Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I have no stake in the NFL. I don't own any football players and I am not getting paid for this.

Short and fun . . .

Usually, Optimus Prime wasn't one for laying blame. There was too much to do to spare the time to point fingers. Everyone made mistakes. The only thing to do was move on past these mistakes and continue on to the goal of common good.

But he did really blame Fowler for this.

"You're out of your ever-lovin' processor!" Bulkhead was bellowing from near med bay. "The Patriots are going all the way!"

Optimus could see all of them around the communications array as he worked his way through a backlog of daily reports in the main bay. Bulkhead was moving medical supplies from the storage bay for Ratchet and the medic was working with some of the diagnostic equipment. Jack Darby stood on the work bench, helping Ratchet when he the medic asked.

This argument had become increasingly more prevalent as more of the teams were eliminated from the contest. And, as luck would have it, each member of his unit had managed to pick teams to favor that had made it to the final rounds. What made it difficult is that they had each picked a different team. And with the final contest, the 'Super Bowl' quickly approaching, each of them was getting to feel more passionately about their chosen warriors.

He expected Ratchet to snap back, but Optimus was surprised when the medic responded in a sensible, conversational tone. "The odds aren't in your favor. The Forty-Niners haven't won a Super Bowl since 1995. They're due."

It was a bit of a shock that Ratchet was showing such interest in the sport. Until recently, he was disinterested in anything human-related. Sometimes, he was downright disdainful where Earth and its inhabitants were concerned. But he seemed to enjoy learning more about the tactics and strategies involved in the game.

"That's not really how it works. If it did, the Browns would be a shoe-in." Jack's voice entered the conversation. "It depends on who has the better team."

Jack had seemed to find the Autobots' sudden interest in the game amusing. His mother was originally from California and had passed along her love of the San Francisco team on to her son. At first, Jack had seemed nervous when Ratchet had announced his affiliation of choice, following some sort of flawed (but perhaps not entirely unwarranted) logic that if the team failed to perform well that the medic might somehow blame the boy. But as time passed and the team continued to succeed, Jack had been becoming a more active participant in the conversations, answering questions and debating statistics.

"Look, what it comes down to is Tom Brady is one of the best football-Primes in the history of the game." Bulkhead was leaning on one of the medical berths, gazing intensely at Ratchet. "I mean, that human can lob with the best of them."

Optimus tried not to be offended. The offense stemmed from wounded pride and he was above being prideful. But, really, his role as a Prime was slightly more significant than that of a human quarterback. He wasn't quite sure he approved of the comparison and made a note to himself to take the time to more thoroughly educate Agent Fowler on a Prime's role in Cybertronian culture.

"It's not all about the Prime." Ratchet came back. Though he didn't look up from his data pad, Optimus raised an optic ridge slightly. He suspected Ratchet knew that he could hear them, though. After a second, the medic added hurriedly, "At least not in football."

"Ratchet's got a point." Jack put in again. "And the Niners defense is pretty awesome. They ate the Saints last week. Justin Smith is a beast."

Prime tried to focus on his data pad, but couldn't help but think about how all this had started. It had begun while Agent Fowler had been convalescing at their base, after his abduction by Starscream. Once he had regained his senses, he had tried to depart, but Ratchet had insisted that he remain, at least for a day, just to be sure that there would be no ill effects from the torture he had endured. Fowler had complied grudgingly, realizing that if Ratchet wished to impose his will, the human would have very little say in the matter. The agent had snorted and crossed his arms as he sat on his berth, then sighed and asked, "Can we at least turn the game on?"

Ratchet had obliged after Fowler had told him what he was referencing, and then peered at the man curiously when, after a few minutes, the human began to bounce around, shouting at the screen and gesticulating wildly.

"Agent Fowler," Ratchet had asked with no small concern, after about five minutes of this strange behavior, "do you require sedation?"

"Huh? No!" Fowler gestured toward the screen. "It's fourth down and inches and that fool, Payton, is bringing on the kicking team. He needs to go for it!"

Ratchet had looked back and forth between the man and the screen in irritated confusion. "Why are you yelling? It's not as though they can hear you."

Arcee, whom had not been allowed too far from the med bay, either, had looked to the screen curiously and asked bluntly, "What are they doing?"

Fowler tried for ten minutes to explain the rules of the game to the pair, but to no avail. When Bumblebee and Bulkhead had returned from patrol, he had to start all over again and did so with increasing frustration.

It was then, in the heat of the moment, inspiration struck. Prime reflected that this new passion wouldn't have been nearly so popular among his troops if Fowler hadn't come up with a very good model for explaining it.

Tossing his hands up, he snorted and said, "Let me explain this so you guys can understand: it's like a mock battle. See that guy?" Fowler had pointed to the screen where the quarterback had been dancing around, trying to avoid members of the opposing team. "He's like the Prime. And he's trying to get the ball to one of his scouts." He pointed to the other humans clad similarly running around in circles.

"Why?" Bulkhead had asked.

"The ball's like a . . . like a really important package." Fowler looked pleased with himself at the time. "And they have to get it into enemy territory."

Bumblebee's doorwings had hitched up a bit taking more notice as Fowler linked his role with Prime's unit to what the humans were trying to accomplish. As a scout himself, he had crossed enemy lines many times with important packages and seemed to have a growing understanding as to what Fowler was getting at.

At this point, the quarterback was attacked by members of the other team and knocked to the ground. Bumblebee had given a few electronic whistles and with a smirk, Arcee, (quite unnecessarily, really) had turned around and said to Prime, "Bumblebee says he would never let that happen to you."

"Very comforting to know."

Bumblebee had pointed to the screen at the other humans, their attire strikingly different from the others. Ratchet translated. "What of the other humans?"

"They're like the warriors." Fowler was having fun now. He was a soldier himself, after all, and seemed to like the analogy he was creating. "It's their job to defend the base from enemy invasion."

Fowler had gone on to explain how in this mock battle, each team got four opportunities to move the 'package' at least ten yards towards the opposing teams' base. If they did, they earned another four chances. If they failed, the scenario was reversed so that the opponent would have the chance to accomplish said goal. Points were awarded when a team succeeded in infiltrating the other teams' base with the 'package'. They either had to force their way through the warriors or kick it through goal posts, which Optimus mused he had never really considered as an infiltration strategy before.

Prime had left them alone at that point. While the contest held little interest for him, as he had experienced enough violence in his long years, he was glad to see that his unit was showing interest. Over the last three years, the Earth had been little more than an outpost to them, just another planet to search for energon. They were all disconnected from the native population by the necessity of secrecy, and, as much as they tried to suppress it, Prime knew there was some resentment among his troops because of that. Like allowing the children to continue to visit the base, this seemed to be another doorway to understanding humans.

While the game seemed a little pugilistic to Optimus, he couldn't help but appreciate that the others were excited about this connection they had formed. It was a good thing.

Or, at least that had been the processor thread at the time.

Bumblebee's electronic whistles and static caught his audio and Prime looked up again as the young scout joined the debate. Ratchet snorted and scoffed. "The Giants have about as much of a chance of making it to the Super Bowl as Bulkhead has of winning the Miss America pageant."

"Yeah, Bee-hey!" Bulkhead caught on and started to bristle.

"It's okay, Bulk." Miko and Raf seemed disinterested in the conversation and had been playing the childrens' car racing video game. However, Miko must have been paying at least a small amount of attention to her guardian. "You're pretty enough. It's just those pageant officials are pretty picky about you being an American citizen and all."

"Thanks . . . I think." Since no one was really looking, Prime was able to smile and chuckle a little bit as he went back to reading. Bulkhead returned to the conversation at hand after staring at his charge for a few seconds. "But you got to admit, Brady beat the scrap out of the Bronco's warriors last weekend."

"Luck," Ratchet scoffed. "Brady's old and his components are getting rusty."

"Heh, look who's talking." Bulkhead snickered as Bumblebee gave a warble of agreement.

This apparently was another Earth tradition. According to Jack, it was known as "Trash Talking". It could range from berating the other team all the way to insulting female caretakers in the most vulgar of fashions. It was not something Prime really approved of, but since the trio of Autobots seemed to get some sort of stress relief and enjoyment out of it when they indulged in it, he let them be.

Truth be told, he pretty much tuned them out and went back to his reports. There was some mention of the Giants' warriors being unable to defend sandcastles and then of Forty-Niners scouts being unable to catch the ball with butterfly nets. Bumblebee gave a few hisses of static making Ratchet laugh heartily. Prime didn't catch all of it, but it concerned United States history and the fact that it was a good thing it was not the current Patriots warriors that were stationed to defend the region during the invasion of the British. Optimus made a note to ask Raf more about that later.

They went back and forth for a bit before the perimeter sensors sounded and Prime looked up. Arcee was returning from patrol duty. She transmitted her access code and was granted admittance to the base. Within seconds, the two-wheeler rolled into the main bay and transformed quickly.

Optimus gave her a nod of greeting. "Report?"

"Jasper's quiet, as usual." Arcee smirked and hooked a thumb in the direction of her squabbling comrades. "Those lugnuts still at it?"

"For quite some time." He responded, a bit more dryly then he intended.

"Are they getting on your nerves yet?"

Optimus gave a low, noncommittal hum as way of an answer. He refused to admit it was possible that his comrades were approaching the limit of his previously inestimable patience.

Arcee's smirk bloomed into a smile. "I'll take care of them for you."

Optimus felt a wave of gratitude in his spark, though he just hummed again. Of all of the Autobots, Arcee was the only other that did not partake in the discussions concerning football. At this point, she was probably just as tired of hearing it as he was.

Arcee turned on her heel and stalked towards the others, leaving Optimus to his reports. He did spare an audio to her, though when she called to her companions. "Would you guys knock it off? This whole discussion is totally pointless."

For a brief instant, Optimus entertained the notion that if they were a proper military unit, he would put Arcee in for a promotion. The bickering mercifully stopped.

Until the next words fell from her mouth components. "Because the Ravens are going to send the rest of those boys home . . . crying like little femmelings."

Optimus indulged in the smallest of cringes as the argument reached a whole new pitch. Bulkhead, Ratchet, and Bumblebee retaliated instantly, telling Arcee that she was totally insane. Jack was laughing over all of them, proclaiming that Arcee would look great in a Flacco "Fu Man Chu", whatever that was.

Optimus sighed through his vents and finally just switched his audios off completely, resigning himself to the fact that the argument was far from over. He spared the whole thing one last thought before returning to work:

Primus help Megatron if he plotted anything for Sunday afternoon.

Author's Note: Because really, every day is Purple Friday when you're Arcee ;-P Go Ravens!