The Diego Diaries: FOOTIE! (dd8 86)
Yes, I'm trying commentary in foreign languages again. (You'd think I'd learn.) All boo-boos are mine. (They really belong to Ironhide but I won't tell him until after the game.)
=0=At the old ball game
They watched as the boiling pot of multi-colored little slaggers oozed over the sides of the stadium seating in a never ending stream. They were all sizes with some of them rather square and powerful looking, just like their recently elected king, Payload. He was staring around himself with a grin, enjoying a mob coming to help him and not to part him out as per the usual back in the orn.
The Watch was doing great work but they were as ever overwhelmed. It was then that a kink in the process burst into life in the middle of the playing field and out of a large bridge came a couple of horseback patrols armed for business. Leading the charge was Springer and Drift.
Ratchet who watched with the same surprise as everyone else turned to a total stranger standing behind him. "Those two are my sons. They take after me as you can obviously see." He smiled his most brilliant smile.
"Which ones?" the stranger asked as he watched the horses and mechs bear down on the crowd.
Ratchet glanced at the field. "Why the handsome ones," he said with a giant smile.
=0=On the field
They rode forward spread out and between them they held the ends of heavy cargo nets. Drift rode along the sidelines and Springer the field. When they reached the mob, they let go of the nets which fell on baller and slagger alike. Down they went because the nets were heavy and had a small disrupting electrical charge.
Behind them in waves, the others rode, dropping nets on groups here and there including slaggers who transformed and tried to fly or drive away. They sputtered out, falling or stalling out as the effect took affect. As they did, the howling mob took stock in no time and began to climb over everyone behind them to try to get back into the stands. It was a total mess as Springer and Drift began to get control again.
The horses trained to back up slaggers, drunk or otherwise began to push them back and into the stands old granny bots and appa models were helping haul the wastrel youngsters amongst them back up over the stadium barrier.
Sitting on their horses nearby watching the show with a smirk, most of the team from Springer's group commented, pointed out teachable moments to the kids and made no effort to help. It would go badly for them around the breakfast table at The Diner On The Corner the next orn for that reason.
They wouldn't care.
When the dust began to settle, there were hordes of mini-cons suddenly sober laying under the heavy weight of the Long Arm of the Watch/Law/Cowboys. They'd be pissed, drunken but sobering and regretful when they got home.
Payload who was the object of their intervention watched from the Cronum bench, commenting with the slaggers there who missed being netted that nothing in life was outside the reach of the absurd.
Police wagons emerged in tunnels waiting beside the big eyed optics of child-medics as the huge mechs from the local jails walked out to pluck the day's catch from the nets. They dragged mini-cons, some of them carrying several at a time by their peds to the wagons, stuffed them in without ceremony and when the van was piled up to the top, the doors closed and they drove away.
It took only minutes to clear the deck. That's when Jazz and Blaster took stock.
"Well, there's a lot to unpack here," Jazz said as Blaster laughed loudly.
"I'm glad YOU find this funny," Revet said, not bothering to wait until the breaks before registering his extreme disapproval, something that had earned a Facebook page of its own called, "Revet's Pissed Face", a place with 145,000 stans.
"Aw, you think so, too," Blaster said to his bond.
The expression he got back put lie to that comment.
"Well, we have Springer and Drift to the rescue. That's an interesting way to catch the bad guys. Fish and Wildlife on Cybertron used these kinds of nets to transfer fish from good places to better ones. You can capture anything, they get a slight stun, then you can move them easier. Like now," Blaster said before laughing.
"Have you ever been caught in one of those things?" Jazz asked.
"No," Blaster said. "But its like something I saw the 'Cons use. They drop them from ships onto groups to stun them for capture. You have to have permits to own these, by the way. Just so you know."
"Good to know. Next time I need to transfer my goldfish to his new bowl, I'll remember that," Jazz said as both laughed.
"Ironhide is finally getting up. I remember seeing a video about army ants who found a dead carcass and ate it down to the skeleton in a few seconds. He sorta looked like that with all those mini-cons on him," Blaster said as they watched Blackjack and Raptor pull Ironhide to his peds.
Nearby in a tunnel entrance, a Watch mech was talking to about 20 little kids who were staring with dismay at the mayhem down the way. Apparently, it'd pushed their rescue button.
Hard.
They'd have to wait for the word. This was something they didn't need to be caught in, getting beat up in a riot. Their nanas would be unhappy.
"So we have the inevitable extra half time show of mini-cons demonstrating why their frame is the best," Jazz continued.
"Slagger," Blaster said. "Is that because its true or because you're a mini-con?"
"I can't hear you, Blaster," Jazz said with a smile.
And so it would go.
=0=On the field
Prime watched as Springer and Drift managed to round things up, then dismount to talk to the local Watch and arena security. They discussed this and that with the referees before the two mounted up.
A bridge burst into flames, the group rode for it, then disappeared. The stadium stood for an ovation.
All of them but the mini-con sections.
Those slaggers.
=0=Primal Box
"This is the usual fiasco. I wonder what the humans really think about this?" Prowl mused as he watched the field return to some semblance of football.
=0=On Earth
"Damn. I want to go to a game before I die." -most of North America but for the arctic regions of Canada.
"I'm not going there. You could die." -the arctic regions of Canada who knew about death coming at you when you didn't see it coming.
Which was nearly all the time.
"Damn. I want to go to a bar with the mini-cons." -the entire British Isles and Ireland.
"Quiero ir al carnaval con ellos." -every caballero in South America, Spain and East Los Angeles
"Mi volas iri kun ili al karnavalo." -every one at a Tolkien festival (esperanto)
"Hoe kom je aan kaartjes hiervoor?" -A Dutch person hopefully. :D
"Love thish shish." -A drunk talking to another drunk.
"I know. I love this shish, too." -two drunks in a bar in Cally speaking Universal Drunk Speech.
"Cò a mharbhas mi airson a dhol gu aon dhiubh sin?" -my great grandpa if he wasn't dead already. HI, SEANAIR!" *waves madly* (Scottish Gaelic)
And so it went ...
=0=Refs make demands
"TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!"
The screaming, laughing and booing finally subside.
"THE BALL IS CRATER'S-"
The screaming, laughing and booing begin again.
"TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!"
Mostly silence.
Mostly.
"AS I SAID! OFF SIDES TO THE MINI-CONS! IF YOU SLAGGERS STEP OUT OF BOUNDS ONE MORE TIME THE GAME IS FORFEIT!"
A moment was taken to duck and cover, then control was returned EVER SO grudgingly to the fuc-, uh, refs.
"ALL HAIL THE WATCH!"
Long and sustained booing.
"FRAG ALL OF YOU! PLAY SLAGGING BALL!"
Long and sustained booing with some moments of laughter, mockery and rude gestures.
Payload was given a head start before the ref let the other fraggers onto the pitch. He was getting a good head of steam when the line caught up with him. He disappeared under a pile of arms, legs and raging disappointment.
The dog pile yielded a peeved mini-con with very few dents to show for it. Payload was built like a brick out house and his armor was fire. (As the youngsters say these days.) He frowned at everyone, then flexed his armor with a growl. "FRAG YOU, SLAG-"
That's when two digits fell off.
The hopping around screaming that followed almost made it worthwhile.
"Remember, Prime, when you picked up digits at Fort Borderlands?" Hardie asked with a smirk.
"I try not to, General," he said with a grin.
HUGE laughter followed that as Payload left the field with two digits in his servo. He walked to Prime and held out his haul. "Permission to go somewhere and pass out."
Prime who got the willies IMMEDIATELY nodded. "Granted, slagger."
Payload laughed all the way to the tunnel before he fell on his face and had to be carted out under the tender care of about ten little kids.
=0=Up there
"What the frag kind of game is this?" Prowl fretted.
"I don't know but I think they're going to need to vacuum the pitch when this is over." Ratchet grinned. "We have a bit more time to go. By the way, I'm going to use your power bars for kindling at the camp out next time the Squad goes again."
"My power bars are actually good for you, whiner. Besides, I'm going to win and when I do I'm going to eat all three bars in front of you. Your bars, that is," Prowl said.
"No one would eat your slag. But I hear you can shim windows with them," Ratchet said before a rap on the shoulder took care of that.
=0=Down there
When everyone was certain that there weren't anymore body parts lying on the ground, everyone got together to punch a hole into the inertia that was keeping them penned at the midway line.
Then they did.
A brilliant series of plays by a swift back of Nova Cronum led to a swifter dunk and a knee in the face to Ironhide as he rose to the heights. Landing on his peds, he sashayed away shaking his aft in Ironhide's now bruised face.
Ironhide who had the ball in his servos took aim and pegged the ball into the slagger's aft. It landed and lodged.
Cue 20 kids from the tunnels nearby.
=0=Up there
"This is a hideous game."
"I think the kids will agree with you shortly," Ratchet said around his howling laughter.
"Aren't you going down there to pull that ball out of his aft?" Prowl asked with a smirk.
"No. I'm leaving that to you," Ratchet said with a huge smile.
"You don't think I would?" Prowl asked, mildly insulted that Ratchet, a veritable heathen didn't think he had a wild side himself.
"I do but your amma and appa might not," Ratchet said.
Prowl who'd forgotten they were there YET again glanced sharply their way. They were intently going over data on a datapad, whether it was of the game or something else was hard to know. "Point taken," he said to Ratchet.
=0=Down there
The kids stared at the ball, then Ironhide who'd wandered over to take snaps of his handiwork. "Uh, Appa ..." Coros said.
Ironhide reached down and pulled the ball free, then tossed it to his grandfather. "You might want to wash that."
HUGE laughter was had as the mech was hauled off with a slight bowing problem in the nether regions.
That was when the refs converged upon him and the 20 kids.
=0=Prima Station
"Somehow watching this here makes it ever better than Earth." -everyone in the big lounge of the station. "I'd pay large to go there."
=0=E1
"I wish I was there."
"Why weren't you, Clark?" someone asked.
"I gave the tickets to my grandparents."
"You're a good son, Clark," someone said.
He grinned. "I'm an idiot."
"That, too," someone said with a laugh.
=0=E2
"I will never understand this game. Why isn't he in prison?" Kyle asked as they watched Ironhide and his appas go toe-to-toe with the refs.
"Because he's IRONHIDE!" Rick Harris asked with a chuckle.
=0=Family Tower
"I get to go next time."
"If they don't win this, Nana, you won't have to worry about going."
"That's not a nice thing to say about our boys and femmes, son. They're going to win. You wait and see."
"I hope so, Nana."
Everyone did.
=0=TBC 02-07-2021 02-21-2021