Sports Day

By G. W. Thomas

"Nah. Better news," replied one of the grinning, mud-soaked crowd. "The Blues have taken the Triple Bladdered Ox-Bow Cup!"

"And that warrants a veritable riot?"

"What? Are you a Green?"

The Rainbow Man was taken aback by the question until his friend explained that the Greens were the opposing team in the tournament. "I’m not a Green--nor a Blue. I’m indifferent."

"You’re a crank," the reveller said, dismissing the wizard for his celebrational cup.

"I ask you, my good fellow," insisted the wizard. "What athlete is ever remembered even fifty years after his decline? Twenty years? Ten? A sporting win is so ephemeral."

The reveller snorted. "Athletes are the most important people in the world. The champ today--Jormikel--he carried the day when he spracketed a double floogie with only ten seconds left in the game."

"And this warrants him great fame?"

"He makes twenty thousand ducats a year for his throwing arm."

The Rainbow Man sniffed at this sum which was twice what he received from the Emperor for stopping a famine, a war and a bad spot of gum boils. "Name one athlete from a hundred years ago."

The reveller thought carefully, his smile disappearing. "Rejjak of Partush."

"Doesn’t count. He is remembered because the rival mayor of Frox refused to award him the win, causing a two year trading war between the towns. Rejjak’s win is a mere footnote to the political struggle."

"Spratisus, the gladiator."

"Same thing. How many wins did he have in the arena? Who remembers. But we’ve all heard of the ten thousand souls who lined the causeways of Bast-il."

"What about Wangretz? I’ve heard my father speak of him."

"He lived twenty-eight years ago."

"So what? Our athletes today are far superior to those of long ago."

"The ancient Hyrakians played the game of ploog with spiked clubs for six straight hours. Only one out of ten ever survived. And yet name one Hyrakian athlete." The Rainbow Man sighed. "The fact is history remembers its generals, its poets, its dreamers. The average sports figure is less important than a general’s horse."

"History be damned," laughed the reveller, taking up his cup. "Long live the Blues!" Every voice but one swelled up with him in a wave of victory.

"History will win out. Mark my words."

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