephants, he wasn’t short on advice. Because of his age and experience, much of what he imparted proved invaluable to Carl and served him well during his own travails.

Just as Zeeker was about to continue, King’s roar filled the air once again. Zeeker glanced over toward King, who caught the two elephants’ stares out of the corner of his eye and stopped Zeeker mid-sentence. King mouthed the word loser then winked, an evil little smile crossing his lips. He then looked back to his teammates, eagerly picking up the conversation where he had left off.

Zeeker shook his head in disgust. Oh boy, if I were a little younger, I’d give King one to remember. You know the father of his pride was the same way. Never could trust him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you can never trust a lion! Never! But there’s something very wrong with that family in particular … . Real bad blood running through that group.

Carl nodded. Yeah, he’s certainly a royal pain in the butt. Zeeker chuckled. That’s a good one, Carl. I’ll have to remember it.

I have my moments, Carl modestly sighed, not taking that much pleasure from the remark.

Well, back to the business at hand…. What can I get for you, Haus?

Carl perked up a bit at the thought of a cold beer. Four of the biggest, coldest beers you can pour! … Two for me and two for Sammy.

Coming right up! Zeeker grabbed two average-size beer cups and two huge ones, which looked more like large buckets, for Carl. He filled them with the frothy beverage, the foam spilling over the edges.

There we are, said Zeeker, sliding the beers over in front of Carl. He then pulled a towel off his shoulder with his trunk and began wiping up the spillage.

Ah, it’s too bad about the loss today. That was a rough one, Zeeker commented, not looking at Carl. To avoid eye contact, he continued his task, his face growing taut.

Yeah, it was a tough one, remarked Carl. He noticed Zeeker’s unfavorable expression as he took a taste of the foam that spilled down the side of his cup. He smiled a bit at the taste, then peered at Zeeker.

You don’t have to honey coat it, Zeeker. I know what you’re thinking.

Zeeker continued wiping the bar, not looking up. His task complete, he carefully placed the towel back on his shoulder and took a deep breath, his good eye narrowing a bit.

Fine. You want reality? All right, I’ll give you reality. You all choked that one away and cost me a lot of credits. Your chimp friend had a chance to win the thing but he couldn’t get past loudmouth over there, Zeeker said, glancing toward King then back to Carl. Three losses in a row—that’s never been done by a West Team or an East Team before, Carl, he said, tilting his head back and raising an eyebrow. That better?

It wasn’t Sammy’s fault and you know that. And maybe you shouldn’t gamble so much. You wouldn’t be so upset if you hadn’t lost so many credits, shot back Carl.

Credits were used much as money is in the human world, but there were distinct differences. There was no legal tender exchanged to represent the credit; instead there was an understanding between the animals who had made the agreement. A credit was payable in the form of a favor. Once an animal called in a favor owed, the animal that owed it was expected to deliver right away. Otherwise, the word would go out quickly amongst the animal kingdom and that individual would be shunned until such time as he or she made good on the favor. Favors could come in the form of protection or perhaps better hunting grounds or even a good parasite cleaning; it just depended on the need and the situation of the animals working out the deal.

Zeeker’s good eye furrowed tightly. Hey, watch it, Haus. My gambling issues are my personal business. You know what I’m saying to you?

Carl drew back a bit, knowing that he had crossed the line. Upsetting Zeeker was not a good idea, even though Zeeker and he had a close relationship. An apology was definitely in order, or he might find himself on the receiving end of a rebuking hook from Zeeker’s good tusk. Sorry … just a little frustrated at the moment.

Zeeker shook his head, his good eye relaxing ever so slightly. Um … I hear ya … . He sat back, grabbed a dirty cup off the bar and began to clean it. So what about your chimp friend? How’s he taking the loss? He hasn’t done a swan dive off the top of a tree yet or anything? You know how emotional they can be."

Carl shook his head and exhaled. I apologized. And I’m assuming you’re referring to Sammy? He does have a name you know.

You know how I feel about them … nothing personal, Carl. Yeah. You and every other elephant I know.

Zeeker put the cup he was cleaning away and flipped the towel over his shoulder. You know, I just don’t get your fascination with …

Hey, what’re you two tuskers doing over there? Making love to one another? yelled a grizzly bear who sat at the end of the bar, interrupting Zeeker. I need a beer for crying out loud! He slammed his paw angrily against the bar, causing it to rattle and spilling beers all over the countertop.

That’s going to go over well, Carl thought. As rude as the bear was, Carl was kind of glad he’d interrupted the conversation. He was in no mood to engage Zeeker in chitchat about his friendship with Sammy. It had been a point of contention between the two of them for as long as Carl could remember and it always seemed to come up at the worst possible times.

Zeeker glared at the bear, his big head jutting forward and that one good eye narrowing. Hey, take it easy on the bar, pal! You mess it up and it’s coming out of your hairy ass!

The bear snarled, trying to look brave, but Zeeker’s steely gaze cut right through his bravado and he wisely puckered up.

Zeeker turned to Carl and shook his head. I swear those North Americans are so darn impatient. No sense of manners.

Tactful as ever, commented Carl, cracking a smile. But of course.

Go get him a beer. We’ll talk later, okay?

Zeeker winked conspiratorially and turned back to the bear, his good eye once again a slit. I’ll see you a little later, Haus. The bar owner then moved down toward the grizzly, groveling. Now, what’s this about you wanting a beer and wanting it now? Carl chuckled knowing that the grizzly was going to get more than an earful. And for Carl, that was just fine, because the bear, The Berserker, was a defensive lineman for the East Team who had been all over the field. During the game, he had wreaked havoc on a number of occasions, in particular having blasted past Carl and laid some nasty hits on Sammy.

Carl was turning to leave the bar when he noticed an anteater next to him, his long mouth, or nose, or whatever it was—Carl was never quite sure—sucking up his beer. How can you possibly get any liquid up that thing? he asked sarcastically. I’d go absolutely out of my mind if I had one that small.

The anteater pulled his mouth out of his glass as his needlelike tongue licked off the dripping beer. Size ain’t everything, big guy, he shot back through a drunken burp. It’s how you use it that counts.

So typical …. It’s always the same response from the less endowed. Carl then scooped up the beers and walked away, with the anteater muttering something about the size of Carl’s large ass behind his back.

Carl chuckled. Good for the anteater, he thought. He knew he had a bit of wiseass in him, but when you were the biggest guy in the jungle, you could afford to be that way on occasion. Doing his best not spill the beers as he made his way through the packed crowd, Carl noticed a cape buffalo and a lion clanking their cups together, yelling out some indiscernible toast and then gulping down the contents and hugging each other like they were lifelong buddies.

Carl shook his head in amusement and muttered, Yeah, that’ll last. In a couple of hours, that cape buffalo will go from friend to munchies if he doesn’t watch it.

Sitting on a flattened rock that served as a stool, Sammy watched as Carl stood staring at something, the beers curled up in his trunk. I should’ve never let him get the beer, Sammy thought. I bet he got sidetracked striking up some longwinded conversation with Zeeker or any other animal who was willing to listen to his nonsense.

Normally, Sammy wouldn’t have even cared about the delay. He would have just gotten up, gone over and gotten his own beer. But with the crushing defeat and the unexpected retirement of his longtime coach, he just couldn’t motivate himself to mingle. All he’d wanted to do was get as drunk as possible, find a tree, make his bed and pass out. He was in a horrible mood, a fact that had been confirmed when two good-looking female chimps had strolled up to his table earlier and asked if they could sit with him. Normally, Sammy would have been all over the opportunity, but he had bluntly and without hesitation told them he wasn’t interested. Unaccustomed to being shot down, the two chimpettes had walked away, mystified. Sammy was equally mystified by his own behavior. What red-blooded African chimp would shun the advances of two beautiful females? A depressed one, he thought.