by Paul Cude
With a renewed energy he sprinted upstairs, swapping his suit for jeans and a T-shirt. Buoyed by knowing that his rumbling stomach, instead of being quelled by a ready meal from the fridge, would have an assortment of delicious treats from the food stalls at the stadium to choose from, he descended the stairs in two giant leaps.
Pulling shut the curtains in every room of the house before picking up his wallet, keys and phone, he raced into the sitting room and pulled hard on the Galileo thermometer atop the piano. Silently, the light coloured instrument swung out from the corner of the room, revealing a gaping hole through which the top of the Victorian spiral staircase was just visible. Tugging the thermometer again as he sprinted past, winding his way down into the darkness, he'd just reached the floor as the hole in the ceiling closed fully, encasing him in the total pitch black. Needing no help in the dark, he snaked in and around all the obstacles, before reaching up with his left hand, standing in front of what he knew to be the secret exit. Running his hand along the uneven wall, he finally found an innocuous, finger sized hole next to a beam. Thrusting his finger in as far as it would go, the welcoming sound of tiny cogs and gears moving into place, which he always associated with a pleasurable return to the underground world of the dragons... his home, tickled his sensitive ear lobes.
Sprinting down the stone steps and vaulting the wall at the bottom to land perfectly on the walkway that led to the monorail station, he knew there was no time to lose, so broke into a jog, his keys jangling in the pocket of his light blue jeans as he did so. Moments later he slid to a halt on the shiny marble floor, ignoring the incredible sensation from the aromas of all the delectable food, carried on the breeze throughout the station plaza, despite the protests from his stomach. Getting busier with every second that passed, nervously he scanned the concourse for his friend who'd procured the tickets for the game. Startled as a large hand dropped onto his shoulder, he whirled around, only to end up staring right into his friend's battered, bruised and smiling face.
"Crikey, you're a bit jumpy aren't you?” teased Tank.
"Sorry," replied Peter, patting his friend on the back. "Rough week at work. Must be getting to me."
"It's great to see you, but we need to hurry if we're going to get there in time for me to grab some food before the match starts.”
Tank let out a raucous laugh, alarming more than a few passing passengers.
"That's what I love about you Peter. For someone so small, you're always thinking about your belly."
'It's true,' thought Peter. 'I am nearly always thinking about my stomach. Must be the dragon in me.'
Tank, like Richie, very much mirrored his natural form with his human guise. He was huge, a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall, with a body packed full of muscle, rugby had certainly been the right choice for him. He had sparkling blue eyes, and what would have been a wild array of floppy blonde hair had it not been cut so short, primarily for the sport he loved. Always clean shaven, his face looked like a cross between Desperate Dan and Action Man, apart from his nose, which looked as though it had taken one too many punches on the rugby pitch, either that, or he'd taken up chasing parked cars.
The two friends hastily boarded the Burton-upon-Trent bound monorail carriage, where tonight's match was taking place. Nearly two hundred miles away, and at least three hours in a car, the journey below ground was expected to take about twenty five minutes. Taking place beneath England's beautiful Peak District in a huge, purpose built cavern, they both had tickets for the Burton side of the stadium, which would tonight be acting as the home side. Agreeing not at all on the predicted outcome of the match, they argued, much to the other passengers’ amusement, all the way there.
"Steel will be man of the match, and we'll get through to the Global Cup 4-2," announced Peter excitedly, all the time clutching the shiny silver ticket that his friend had given him.
"Steel's good, I'll give you that, but I'm pretty sure it'll be Silverbonce that will be man of the match. He's as good as a couple of goals saved, even before they start. We'll win 6-2, mark my words."
"Six!" exclaimed Peter. "You think we'll get six? Have you been eating butterflies again? How many laminium ball matches have you ever seen where a team scores six? You must be mad."
"At least we both agree the Warriors will win, and get through to the Global Cup," uttered Tank.
Peter nodded his agreement as the sleek, silver carriage whizzed them towards their destination, and a night of full on team sport.
That was how it progressed all the way to the Burton monorail station, lots of friendly banter about the game, all thoughts of anything else forgotten.
For those of you that don't know what laminium ball is, perhaps I should explain. Since before records began, dragons have been playing this as a sport and sooooo much more.
Laminium ball is almost the equivalent of football. Groomed for decades, after which only the best are selected and thrust into the limelight of the biggest full on sporting battle on the planet, the players can look forward to league and cup matches coming thick and fast throughout the season, pitching dragon against dragon in unmatched, adrenaline fuelled, jaw dropping action. Constant jeopardy, gut wrenching challenges from fully committed players on both sides, all at eye wateringly high speeds, put the sport on a pedestal like no other to dragons as a whole. If a human somehow managed to watch one of these matches, they'd need to find a whole new definition of the word sport.
Played in specially designed caverns located across the world, the playing zone in each is two miles long, a quarter of a mile wide and half a mile high, with a river of burning lava running beneath. Embedded in the cavern's walls, about half way up at each end of the two mile long stretch of playing area, are two 'mouths'. In the middle of each 'mouth' sit six stalagmites and six stalactites, joined in the middle, known as the 'teeth'. The game itself can last for up to two hours, unless all six of the 'teeth' are knocked down before then. The winner is declared to be the side that has knocked out the most 'teeth' during the two hour time span. It is incredibly rare for any team to knock all six 'teeth' out, happening on average every decade or so.
Dragon teams competing against each other consist of four outfielders and one 'mouth guard'. Outfielders are allowed to control the laminium ball with any part of their body, with most preferring, and trained, to use their tail, and are able to dribble, slap, roll, slam, tackle, intercept as well as perform tricks with the ball.
Once any of the outfielders think they are in range, they can attempt to shoot at the ‘mouth’. The 'mouth guard' can stop the ball hitting the 'teeth' with any part of his body, from the tip of his tail, to the end of his nose.
As the name suggests, the ball itself is made of laminium, covered in a coat of ionised platinum, making it all but unbreakable and even able to withstand a substantial amount of time submerged beneath the lava foundation. Teams make good use of this by performing dangerous 'flying dives' that start high up in the arena and end up with the player diving into the lava, popping up somewhere near the opposition's 'mouth', making it so outrageously difficult for the 'mouth guard' to defend against. Encased at the centre of the ball, the metal after which the game is named, laminium, is incredibly precious and rare, and is highly valued by dragons because of the magical way it can enhance a dragon's own natural abilities. Boosting their telepathic talents, enhancing their strength, stamina and reaction times, as well as adding power to any mantra cast, these are just a few of the long list of wicked side effects that close proximity to the hard to extract metal, can have. Only found in exceedingly small quantities, usually deep underground in remote and inaccessible areas, it is one of the more valuable things that Cropptech specialise in, hence the reason for dragon infiltration of the company at all levels. Guarding the prized metal, for fear of it being stolen and falling into the wrong hands, has long since been a dragon concern, and to this very day, remains a very high priority for the Council and the king himself. Down to the tiniest am
ount, dragons have records that span back centuries, covering any laminium mined, traded, or experimented on. Using a whole host of different shell companies, the dragon world, through one channel or another, receives every ounce of laminium that is discovered in the world. A considerable amount is used in their favourite sport, with most of the rest stored safely away. Far in the past, the cherished metal was used to make everyday items, worn to show one's status and power ranking. Jewellery was popular... necklaces, earrings, rings, brooches, all of that, allowing the wearer to not only show off their wealth and any sway they might have, but also magically enhancing their powers, there and then. A double whammy so to speak. Rumours have abounded over the centuries of much bigger and more powerful pieces. Individual items of armour, embossed tome covers, timepieces and even weapons were all reported, at different times, to have been crafted, before being stolen, and then of course lost. Occasionally the odd item or trinket has surfaced, causing a stir in the papers and a frantic bidding war, but these are usually only tiny items of jewellery. With these minuscule mites of metal being coveted so, it's easy to see how the much larger sphere of the precious metal, hidden beneath layers of platinum, would attract so much interest, and heighten the powers of the player on the ball. It can also make it mighty hard for the opposition to wrestle the ball away from the player who has it, making possession key for every team that plays.
For each team to be easily recognised by the spectators during the match, the players from the two teams are allocated different coloured auras, dished out in the form of a mantra, before the game by the referee. Normally the opposing teams have red and blue mantras, with the referee enveloped in an all green one.
More than just sport, laminium ball has become a way of life for many dragons, following their heroes in the papers, as well as attending home matches, travelling across the globe in some cases for away games, buying all the merchandise, and emulating the players in everything they do. With so much coverage given over to the teams and matches in the telepathic press, the players themselves are treated very much like gods, or rock stars. Once selected and part of a team, nothing other than a career crushing injury or retirement can remove that dragon from that team's squad. That's why getting selected is so important, it's like tenure... there for life. Only a small percentage of hopefuls are chosen to compete in this male only sport. To be a celebrated laminium ball player sounds perfect, and most would agree that it was, with but one exception, the one sacrifice those players had to make. Under no circumstance were they ever allowed on the surface. So highly valued were they that no risk, however insignificant, could be taken with their safety. Nearly all of them were okay with that; why wouldn't they be? So the decades in which normal adolescent dragons were taught how to transform and maintain human guises, were instead used to learn about flight, fight, character, and teamwork. It was by no means easy, but for those who reached the top, it was a magnificent achievement and the fulfilment of dragonling dreams.
On their way to Burton to watch the match between the Indigo Warriors (Southern England) and the Crimson Crusaders (Northern England), the two friends were mad keen on laminium ball and huge supporters of the Warriors, having both been brought up in Southern England.
Each laminium ball player is easily as famous as any sporting figure from the human world above. All receive an amazing amount of daily fan mail, with offers of mating or bonding, endorsement opportunities, or dragons just wanting to be their friends and hang out. Each and every player features heavily in all the telepathic papers: their black and white pictures blazed all across the back pages, everyday, accompanied by rumours and gossip of new mates, new scale colouring, a new home or some exotic new training regime that would change the team's fortune, and the Indigo Warriors were no exception. Legends to their fans, even though they'd won nothing for the past fifty years, underachieving with their current squad for the last ten, the one thing you could be assured of was that there was always HOPE! Each time they played, they always gave everything they'd got. They might lack the talent of the other teams in places, but nearly always made up for it with blood, guts and thunder. Their fans could ask for nothing more.
The Warriors team consisted of Steel (Captain), Flamer, Cheese, Barf, Silverbonce (Mouth Guard) and Zip (Substitute). Their names were with them forever now, but that hadn't always been the case. Laminium ball players are given new names on turning professional and being picked to represent a team. Chosen by a panel of experienced judges, any number of reasons can be taken into account for a new name, once that player has reached the required standard. The judges will have watched the young players all trying to make the grade, so will be familiar with their personalities, traits and quirks. Once chosen by the judges, that name can never be taken back. Scary for some, a celebration for most, as it represents the culmination of many decades of work.
Both friends could recite every detail of the Indigo Warriors squad. Steel was aptly named because he had nerves of steel and had proved so many times, never ducking a challenge or tackle, sometimes winding up with the most horrendous injury because of it. Flamer was so called because of his highly powered breath which produced the most extraordinary amount of heat and flame extension... something many of his opponents could attest to. Cheese only ever seemed to eat cheese, and had often claimed that his diet was what gave him the incredible turn of speed whenever he needed it, although some fans of other teams claim he'd been named that because he smelt of cheese. Quirkily, he never seemed to appear in a photograph without a piece of cheese, unless it was during a laminium ball match. The ever so slightly eccentric one of the team, he was incredibly popular with the fans.
Barf had been named because of his sheer resilience. During the final match to choose which dragons were going to make it as professionals he'd become seriously ill, something incredibly rare for a dragon. A medical opinion suggested he shouldn't have even been at the game, let alone been playing. Against the expert's better judgement, they let him play. Performing poorly by his own high standards for most of the game, he could feel his chances of selection slipping away with every passing second. Determined to give it his all for the remaining few minutes, he produced the tackle of the game, which unfortunately for him took place during a steep power dive towards the lava. Approaching his opponent, the speed and angle of the descent caused his poorly stomach to react violently. Even though he was throwing up with the kind of power not even seen in most human babies, he carried on and made the incredible tackle, moving the ball onto one of his teammates, who went on to score. His team won the match, and he became a professional player. Hence the name... Barf.
Silverbonce, the Warriors oldest, and most famous player, and their 'mouth guard', had gained his name because of the colouring of his scales. Common for dragons to be named in this way, after either a specialised colouring or a particular pattern, in this case the silver that encircled his skull before flowing halfway down his back, merging seamlessly with the rest of his rather pale green body, was the reason for his given moniker. Having constantly seen off competition for his place, and more recently, calls for his retirement, more often than not he'd saved the team by pulling something from his substantial bag of tricks, gained from the years of experience that made him not only the oldest on the team, but the oldest professional Laminium ball player EVER! If fans of opposing teams across the world had to name and favour one Indigo Warrior, it most certainly would have been him, not just because of how long he'd been going, but because almost certainly he was the most cunning and craftiest dragon ever to have played the game.
Last but by no means least, was Zip, the squad substitute, whose name stemmed from the mottled cream and gold colouring that traversed the length of his belly, so much so that when he was flying, his underneath looked as though it were held together with a giant zip.
Having suffered a disastrous league season by their standards, the Global Cup represented the only chance for the Warriors to win a trophy. Qualifying would be an a
chievement of some sort, as they had not done so in their history, having never before reached this far (one round, one match away). They would not, however, underestimate their opponents, the Crimson Crusaders, who would be anything but a pushover, particularly given that they sat second in the league's top tier, and whose form would suggest they were on fire, sometimes quite literally. For the Warriors to get this far and fail to go through would be devastating, not only for Peter and Tank, but the rest of their devoted fans who'd turned out in their tens of thousands to offer their support.
Exiting the monorail at Burton, the two friends followed the crowd along the walkways that led to the underground stadium. All but carried along in the midst of a throng of other dragons, most of whom displayed something to show off their allegiance to one team or the other, Peter and Tank were bowled over by just how many spectators had turned up to take in the match.
Rounding a sharp bend, the merging paths began a shallow descent, eventually opening up into a colossal mall, leaving everything that little bit less packed. On either side of the mall, wide burrows had been excavated out of the rock faces, making space for traders to set up their shops, plying their stunning selection of goods to all plodding past. Originally opening up into more space, the further into the mall they got, the more crowded it seemed to get. Yes, there were thousands of dragons, many in their natural form, all heading in the same direction, but there didn't seem more than there had before. And then suddenly the friends spotted the reason why. Smack back down the middle of the mall, a long line of market stalls had been erected to provide even more vendors the opportunity to promote their material. That, combined with all the dragons slowing down on the outside to look at each of the merchant's products, had created a dam in the almost unstoppable river of dragons that wove its way forward towards the many different gates of the stadium. Staying close together and working on the theory that if you can't beat them, join them, the two friends started browsing some of the shops and stalls, ignoring all of those selling Crimson Crusader memorabilia.