When Dinos Play Football

by G. Lawrence

Two brothers clone a pair of dinosaurs

I'm sorry, but there is no sex in this story. It is the first short story I ever sold nearly 20 years ago and is currently available in a PG-rated anthology. It's straightforward science fiction and mostly comedy. All characters are over 18 years old.

Author's note: a few members have questioned posting non-erotic stories on Literotica, which is a legitimate complaint. If posting these stories is inappropriate, I will take it down and look for a more focused outlet. Thanks for any constructive feedback.

* * * * * *

"Those creatures of yours are consuming our bank account!" Tom complained, storming into my office without an invitation.

I knew the licensing fees were bringing us a small fortune, and with the unending popularity of Dino-Mania, the fees were growing faster than the dinosaurs. What my younger brother really wanted was permission to put our cloned dinosaurs on public display again, boosting their market value.

"Save the crocodile tears, Tom," I said. "After what happened last time, I'm pulling in the reins. Aren't the video games and T-shirts enough? For God's sake, you even put them in comic books!"

"Hey, Dinos #1 is a collector's item," Tom smiled.

"I said no! Latitude and Longitude are sensitive young animals, learning and adapting just like children do. I won't have their development disturbed by another media circus."

"Damn it all, Herrick, everybody loves The Dinos. And The Dinos love the attention. The only one who doesn't like the publicity is you."

Twenty-five years old and fresh from Harvard Business School, my lovable scamp of a brother was anxious to make his mark on the world. I did not want him doing it at the expense of my dinosaurs.

Because Tom had ventured down from the accounting offices to ambush me as I entered our new Malibu compound, I was tempted to deny him clearance into the research wing. But getting rid of him was never that easy. Even though I was president of the Prehistoric DNA Reclamation Project, Tom was still the chief financial officer. And he had better relations with our shareholders.

Tom jumped the security desk to corral my chief of staff. "Where are they?" he asked.

Dr. Kimura glanced at her watch, barely acknowledging Tom's presence. She was short and petite where Tom was tall and broad-shouldered, so he expected her to be intimidated. But nothing ever intimidated Michiko Kimura.

"Three o'clock," Kimura said.

"Three o'clock? What the hell does that mean?" Tom asked, irritated by her condescending attitude--an attitude I occasionally shared. But Kimura was the best chief of staff I ever had, so I couldn't afford to let Tom insult her.

"Come on, they're in the dayroom," I said, taking Tom by the arm.

Our new research center was perched on a graceful bluff above the blue Pacific Ocean, much better than the rundown brick laboratory in Van Nuys we'd been in just a year before. The three-story white stucco administration building sat on fifteen acres of lush green grass and palm trees. Behind us loomed the beautiful Santa Monica Mountains. Our complex occasionally had visits from local mountain lions, much to their regret.

We entered the spacious living quarters and found the dinosaurs stretched out in front of the wide screen television. Latitude and Longitude had just turned two years old, and for such young animals, were amazingly bright. Both were long, lean, and well-muscled, though still below the full strength they would eventually attain. They lounged like great ten-foot-long lizards, but they were far from reptilian in nature. Latitude, the female, was always prim and well-composed. Longitude was just beginning to display a tentative male assurance that made for moments of amusement. As warm-blooded members of the Ornithomimidae family, they had more in common with birds than reptiles.

"You're letting them watch television? In the middle of the day?" Tom criticized.

The dinosaurs turned toward Tom with expressions of disapproval, twisting their oval heads around on long slender necks and frowning before turning back to the television. Their tails, which comprised nearly half their body length, lashed with pleasure.

"Talk shows. It's their latest phase," Kimura said. "First it was cartoons, then cowboy movies. Now they're watching afternoon talk shows. We don't know if they understand the principle of verbal communication or if it's something in the rhythm of the proceedings, but they've watched it every day for two weeks."

"Is this how you're raising sensitive young animals?" Tom asked. "By letting them watch trash TV? At least have them watch something educational!"

Tom picked up the remote control and switched the channel, much to the consternation of the dinosaurs. As the image of the host and her guest was replaced by a replay of the UCLA football game, Latitude leaped up on her heavy hindquarters and turned toward Tom, her muscles rippling under a tough, leathery mottled brown hide as her long tail swished back and forth for balance. At two meters in height, she could look Tom directly in the eye, but she didn't threaten to attack him. It wasn't in her personality to hurt anyone on purpose.

"Here, take the damn thing!" Tom said, handing me the remote control.

Latitude glared at me, impatience boiling in her big black eyes, but Longitude directed her attention back to the television screen. UCLA was third and goal in the fourth quarter, the linebackers packed tightly. The quarterback took the snap, rolled right, and handed the ball off to the halfback, who sprinted for the goal line while the linemen pounded away on each other. When the halfback was tackled at the 1-yard line, Latitude and Longitude twittered in pleased, high-pitched chirps.

"See! They love it!" Tom said with an irritating smirk.

He was right. They did.

For the next fifteen minutes, through the end of the fourth quarter and an overtime shortened by a spectacular eighty-yard run, Tom sat on the floor between the dinosaurs, avidly describing each aspect of the game. They hung on his every word, as if they understood what he was saying, which they certainly didn't. When the game ended, they dashed out into the enclosed exercise yard to practice broken field running.

"This is great!" Tom said, watching them twist and dance past each other.

"There's no way they understood a thing you said, Tom," I insisted. "They respond to simple commands, not expository sentences."

I turned to seek help, seeing Professor Wyatt in the back of the room, holding her ever-present clipboard. As a graduate of Stanford University and our resident expert on animal behavior, she would certainly back me up.

"Isn't that right, Christine? Isn't Tom just wasting his time?" I asked.

"Hard to say," Professor Wyatt answered in her Boston accent, sharing her notes with two young assistants. I gave her the frown she deserved.

"Can we take them down to the stadium for a game?" Tom asked.

"Absolutely not!" I replied. "They aren't leaving the compound again for at least a year. Maybe two years!"

As far as I was concerned, the subject was closed. I could not have been more wrong.

When I arrived at the research center the next morning, Tom had already smuggled a football into the complex. I was also surprised to find the yard occupied by half a dozen burly athletic types from nearby Pepperdine University. Though tall leafy trees and an artificial waterfall occupied most of the enclosure, there was just enough open space to form a small playing field.

"What the hell's going on here?" I yelled, going out the back door and marching through the short winter grass.

Tom glanced up from a huddle and trotted over with an annoying air of confidence. "Just a little exercise. Don't want the Dinos getting flabby," he said.

"What are those kids doing here?" I asked. "If this is one of your schemes to exploit the dinosaurs--"

"Hey, take a chill," Tom protested. "I just wanted to see how they'd respond to a little bump and run. No big deal."

I glanced to the area where Latitude and Longitude were standing at the edge of the trees, Longitude tightly clutching the football and gently chewing on it. Tom's young associates seemed perplexed. Wyatt sat nearby typing notes on her laptop.

"It's hard to play when one side won't give up the ball," Tom said, reading my thoughts.

"According to Christine, they're capable of playing games on certain basic levels," I said, "but you may be asking too much of them."

"Could be right," Tom reluctantly conceded. "We've been at it for an hour, and they still treat the ball like some kind of egg. Hey, Doc, can you make it give the ball back?"

"It has a name, Mr. Lawrence. Longitude. Longy to his friends," Kimura replied.

"Whatever," Tom responded.

Kimura scrunched her thin black eyebrows and walked away in a huff.

"Maybe we'll try some more tomorrow," Tom said.

"Maybe not," I answered.

Tom waved in his players, and I told Kimura to keep the yard clear the rest of the day, feeling the dinosaurs needed more time alone. I didn't know it then, but Kimura later informed me that Latitude and Longitude started kicking the football around the moment Tom left.

Once Latitude and Longitude discovered that the sports channels were inundated with football, they refused to follow any recreational program that didn't involve either watching the games or playing with their ball. Tom rarely came downstairs except to demand publicity photos, so I didn't tell him the dinosaurs had already worn out several footballs since the one he had given them, and I didn't mention that their gridiron fascination was enough for Professor Wyatt to initiate a special study. She originally suspected their behavior had something to do with herd mentality and a desire for migration, but later she included theories about group defense against predators. The student interns, being young and naïve, romanticized that the dinosaurs actually understood the game.

As the football season finally concluded that January, I decided to refuse Tom's latest publicity stunt. I had already rejected his efforts to march them in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and vetoed a Christmas TV special. Now Tom had a new scheme.

"Darn it, Herrick, you're being stubborn for no reason," Tom protested. "This is a five-minute event, almost no traveling, and they're going to pay us two million dollars. It will be a media blitz like you've never seen!"

"No way, Tom, forget it. I'm not letting you parade them around a stupid football stadium while a bunch of drunks scream at them."

"It's not a stupid football game, for God's sake. It's the Superbowl! At SoFi Stadium. There'll be a hundred thousand people there and media from all over the world. A billion bucks in publicity, and they're going to pay us for showing up."

Tom was turning rabid, licking his youthful chops and foaming at the mouth. I had warned Mom this would happen when she insisted on me bringing him into the business. As much as I loved my brother, he could get awful greedy, and this seemed to be pushing him over the edge.

"Kimura, will you please give me a hand?" I pleaded, drawing her from the rumpus room where the dinosaurs were watching ESPN Sports Update. She appeared with that mysterious look of hers, a mischievous twinkle in her black eyes.

"Thomas is right," she said in a dry, calm voice. "A day trip would be good for them. I think Latty and Longy would love to see a football game."

Damn her eyes, she knew better than anyone what would happen next. Before I could blink, Longitude rushed into the room and interrupted our conversation, his long tail whipping back and forth in excitement. Latitude wasn't more than a step behind him, their latest football tucked neatly under her arm. I grabbed a lamp just before her tail swatted it across the room.

"See, they want to go!" Tom said with a grin so big I felt like punching him in the face.

"They don't even know what we're talking about," I objected.

"Sure they do," Tom laughed, suddenly being friendlier with the dinosaurs than I'd ever seen him. "Hey, guys, want to go to the Super Bowl?"

They twittered with so much enthusiasm that I realized he had me beat.

"A short appearance," I reluctantly agreed. "And I approve every aspect of the schedule or the whole thing's off!"

"Yeah, sure. Hey, you're in complete control. Just let me show 'em off for a few minutes during the pre-game ceremonies."

"Okay, go ahead and make the plans," I agreed.

Kimura turned away with a particularly sinful smile and walked with Tom down the hall. It was the first time in two years of association that I knew her to speak with him voluntarily.

We arrived an hour before game time, hauling an extra-long trailer loaned to us by the Los Angeles Zoo. A motorcycle escort got us through traffic and down into a special loading dock beneath the stadium. The dinosaurs, restrained only by their leather leashes, were excited and restless, weaving about and exploring each new sensation.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Herrick Lawrence, president of the Prehistoric DNA Reclamation Project," I introduced. "This is Dr. Michiko Kimura, my chief of staff, and my brother, Thomas Lawrence, our ... special assistant."

"We're ready for you, Dr. Lawrence," the stadium manager greeted, a thin, bony bureaucrat with a dour expression. He opened a chain-link pen where he evidently expected to hold the dinosaurs until the pre-game ceremonies.

"We don't keep them caged," Dr. Kimura said with her nose in the air, leading Latitude toward a nice open area in the garage where sunlight was beaming in. "But if we did, that flimsy thing would never hold them."

"We'll just relax here," I said, encouraging Longitude to follow. "I've got a dozen staff and extra security. Just let us know when it's time."

Latitude and Longitude watched the exchange only briefly, struggling to get a look at the playing field and the rapidly filling stadium. After a while, members of the Tri-County Marching Band began forming up nearby, the high-schoolers gazing at the dinosaur celebrities with awe. Latitude clearly thought the teenagers amusing and made faces for them, but Longitude was more interested in their hats, especially the white cotton tufts that looked like food.

"It's almost time!" Tom announced, rushing in just as the marching band was shuffling into the mouth of the tunnel. He was dressed in a ridiculous looking bright red costume with gold trim that resembled a Buck Rogers spacesuit more than a football uniform, and he was accompanied by two L.A. Lakers cheerleaders who wore scraps of crimson tinfoil masquerading as outfits.

"Once around the stadium, then back in the truck. Right?" I said.

"Sure, Herrick, sure. Just relax," Tom said. "Once around the stadium, shake a few hands, sign a couple of autographs, then we'll take off right after the first half."

"The first half?" I asked.

"The governor wants her picture taken with the Dinos," he said. "It's an election year, you know. And we're doing a Ford commercial at the end of the first quarter."

"Damn it, Tom! We had an understanding!" I protested.

"We can still let them do the new beer commercial," Tom suggested.

"Absolutely not! They are not sponsoring Dino Beer!" I nearly shouted.

"Hey, it's the best beer in 60,000,000 years," Tom shot back, quoting the tagline.

"No Dino Beer," I coldly insisted.

"Okay, fine, you win. We'll stay with the soft drinks."

"Don't try my patience, Tom. I'm warning you."

"Hey, hold on a minute. Doc Kimura gave me permission," he responded, pointing a finger in the esteemed doctor's direction. I glanced over and saw it was true. Kimura was petting the dinosaurs and refusing to look at me.

"You're taking a big chance here, little brother. Don't mess around," I warned.

"Of course not," he said, suppressing a smile as the buzzer alerted us. "That's it! That's our cue!" Tom shouted. "Come on, people. Let's go!"

The marching bands had finished positioning themselves on the field and were playing the "Dino March," the theme song from the new Saturday morning Dinos cartoon show. A burst of enthusiasm from the crowd indicated intense excitement.

"Okay, everybody," I announced, waving my arms like an idiot. "Kimura and I will lead the Dinos. Stay close in case we need help."

My security detail in new blue uniforms spread out to keep fans at a safe distance while our research assistants trailed behind in their white lab coats, my way of reminding everybody that we were a research organization dedicated to scientific advancement, not a carnival sideshow.

"Herrick? I thought these young ladies might lead the Dinos? It would sure look great," Tom said sheepishly, indicating the two shapely cheerleaders. Their outfits were nearly nonexistent. Long legs, thin waists, and high heel shoes. They showed more cleavage than my ex-wife had on our wedding night.

"Thank you for inviting us, Dr. Lawrence," the blonde said with a charming smile. The brunette batted her long eyelashes. I ignored them both.

"Have the girls walk in front of us," I said. "Far in front. And you stay with them. That costume of yours hurts my eyes."

We moved up the tunnel and emerged on the playing field into the late afternoon California sunshine, the roar of cheers cascading down on us. The modern stadium customarily used by local sports teams was filled to its 90,000-seat capacity. At first I took an extra strong grip on the leash, afraid Latitude or Longitude might be spooked by the pandemonium, but as usual, they surprised me. Instead of shying away, they perked up to full height and pranced jauntily, glancing excitedly in every direction. My assistants needed to back off from the lashing tails.

We rounded the playing field once, the fans screaming like crazy, and stopped in front of the press area near the 50-yard line. The paparazzi pushed forward for the best pictures while guards struggled to keep them under control. Then Governor Shiela Lum came out to stand between Latitude and Longitude, somewhat nervously, saying a few words about their inspiring presence and the need to protect the environment. As millions of television viewers watched, Latitude nestled against the governor's arm and Longitude put a friendly claw on her shoulder. The embattled politician was so grateful, she had tears in her eyes.

After the NFC and AFC champion teams were introduced, the Marine Corps Band struck up the national anthem, and everyone in the stadium stood up. By coincidence, Longitude and Latitude paused to reflect on the setting sun, as was their habit. Understandably, the crowd thought they were honoring the flag and erupted in delirious approval.

With the pre-game ceremonies finished, I wanted to leave before the dinosaurs grew restless, but the game officials directed us to a special box at the end of the field where we were apparently expected to watch the game. I saw Kimura's fine hand in this, and to tell the truth, Latitude and Longitude did seem to be enjoying themselves. I resigned myself to three hours of unremitting public relations, knowing full well Tom had no intention of leaving at halftime.

As football goes, it wasn't much of a game. The hulking monsters of the AFC were beating the crap out of the supposed-to-be faster NFC. The NFC's first drive was crushed so badly, three of their players were carried off the field, two of them on stretchers. The AFC offense followed up by steamrolling the defense in brutal ten-yard advances. At the end of the first quarter the score was 21-0, and by halftime it was 35-3. Several of the NFC speedsters were permanently out of the game, presumably injured for life, and the sports broadcasters were desperate for any color commentary that wasn't black and blue. Twice, reporters from the Times asked Latitude and Longitude for their opinions on the game, and Fox News asked if Latitude was considering running for public office. Longitude nodded that he liked the game. Latitude was noncommittal on both questions.

"Can we go now?" I asked as halftime began, daring Tom to suggest still another exploitative scheme.

"Right after the plug for the new Ford Dino-Rover," he smiled. At first I thought he was kidding, but damn if a bunch of gray-suited auto company executives didn't emerge from the crowd with a camera crew.

"It's gonna be a great vehicle!" Tom assured me. "Four-wheel hybrid, plenty of leg space, and we get two percent of the gross!"

Just as the gray suits and camera crew invaded our area, a football being tossed around by a couple of bored assistant coaches got away and rolled in our direction. Before anyone could stop him, Longitude jumped clear of our viewing box, bounced out on the field, and grabbed the football away just as the startled coach was about to pick it up. The poor man's astonished expression went viral.

"Hey, where's it going?" Tom cried out.

"It has a name, remember?" Kimura said.

"I don't care, make it come back! We've got a commercial to shoot!" Tom protested.

Longitude waved the ball in one claw and bounced around in a circle before dashing to midfield. Latitude jumped the railing and followed, charging past Tom's camera crew and hurdling over a row of frightened photographers. As the marching bands scattered to give them room, Latitude and Longitude ran up and down the field, kicking the ball while having a great time.

"Come back! Come back!" Tom shouted as he desperately chased after them.

I glanced at Kimura, who appeared particularly self-satisfied. Both leashes were dangling in her hand. And there wasn't a person in the stadium who wasn't on their feet, screaming.

Tom passed under the goalposts and out to the 20-yard line, where Latitude and Longitude were pushing the ball back and forth. They scattered on his approach, and as he futilely tried to round them up, the dinosaurs danced around in circles, keeping the ball away from him.

"Look! It's a clown act!" one of the broadcasters shouted. And she was right. Tom looked pathetic in his Buck Rogers uniform, trying to catch two mischievous animals who were faster than he was.

"Stop this right now! Give me that ball!" Tom shouted, his words drowned out by ninety thousand laughing spectators. My brother was frantic. For the first time that day, I actually started enjoying myself.

"Look, the Dinos want to play football!" one of the AFC players said, a group of them lolling near the mouth of the locker room tunnel. Apparently they were so confident of winning the game, they hadn't even gone inside. Not that anyone could blame them.

"Let's give them a little competition," Ice Block Harrison said, putting on his helmet. Three other players followed him out on the field, and they lined up around the 40-yard line.

"You guys can forget it," Tom said, tired and out of breath. "You'll never get that ball away from them." But Latitude and Longitude came to a halt, looked at each other, and lined up opposite the AFC players. Longitude gently set the ball down at the 40-yard line.

"I'll be damned," Tom said, stepping back to the sidelines.

"Sweep right," Ice Block Harrison said.

Stonewall Lombard hiked the ball to Skipper Jackson as Ice Block and Fleetwood Smith led the way. Latitude dropped back and moved to her left as Longitude charged straight into the wall of linemen. Ice Block stopped to intercept Longitude, but the dinosaur danced past him and knocked Skipper Jackson to the ground for a three-yard loss.

"Damn! Juked out of my shorts by a lizard," Ice Block laughed.

"I bet they can't do it twice," Fleetwood Smith said.

As the four AFC players lined up again and the dinosaurs followed suit, a squad of cheerleaders started doing a Dino chant, waving pompoms and running along the sidelines, stirring up the crowds. Between the colorful displays and half-naked women, vendors were forced to bring snacks to the seats because the fans weren't going anywhere.

Stonewall Lombard hiked the ball again and drove forward, attempting to push Longitude aside, but Longy grabbed him by the jersey with his agile claws and used the momentum of his long tail to fling Lombard aside. Fleetwood Smith and Ice Block moved right, attempting to double-team Latitude and give Skipper Jackson a break up the middle, but Latitude managed to squeeze between the linemen and give Skipper a backward bump, holding up all three until Longitude came in from behind and dragged Skipper down for six more yards lost.

"This is gettin' ridiculous," Stonewall complained, picking himself up from the turf where Longitude had thrown him.

"They're not that strong! They're not that strong!" Ice Block insisted in the huddle. "It's their damn tails! Don't let them get leverage!"

"Sweep left on two," Jackson said.

Longitude, who had been watching the huddle from a few feet away, turned to Latitude with a nod. She nodded back.

On two, the dinosaurs blitzed.

As the crowd screamed, Jackson was knocked back fifteen yards before being knocked down. Longitude danced around and exchanged tail bumps with Latitude as the stadium gave them a standing ovation. The football players weren't pleased.

"Fourth and thirty! This is gettin' personal," Fleetwood Smith said back in the huddle.

Ice Block Harrison glanced over his shoulder and saw Longitude watching them.

"Hey, the lizards are stealing our signals!" he warned.

"I say we pass," Lombard suggested.

"Come on, it's four against two. Passing is no fair," Jackson said.

"Forget being fair!" Fleetwood Smith said. "I'm not gettin' my butt whacked on national TV. Let's make Dino-burger out of 'em!"

"Okay! Go on one!" Jackson decided.

Latitude and Longitude lined up close, the taller animal looming over Lombard. On the snap, Lombard was thrown aside, but Jackson fell back and threw the ball to Fleetwood running several yards beyond the line of scrimmage. Covering Ice Block Harrison, Latitude turned too late as Smith dashed for the goal line. Longitude stared at Jackson in surprise before starting to chase Fleetwood, but even the dinosaur's great speed couldn't overcome such a large lead.

"We did it, we did it!" Harrison cheered, dancing in the end zone and spiking the ball, but the fans began to boo. Voices were heard shouting "cheaters" and "cowards." When the dinosaurs paused at midfield looking sad, it only increased the wrath of the crowd.

"That's life," Fleetwood Smith said, heading toward the locker room.

"Hey, where're you going?" Tom shouted, storming on the field in a burst of indignation.

"What's it to you, runt?" Ice Block Harrison asked.

"They deserve a chance to get even," Tom said. "They haven't had a shot at offense yet!"

"Your lizards play offense?" Skipper Jackson said.

"You just watch!" Tom said, taking the ball and running to the opposing 40-yard line. "Latty, Longy, come on guys. We've got a game to play!" he shouted to the dinosaurs.

To my astonishment, Latitude and Longitude actually followed him to the line of scrimmage and formed up as he directed. How in the world Tom expected them to play offense was beyond me, and even Kimura seemed a little surprised by the development, but Tom never doubted it for a moment. Probably because it never occurred to him he might be wrong.

"Come on, let's take the ball away from them," Ice Block said.

The players lined up and Tom set himself at center to snap the ball. Latitude stood a few yards back with Longitude just a little to her left at halfback.

"Now!" Tom shouted, flipping the ball to Latitude and ducking out of the way.

As Ice Block, Stonewall, and Fleetwood charged forward, Longitude performed a rolling block into the oncoming rushers, taking out all three of them. Latitude leaped over the human pile, danced past Skipper Jackson with a swish of her tail, and charged downfield for an easy touchdown.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Tom screamed, jumping up and down and trying to give Latitude a high five. She didn't quite understand the gesture, but the dinosaurs certainly shared his excitement.

"We can still beat 'em," Harrison growled, gathering his squad. "We outnumber them two to one, minus that idiot. Half-back option on two!"

The AFC players clapped hands and lined up on the 40-yard line where Tom had put the ball. Jackson took the snap, dumped the ball off to Smith, and circled outside as Harrison cut inside and Lombard went down long on the left.

Jackson never made the cut outside. As Tom rushed Smith, Longitude whipped out his tail and knocked Jackson for a loop, then turned to pursue Harrison. Smith panicked and threw the ball long to Lombard, but the hulking lineman's speed was no match for Latitude, who intercepted the ball with ease, danced around Lombard's wild effort to tackle her, and turned back downfield. Smith got in her way, for a moment, but when he realized he might as well try to tackle a freight train, he wisely ducked out of the way. Needless to say, the crowd went completely nuts.

"We've got to stop this. Somebody's going to get hurt," I told Kimura, glancing around for my security squad.

"Oh, I doubt it," she said. "I've seen them roughhouse like this before. Though I admit, they do seem a bit excited. Are we insured if someone gets killed?"

"Killed? Killed! Good God!" I shouted, trying to squeeze my way through the spectators. "Tom! Hey, Tom! That's enough! Bring them in!"

Tom glanced in my direction briefly and pretended not to hear. Reporters were packed along the sidelines, and every person in the stadium, from the vendors to the football teams, had now joined in the cheering. The original halftime festivities were long forgotten.

Latitude didn't give the ball back this time. Instead, she lined up at the 20-yard line with Longitude ten yards back while Tom stood to one side, wondering what they were up to.

"I don't freaking believe it. They're kickin' off!" Skipper Jackson suddenly yelled, quickly falling back to his own 20-yard line.

Latitude put the ball down briefly, then turned sideways and flipped the football back to Longitude. Longy caught the ball, tossed it shoulder high, and whirled around to slap the ball high into the air with his tail. It sailed downfield with both dinosaurs in hot pursuit.

"Watch out! Watch out!" Fleetwood Smith yelled as Jackson positioned himself under the ball falling from a clear blue sky. Then he glanced around just in time to see Longitude about to clean his clock, and to the amazement of everybody, the crazy bastard called for a fair catch.

And damned if Longitude didn't screech to a halt!

"Hand signals," Kimura whispered to me with a wink. "They're good at that."

Jackson set the ball down at the 17-yard line and motioned to Smith, who set himself to take the snap. Ice Block and Stonewall lined up tight, and on the count of three, they drove forward, attempting to drive a wedge between Latitude and Longitude for Smith to run up the middle. The play almost worked, but while trying to scramble out of the way, Tom slipped and fell flat on his butt. Smith tried to jump over him, but his foot got caught in one of Tom's elongated shoulder pads, and he crashed to the ground with a ball-fumbling thud.

"Grab it! Grab the ball!" Smith shouted.

Longitude scooped the ball up first and ducked aside as Lombard tried to tackle him. Fleetwood and Stonewall charged forward to cut Longitude off from the end zone, but at the last second, Longy turned and tossed a lateral back to Latitude, who scampered in for the score without being touched.

"This fucking sucks," Harrison said, a little too close to the television cameras. "We're gettin' our asses kicked by two lizards and a clown."

"Maybe we can't beat the lizards, but I can sure as hell stomp that clown," Fleetwood said, his mood growing ugly.

"Hey, Bozo! Kick off again. And no more of those weird tail shots!" Stonewall Lombard yelled. Tom looked at the dinosaurs, who waited patiently for instructions.

"Okay!" he shouted back.

Tom put the ball on the 20-yard line, placed the dinosaurs on either side of him, and rushed forward to give the ball a mighty kick. It bounced along the ground about twenty yards.

Jackson ran forward and picked up the ball just as it stopped rolling, but before he could start running, Longitude grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a good shake. The ball came loose, and when Tom rashly dove forward to pick it up, Fleetwood Smith blindsided him with a crushing blow. It was obvious at once that Tom was hurt, lying flat on the ground and moaning. If there had been referees, someone would have thrown a flag.

"That'll teach ya for mouthin' off," Smith sneered, daring Tom to get up.

"Hank! Look out!" Harrison yelled.

Fleetwood Smith turned in time to discover Latitude bearing down on him, her tail whipping in anger. Ice Block Harrison tried to intervene, but Longitude blocked his path.

"Shouldn't we stop this?" I asked Kimura, stepping forward in panic.

"Latty won't hurt him," she assured me. "At least, I don't think so. Longy might have. That's why she got there first."

"You had better be right," I whispered, holding my breath.

"Help me! Lord Almighty, someone help me!" Fleetwood Smith cried out as Latitude advanced on him with her teeth bared. Skipper Jackson tried to stop her, rather bravely under the circumstances, but Latitude tossed him aside like a cardboard cutout and knocked Smith's feet out from under him with her tail.

Smith tried to crawl away, his fingers digging into the natural turf and ripping up handfuls of grass, but the dinosaur pinned him down with her powerful hind foot, a bloodcurdling hiss issuing from her throat as she opened her wide, bone-crushing jaws. The horrified crowd gasped and fell silent, the stadium suddenly so still you could hear all ninety thousand people holding their breath. I think this was when Fleetwood Smith wet his pants, because you could see the spot in the pictures later.

"That's okay, girl, he's not worth the bad publicity," Tom said, clutching his side as he limped over to intervene. He took hold of Latitude's arm, drawing her away, and waved to Longitude. "Come on guys, let's get out of here. We're going to Disneyland!"

Latitude straightened up and turned away without protest. Longitude followed them off the field to an uproarious ovation.

* * * * * *

Later that evening, back at our Malibu compound, we watched the news together with the dinosaurs. Needless to say, the impromptu scrimmage had eclipsed the official game and made headlines around the world. Invitations were already pouring in from sports teams all over the country, and one Florida city even wanted to build an entire franchise around The Dinos. Tom was so happy he didn't mind the two bruised ribs, while Latitude and Longitude seemed content with their afternoon, intertwining with each other and appearing relaxed.

"Well, Tom, I hope you've learned your lesson," I said, pointing at the screen when the news highlighted Latitude preparing to rip Smith's guts out.

"I sure have, big brother," Tom said. "Next time we put on a show like that, we're getting paid extra!"

I shook my head in despair, but Tom wasn't through.

"Hey, guys," he said, sitting up and turning toward the dinosaurs. "Have you ever seen the Olympics?"