Chapter 20
Super Bowl Sunday. The usual hype for the past two days had been overshadowed by Max Aries’ disappearance. The city of Miami had been scoured. House-to-house searches had been carried out. The police found fifteen “wanted” criminals and four meth labs, but no Max Aries. Miami Bay and the many lakes and lagoons in the area had been dragged. Divers recovered 300 old tires and a submerged Chevrolet, but no Max Aries. The owners of the Rams offered one million dollars reward for information leading to Max Aries’ recovery, no questions asked. But no takers came forward. Anyone who had placed a bet on the Rams and had given up six points, now rushed to cover their wager by placing a hedge bet on the Steelers.
Meanwhile, a Super Bowl game had to be played, Max or no Max. The Navy band marched on the field. Nancy Franklin sang the National Anthem. The team captains met with the referee at midfield. An astronaut who had just returned from two months on the International Space Station tossed the commemorative coin.The Steelers won the toss, chose to receive and game was on. On their first possession, the Steelers marched down the field against a Rams defense that seemed like paper.
Ham Gleason, seated in the press box shook his head in frustration. He spoke to nobody in particular. “This is pathetic. The only way the Rams are going to stay in the game is to match the Steelers’ offense point for point.”
Another sports writer sitting alongside turned to Ham. “Without Max Aries, forget it.”
Ham said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
For the entire first half, Ham sat dejected, cheered only by several miscues on the part of the Steelers. A fumble recovery by the Rams on their own six-yard line saved them from a certain Steeler score. A Rams interception of a Steeler pass in the Rams end zone saved them from another. The half was played entirely in Rams territory. Their possessions were a series of “three and out.” Three short gains or even lost ground, followed by a punt.
If it were not for sloppy play on the part of the Steelers, they would have run away with the game. The halftime score: Steelers 19, Rams 0, did not represent the superiority of the Steelers.
In the locker room at halftime, the coaches tried to make corrections. But even the most optimistic among them knew they were backing a lost cause. Todd Albright tried to bolster their morale. “Let’s win this one for Max, “ he pleaded. The other team members met his plea with half-hearted cheers.
High in the press box, Ham munched on a hot dog. If not for a superb halftime performance by his favorite heavy metal band, Circle of Fire, he would be totally depressed. He could visualize tomorrow’s headline screaming: “Mismatch in Miami.” He was almost glad when play resumed. Soon the massacre would be over and he could fly home.
In the Atlantic Ocean, about a mile offshore from where the Super Bowl game was being played, a cabin cruiser slowly plowed its way. In a cabin below, Max Aries dreamed he was lying in a swaying hammock. His eyes fluttered open, but he had trouble focusing. Did he hear water running? Was the sound that of a car engine?
He tried to move his arms, but found they were held. He was unable to move his feet as well. When he could finally open his eyes, he saw that heavy metal bands encircled his wrists. A heavy chain connected the two bands. He raised his head as far as he could to look down at his legs. His feet were encased in a large square gray block that looked like a stone.
Max lay back, trying to piece together what he could. He recalled being on the practice field, then coming to the bench for a drink. Then nothing. Suddenly, it came to him. He should be playing in the Super Bowl! What was he doing here, wherever “here” was?
From somewhere not too distant he heard a voice saying, “I think we’re far enough out. Let’s toss him overboard.”
Another voice said, “Are you sure he won’t wake up?”
The first voice answered, “With all that dope in him, he ain’t wakin’ up like forever.”
He was a prisoner! He was on a boat and people were planning to throw him overboard!
Max strained at his bonds, trying to free his hands. He had bent steel bars, but now he felt weak. Must be the “dope” they’d given him. He lay back. He needed a little more time to regain his strength. He heard, “Okay, let’s go. It’ll take all three of us to heave him.” So there were three of “them.” And time had run out.
Back at the Super Bowl, the Rams caught a little break. Receiving the second half kickoff, Marcus Collins, their kick return specialist sped down the sideline, evading Steeler tacklers, and outrunning the kicker to score their first points. The Rams were finally on the board. Given the momentum, the defense awoke holding the Steelers on downs on their next possession. A couple of completed Rams passes and a long field goal and suddenly they were back in the game, although still on the short end of a 19-10 score. A pair of holding penalties along with a roughing the passer infraction all by the Steelers, served to keep the score unchanged through the rest of the third quarter. With fifteen minutes left in the game, the Steelers leading by nine points felt confident enough to play conservatively. No point risking injury when they held the dominant hand. And speaking of hand, they needed only to jog in place and collect a Super Bowl ring for the thumb since they already had won four.
Max heard the door to the cabin creak open. He closed his eyes to feign sleep, hoping he might some way gain the strength to break his steel manacles and attack his captors.
Okay,” a voice said. “I’ll take the head end, you two take the other end and the concrete slippers.”
Someone had his hands under Max’s head and neck and started to lift. Suddenly, a foghorn blast came from outside the boat. A voice on a bullhorn said, “Heave to. This is the Coast Guard.”
Max felt his head drop back to where it had been lying.
One of the men yelled, “The Coasties. We’re sunk!”
Another shouted. “Let’s outrun ‘em.”
A third voice said, “You out of your mind? This tub can’t outrun a cutter. Our only hope is we cover Aries up with a tarp and pray they don’t look under the tarp.”
Max felt a rough material thrown over his face and body. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps and voices outside the cabin in which he lay. A voice said, “Sorry to inconvenience you, sir. We’re doing a routine check. There have been some drug runners in this area.”
“We understand. I can assure you we have no drugs aboard, except for some aspirin, ha ha.”
“We’ll just have a look around and you can be on your way, sir.”
Max heard footsteps, heard the cabin door creak open and a voice said, “Nothing here. Okay, you pass inspection. We’ll be going. Sail safely.”
Max knew his chance was now or never. He took a deep breath and with all his strength yelled, “HELP!”
A voice shouted, “Sandy that came from the cabin. Go check. You three stay where you are! You move and you’ll be picking lead out of your backsides.”
Max yelled again, “Here! Under the tarp!”
The cover was lifted from his face and a Coast Guardsman looked down on him. “Well, I’ll be—. Aren’t you…?”
“My name is Aries. Max Aries.”
At the Super Bowl, the offensive coordinator in a booth high in the stadium peered through his binoculars down at the field. The phone at his elbow rang. The excited voice on the other end was that of the general manager. “They’ve found Max! He’s on his +way. Be here in five minutes! Send the equipment manager into the dressing room to get his gear ready.”
“How? Where..?
“That’s all I know.”
The offensive coordinator relayed the message to the bench and watched the equipment manager dash through the tunnel toward the locker room.
A Coast Guard Jayhawk helicopter 1200 feet in the sky over the Atlantic raced toward the Miami shoreline. Inside, a Coast Guard Machinist Mate was cutting through the last steel manacle around Max’s wrist while a second Coast Guardsman held out a uniform shirt and trousers for Max to wear.
He had been wearing only his underwear shorts when they plucked him off the cutter. Aboard the Coast Guard cutter, while waiting for the helicopter, a Coast Guardsman had split the concrete encasing Max’s feet before he was hoisted by chest harness to the whirlybird.
The orange and white helicopter now hovered above the Super Bowl stadium parking lot, gradually flying lower and lower. His chest again encased in a harness, Max Aries was lowered to the ground. After the harness was removed, Max gave a quick salute to the helicopter crew and dashed into the door to the dressing room.
“Welcome back, Max,” yelled the equipment manager. “Here’s your shirt.” While Max pulled his jersey over his head, two equipment people helped him on with his cleated shoes. Another handed him his helmet and shoved him out the door. There was no time for him to put on shoulder pads or other equipment.
Number 87 ran out of the tunnel, on to the Rams sideline. A cheer that gradually rose to a deafening roar rose from the stadium as the crowd recognized Max Aries.
The scoreboard read: Steelers 19, Rams 10. The clock showed six minutes left in the game.
With Albright pitching, and Aries catching, the numb and confused Steelers stumbled while the rejuvenated Rams paraded downfield toward the goal line.
Before the Steelers could recover their composure, the Rams scored, recovered an onside kick and scored again. All within a span of five minutes. With less than a minute left, the Rams iced the cake with a field goal. Final score: Rams 27, Steelers 19. Not only had the Rams won the Super Bowl trophy, they had beaten the six point spread.
Chapter 21
Ham Gleason sat at his desk in the Herald building. It was two weeks after the Super Bowl game and he was thinking about the column he was about to write. He had the material, the background, he tried to fit it into words.
In the days following the Super Bowl game, Big Mike Donovan in Las Vegas, along with his gang in Miami had been arrested in connection with the kidnapping and attempted murder of Max Aries.
But now, Max Aries, hero of Super Bowl XLV had disappeared again. Drenched in champagne, Max had held aloft the Super Bowl trophy while photographers took picture after picture immediately following the game. Excusing himself, he had showered, dressed in the borrowed Coast Guard shirt and trousers and while everyone’s attention was directed at Coach Marv Jones, Max slipped out the door. That was the last anyone had seen of Max. Back at the Rams stadium in Cincinnati, the equipment managers cleaning out Max’s locker, found only a stack of checks, Max’s paychecks dating from the day he started to the day after the Super Bowl game. They had never been cashed. Under the rubber band holding them together was a handwritten note, unsigned. “Thanks but I don’t need these.”
Ham still deep in thought, doodled on his computer. Just for fun, he “Googled” Max Aries. Less than a second later he got 12,467 hits. Aries the Ram, he learned was a Greek god, son of Zeus and Hera, also known as Mars, god of war, by the Romans.
“Adventurous and energetic; pioneering and courageous; enthusiastic and confident; dynamic and quick-witted.”
Ham’s brow furrowed. Could…? He smiled to himself. Shook his head. “Nah.”
A copy of the Cincinnati Herald sat on the desk at Ham’s elbow. If he had glanced inside he would have seen, buried on page 19 the following article:
Astronomers on Mt. Palomar in California reported today that surrounding the constellation they called Oh Ess Yew, a huge ring has been observed. It appears to be made up of gases, but one of the scientists said there appeared to be lettering on it that he could not identify. Laughing he said, “It has the appearance of a giant Super Bowl ring.”
Acknowledgments
Four aliens have provided information to give this work authenticity. You know who you are. and I respect your wishes to remain anonymous Special thanks go to Dr. Yaar. His research has been published in Interplanetary Biology from which I have quoted with his permission. To all of you, my sincere Ω⌂≈∆∞—or in Earth language, thank you.
About the author
Barry Friedman is a retired orthopaedic surgeon. Since his retirement he has written eight novels and two non-fiction works. Friedman and his wife live in Souther California
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