The Rifleman assumed the position of quarterback. His animals lined up. The play commenced. Stile’s line charged in, but the Rifleman reacted with poise, making a neat, short bulletlike pass to his receiver on the sideline. It was complete; the pass had been too accurately thrown for the receiver to miss, too swift for the defender to interfere with. The Citizen had a net gain of eight yards. The Rifleman—now Stile appreciated how this applied to football, too. The Citizen was a superior player of this arcane game, better than an android passer. Therefore he had a superior team—while Stile had an indifferent team. Stile substituted in another pass defender—but the Citizen brought in another receiver. Stile could not double-cover. Those passes were going to be trouble! They were. The Rifleman marched his team relentlessly downfield. Not every pass connected, and not every play was a pass, but with four tries to earn each first down, the offensive team had no trouble. All too soon the Rifleman scored. Then the Rifleman substituted in his own place-kicker and let him make the extra point. The score was 7-0, the Rifleman’s advantage.
Complete team substitutions were permitted after a touchdown. It was a new game, with Stile receiving again, except that he was now in the hole. Five playing minutes had elapsed.
Stile’s team received the ball and attempted a runback. His animal got nowhere. Stile had his first down on the twelve-yard line.
It was time to get clever. If he could fool the defenders and break an android free, he might score on a single play. But this could be risky.
He set up the play: a fake run to the right, and a massive surge to the left, with every android lineman moving across to protect the runner.
The result was a monstrous tangle as stupid animals got in each other’s way. His runner crashed into his own pileup, getting nowhere, and the referee imposed a fifteen-yard penalty for unnecessary roughness, holding, and offensive interference. Half the distance to Stile’s goal line. Second down, long yardage, from the six-yard line. So much for innovation I Stile tried to complete another pass, this time to himself; maybe the Rifleman wouldn’t expect him to expose himself that way, and the surprise would work. A long bomb, trying for the moons, double or nothing.
The play commenced. Stile ducked through the line and charged straight downfield. The Rifleman cut across to guard him. Together they turned at the fifty-yard line, and Stile cut back to the appointed spot to receive the pass, and the Rifleman cut in front of him and intercepted it while it remained too high in the air for Stile to reach. “Sorry about that, friend,” the Citizen said as Stile hastily tackled him and the whistle blew to end the play. “Height has its advantage.”
It certainly did. Stile had lost the ball again without scoring. He heard the roar of reaction and applause from the filling audience section of the stadium; the Rifleman had clearly made a good play. Now Stile would have to defend again against the devastating passing attack of his opponent.
He was not disappointed. Methodically the Rifleman moved the ball down the field until he scored again. This time he passed for the extra points, and made them. The score was fifteen to nothing.
The first half of the game was finished: fifteen minutes of playing time. Stile had tried every device he could think of to stop his opponent from scoring, and had only man-aged to slow the rate of advance and use up time. The Rifleman had averaged a point per minute, even so. Stile had to move, and move well, in the second half, or rapidly see the game put out of reach. He needed a dramatic, original system of defense and offense. But what could he do?
Surprise, first. What could he do that really would surprise his opponent, while staying within the clumsy rules of this game? He couldn’t run or pass or kick the ball away—
