It’s common knowledge that concessions at
professional sporting events are expensive.
This should come as no surprise, however. If the only food allowed inside a stadium or
arena is whatever’s sold there, the dealers have a monopoly on it. To get this monopoly, however, vendors must
pay a special fee to the athletic club.
The result? Either pay up or go
without food during the game.
Or eat elsewhere, of course. Such was the choice Jack Barnes and Kurt
Morris had made.
“I’m glad this restaurant’s so close to the
Dome,” said Jack.
“Me too!” said Kurt. “This oyster stew is delicious. I like the diner setup.”
Yes, the restaurant the boys had chosen was
like a diner. It also had a bar, but
that was in the back room. The old-fashioned
building had its own special character to it, but Jack and Kurt had chosen it
because it was conveniently situated by the Tacoma Dome.
“Who are we playing tonight?” Jack asked.
“The Sacramento Roughriders,” said Kurt. “So far, though, they’re not riding too
rough. They’re 0—6.”
“We’ll run over them for sure,” said
Jack. “I can’t understand, though. Why did the owners decide to name our town’s
team the Flying Steamrollers?”
“Beats me,” said Kurt, “but the winged logo
is cool! The green and blue colors
remind me of the Seattle Mariners.”
Kurt stood up. “I’m going to go use the restroom. Wait here; I’ll be right back.”
Jack leaned back in his seat and allowed his
gaze to wander. His and Kurt’s table was
right by the entrance to the bar, and loud chatter and laughter came from
inside the dark room. One conversation
disentangled itself from the fracas, and Jack listened in, not having anything
better to do.
“Here’s the money,” said a man. “I don’t care what you do, as long as it
helps them out.”
“Don’t worry,” a deep voice replied. “I’ve been playing long enough to know what
to do.”
Jack turned to see who had spoken and saw two
men walking out of the restaurant. One
was tall and wiry. The other was also
tall, but not wiry. He was a big guy. “Looks like a football player,” Jack thought
to himself. Kurt came back at that
moment, and Jack forgot all about the two men.
Until later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What a dismal game,” Jack moaned, a couple
hours later.
“Dismal doesn’t describe it,” lamented
Kurt. “We’re not flying tonight.”
No, the Tacoma Flying Steamrollers weren’t
flying. They were sputtering. The quarterback had—oh, did I mention what
sport they were in? You’ll probably
never guess. Indoor football! Indoor football was somewhat similar to the
NFL, but the field was only half as long.
A wall running around the field diminished the amount of out-of-bounds
plays. There were some other rule
differences to, but those were the main things.
The ironic thing about the Tacoma team, though,
was that the Tacoma Dome could actually fit an NFL-sized field. It was a round stadium with very versatile
seating. However, when it was expanded
out to that, it sat only 10,000 (compared to 67,000 at CenturyLink Field, the
home of the Seattle Seahawks just up Interstate 5). Thus, the venue housed an indoor team and
took on more seating. This was still
ironic because the Flying Steamrollers averaged only about 8,000 fans a game.
Their attendance had been 8,271 on this
particular evening, but it was dropping off fast by the second quarter. Tacoma was down 40—2 already. It wasn’t an insurmountable deficit, but it
was a tough one.
“I can’t believe Morrison let that ball slip
through his fingers,” said Jack. “He was
wide open!”
“That’s one of the few goofs that haven’t
been LeFramboise’s fault,” said Kurt, referring to the quarterback. “He’s thrown three interceptions, and it
looked like he was trying on the first two.
They’d have been beautiful passes if they hadn’t been aimed at the other
team.”
“Well, don’t forget Cutler, the running
back,” said Jack. “He fumbled earlier.”
“If Siegrist had only made that
interception,” said Kurt, “this would be a different ballgame. He would have been wide open for a
touchdown. I know he broke up the pass,
but he should have had that ball.”
“At least the first half can’t get much more
worse,” said Jack. “Sacramento’s only
got time for one more play.”
That play was a pass by the Sacramento
quarterback, Phillips. It was to the end
zone, but it glanced off his receiver’s fingertips. That would have stopped the clock had not
time run out on the play anyway.
“Do you want to stay until the end?” asked
Kurt.
“Do I?” said Jack. “I never leave these games early.”
“Then I’m sticking around too,” said
Kurt. “It’s possible we could come
back.”
It was possible, but it didn’t happen. The Flying Steamrollers were steamrolled
themselves, 75—9.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple days later, coming downstairs, Jack
was surprised to find the Tacoma Flying Steamrollers on the front page of the
newspaper sports section. The Tacoma
paper always gave them some coverage, but rarely on the front page
coverage. If any somewhat obscure sport ever
took front and center, it was tennis or soccer.
Unfortunately, there was a reason for this
heightened publicity. “Indoor Football
Game Thrown! Local Sports Bookie
Implicated in Bribing!”
Quickly, Jack read over the story. Evidence had surfaced showing that Cesar
Antigua, owner of a local sports betting ring, had bribed a player to throw the
game the other night. The odds had been
very much in Tacoma’s favor, and Antigua had stood to make quite a collection
off Sacramento’s upset. Of course, he
was unable to make anything, now that he was in jail. However, there was something very interesting
in the story. The police had no idea who
Antigua had bribed, yet. The evidence
they had just showed Antigua had bribed someone. There was something else in the article that
interested Jack too, and he wasted no time in calling Kurt.
“Kurt!
Did you hear about the game the other night?”
“Which game?
The Flying Steamrollers one?”
“Someone threw it!” said Jack.
“No!
Really?” said Kurt. Jack filled
him in on the story, then added, “-but get this, Kurt. I saw Cesar Antigua at that restaurant the
other day.”
“You did?” said Kurt. “How do you know?”
“I recognized his picture in the paper,” said
Jack. “I didn’t get a good look at his
face, but he’s tall and wiry.” Jack told
Kurt about the conversation and said, “I’ll bet that man he was with was the
player that threw the game.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” said
Kurt. “Call the police. Tell them about it. They’ll be happy to know who it was.”
“I would,” said Jack. “Only—”
“Only what?”
“Only I can’t remember what the man who
Antigua was with looked like.”
“Jack!
You’re the only witness! You’ve
got to remember. Wait a minute. It’d have to be whoever deliberately messed
up the other night.”
“There’s several people that could have done
that, though,” said Jack.
“Remember? LeFramboise the
quarterback, Morrison the receiver, Cutler the running back, and Siegrist the
cornerback. They all looked like they
were trying to mess up.”
“Check the program,” said Kurt. “It should have their pictures in it.”
Jack checked.
“Still didn’t help,” he told Kurt.
“It could have been any of them.
I can’t call the police and guess who did it. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“There’s got to be something you noticed,
Jack. Think now. Exactly what in the conversation did you
overhear?”
“Here’s the
money,” said a man. “I don’t care what
you do, as long as it helps them out.”
“Don’t
worry,” a deep voice replied. “I’ve been
playing long enough to know what to do.”
“Long enough!” said Kurt. “Did he really say that? If so, wouldn’t that imply that the guy’s
been playing for a while?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Jack. “Indoor football players don’t stick around
for a while. He’d probably just
referring to his college career.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Kurt. “Look; check their bios. Find out how long they’ve been pro.”
So, Jack did.
Cutler, the running back, had been undrafted out of Central Washington
University. He was in his first
year. Morrison, the receiver, had been a
backup in the UFL for two seasons before heading indoors. He was in his third year in the arena
leagues, but only his first with Tacoma.
Siegrist, the cornerback, was a rookie from the University of Montana.
But
LeFramboise, the quarterback, had been bouncing around different arena leagues
for 11 seasons!
“It must be LeFramboise, then!” said Kurt.
“I’m still not sure, though,” said Jack. “What if I called the police, and it turned
out not to be him. The poor guy’s had
enough trouble, as it is.”
“I know,” said Kurt. “Call the police and get permission
first. This system will go off without a
hitch. He told Jack his plan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An hour later, Jack and Kurt sat at the
police station. As honored guests, not
as criminals awaiting punishment. A
phone was set up on the table, and Jack lifted it, as several officers (including
Officer Stieg, whom the boys knew from previous cases) sat watching and
listening.
There were two rings on the other end, then,
“Hello.”
“Are you Dan LeFramboise?” Jack asked.
“Whaddya want?” the voice on the other end
said.
“I saw you with Antigua the other day,” said
Jack. “Now, I might be willing to forget
it, though.”
Silence.
“I want a tenth of whatever he gave you.”
LeFramboise’s reply was prompt. “You got it.
Where should I leave the money?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jack. “Why don’t you meet me at the same restaurant
in about an hour? I’ll be wearing a
RoughRiders hat, backwards. You should
have no trouble finding me.”
“See you then,” said LeFramboise, hanging up.
Only, he didn’t see Jack then. He saw Officer Stieg and a couple other
officers from the Tacoma Police Department.
Thus confronted, LeFramboise confessed.
He’d never had much success in his career, and he’d decided to put what
talent he did have up for sale. He had
deliberately tried to lose the game the other night.
The Chicago White Sox might have survived the
Black Sox scandal, but they were a Major League Baseball Team. The Tacoma Flying Steamrollers were an indoor
football team. Such a scandal was too
much for them, and that game Jack and Kurt went to wound up being their
last. They folded that week, forfeiting
all remaining games on their schedule.
To this day, Tacoma doesn’t have an indoor football team.
This story doesn’t have to end on a sad note,
though. If you have however much money
it takes to start an indoor football team, consider putting one in Tacoma. The City of Destiny waits for you, successful
businessman, wherever you are. Feel free
to use the name Flying Steamrollers, if you wish.
Flying Steamrollers???
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