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"If you're just tuning in, you've been missing an instant classic of a game! No team has led by more than a touchdown, the players are exhausted, and the scoring has been almost non-stop!"

"You know, we didn't expect to see a lot of defense in this one, but I don't think anyone was expecting to see a scoring record get broken today when they turned in; do you?"

"Not a chance, Frank. Not a chance."

If you were just tuning in, you'd know that you'd missed out on what was supposed to be a great game regardless. The South Bend Slingers and the Grayslake Enforcers were at the top of their respective conferences, each team boasting an offense that was averaging over thirty points a game, even against the stingiest defenses.

Grayslake was blessed with a running attack that would have made anyone from the silver age of football proud, but on the other side of the field, South Bend was in possession of a weapon that was boosting the ratings not only with his blazing speed, but his somewhat unusual choice of attire.

"South Bend returns it out to the 27, and here come the Slingers! They're still fired up and they're looking to the crowd for support as a thunderous cheer fills the stadium!" Legendary play-by-play broadcaster Len Smits was joined by color commentator Frank Russell for what the league was describing as a preview of the title game.

If they were right about their assumption, the title game would have an almost impossible hype to live up to.

"Great moves there by Fitzsimmons," Frank Russell added. "In this tight of a ball game, you always worry that a turnover could happen, but he does a great job keeping the rock secure as he goes down there, even with every defender swiping at it!"

"First and ten from their own 27," Len cut right back to the action as South Bend hurried up to the line of scrimmage. "Two men covering Jon Sanders at the line...I tell ya, Frank, they are not taking any chances with the slipperiest otter in the league today."

"He's already racked up fifteen catches, he's close to 250 yards, a couple scores...I think there might be something to his theory about those pads slowing him down!"

"Fans appreciating that as always," Len replied. The weight of their eyes on the otter's fur was like a fresh coat of grease on steel as the ball was snapped. Jon easily wiggled past one defender and used a swim move on the other, pretending to duck one way before swinging his arm over the side.

"Warbaum drops back to pass, he's got Sanders wide open on the outside for an easy pitch and catch! The otter bolts out to the 45 before he's finally grabbed by the tip of his tail! First down, South Bend!"

Safety was the prime concern of the league those days, and going forward, concussion testing and protocol made sure that players weren't going through repeated and serious trauma by requiring certain testing and equipment.

Jon couldn't negotiate his way out of wearing a helmet, but the league just couldn't stop him from stripping away most of the rest of his uniform...especially when the ratings were higher than ever when he was on the screen, and his odd choice of equipment was helping to draw record crowds in an age where stadium attendance was declining.

"Maybe it's the uniform...or lack thereof," Frank commented, "But whatever it is, no one in the league can hang with this guy! There's still three games left in the season, and he's just a couple catches away from breaking that record this year, too!"

Thanks to the large chunks of yards that came with his every catch, Jon was already the record holder for most yards receiving in a season, but he'd broken that the year before as a player with less notoriety.

He'd happily break his own record if it meant that he'd capture another one in the process, and he knew that his quarterback was looking that direction every time they took a snap.

"Certainly shaping up to be one of the greatest receiving seasons in league history," Len agreed. "Ball set on the 45, first and ten again for South Bend as they stay in the hurry up. Warbaum hands off to Dozier, who runs up the middle for a gain of about four or so."

"Smart play giving those receivers a chance to regroup. They've been running so many routes this afternoon that you can tell they're starting to slow down, and that's gonna give this Grayslake defense a chance to take advantage of any mistakes that might start popping up."

"Definitely a possibility as the offense takes a little time now getting up to the line. Second and six, Warbaum in the shotgun, Dozier on his right side, Sanders lined up in the slot. Snap is a little high but the quarterback corrals it and fakes the handoff...he's going deep! Warbaum unloads across the middle of the field! He's got Sanders on a perfect throw over the shoulder, first down and more! He's at the 20, and wow...if not for the deep safety making a perfect, shoestring tackle, you're looking at another long score for Sanders today!"

A sellout crowd was roaring over the sound of pads banging and helmets crunching. With each play, the fans grew into an even greater fervor, their eyes entranced by the impressive display of athleticism.

The noise was so great that down on the field, the quarterback couldn't properly hear the plays being called in to his helmet.

"Rushing to the line once more are the Slingers! The offense keeps changing tempo and the strategy is working!" Len explained, the announcer genuinely interested in the game unfolding before him. "The defense was expecting the relaxed pace from the last two plays, but Warbaum rushes them up to the line and flicks a quick pitch to Dozier! He's got six yards on the outside to bring up second and four."

"This is just _outstanding_time management by South Bend, Len. You want to score here to break the tie, but they can still get another first down without scoring, and you know they're gonna try to take as much time off the clock as they can before they punch that ball in...which seems pretty inevitable, given the way these offenses are playing!"

The game clock stopped with just three minutes left to play as Grayslake called a timeout. Riding the high of another successful drive, South Bend fans were on their feet and raining praise down on the field with such consistency that the players could hardly converse among themselves during the break.

"Hey, Jon. Run a short hitch route next time, no matter what the play call is," his quarterback whispered to him in the middle of the huddle; his voice was so soft that if Jon weren't able to read his lips, he never would have known what was said. "Our defense is totally winded. If we give these guys the ball back, they're gonna score again!"

A quarterback with a brilliant mind was a dangerous thing, and if you gave him a strong arm to throw with, he was downright lethal. Jon knew the next pass was going to be a dagger to the chest, but the one place that he kept any real padding was the flak jacket that covered his chest and shoulders.

As long as his paws were out front to catch the ball properly, he'd be able to handle the pain when the nose of the football stuck into his torso.

"Second and four here after the timeout. Grayslake has a couple deep safeties watching the middle of the field and hovering on the goal line, linebackers are playing just a little bit up in anticipation of a run. Ball is snapped, Warbaum takes a quick step and plants for a quick strike! It's the busiest man on the field, Jon Sanders for a gain of five and another first down!"

What the announcer was afraid to describe was the way that the defenders always had trouble gripping Jon's body. His sleek form and agile reactions meant that he was almost never tackled cleanly, and on those rare occasions, the defenders couldn't help having a little fun with him.

"A brilliant play called there by the offensive coordinator, knowing that they could get another fist down without ending this one," Frank unknowingly gave credit to the wrong person as the television broadcast brought up a replay of the tackle. "Still, an excellent play here by the defender to keep Sanders from wiggling his way into the end zone...and you know the fans are just loving this close-up on the jumbotron!"

Across the massive display above the field was a perfect spread of Jon's asshole and a couple of fingers poking at it as the defender brought the otter to the ground. A jockstrap kept the most important bits in safe order, but the backside of his 'uniform' was wide open, and while his toned, taut rump was a feast for the eyes of any sports fan, the truly dedicated following he'd grown was hoping for more than a couple of teasing brushes against the underside of his tail.

In the huddle once more, Jon was sure that his quarterback was yelling at him not to get distracted by the peculiar tackling methods used by the other team, but the crowd was in a full-on chant as the jumbotron displayed a noise indicator. They were already maxing out the graphic on the display, prompting Warbaum to shake his head and break the huddle, hoping that everyone knew what they were doing on the next play.

"Clock continues to run here, getting closer to the two minute warning as all eyes in the stadium turn to Jon Sanders. He's lined up to the right side of the field, safeties are playing up in anticipation of crossing routes on the outside. Here's the snap!" Len called out, trying to remember the last time that he had such interest in a live football game. "Warbaum gets the snap back in the shotgun, fakes the handoff to Dozier. Sanders breaks for the corner- no! He cuts back toward the middle; the cornerback is completely out of position!"

There wasn't a single backside touching the seat of a chair in the stadium as Warbaum cocked his arm forward to throw.

"Warbaum plants, now...now he's on the move! He puts it down to scramble as Sanders gets laid out across the middle of the field! Flags are flying as the quarterback slides down after a gain of three, and the crowd is making their voices heard as the otter is slow to get up, but...not for the reasons you might think, ladies and gentlemen."

As the officials called out the foul for defensive pass interference, Jon was still trying to get up off the field, but even before he hit the ground, he felt a single digit pressing against the pucker of his asshole, and the force of falling to the turf pushed it up and in to the second knuckle. On live television, it looked as though the wind had been knocked out of him, but in reality, it was the otter sucking in a gasp of muted delight as a warm, sweaty cougar fell across his lap, spreading heat over the otter's crotch and sneaking a second pawtip down along the back of his scantily covered sack.

"Just a boneheaded play here by the safeties as they ignore the quarterback and go right for Sanders," Frank explained. "You wanna cover your man, but not literally cover him to the ground!"

"A very costly mistake gives the fans a little something extra to take home with them as Thornton helps Sanders to his feet in a show of good sportsmanship, and somehow does it without pulling his fingers out of Sanders' ass...that's...impressive," Len wasn't sure he was using the right word. "The officials now coming over to break things up so play can continue before this gets a little out of hand. The penalty makes it an automatic first down and puts South Bend on the four yard line, but Grayslake still has the two minute warning and both timeouts."

"Definitely don't wanna turn this one off," Frank confirmed. "This South Bend offense is so good that they can't stop themselves from scoring, but you know they don't want to give Grayslake the chance to get the ball back if they can avoid it!"

"Offense strolling back to position slowly, letting precious seconds run off the clock as they form a huddle. They'll have to run a play before the two minute warning, but if they time it up right, they can steal a few seconds from the clock," Len pointed out their obvious strategy as the offensive lined up in a power I-formation. "Sanders the lone receiver on the left side, his tail lifted just enough to give the fans a look at how much Thornton was able to stretch him out before the refs intervened...now, waiting...play clock at two, there's the snap!"

Warbaum dropped back and watched Jon run a lazy fade route. The otter was gassed like the rest of the team, and there was plenty of time to score again if they were so determined.

"Sanders heads for the corner of the end zone, fighting for ground as Thornton helps out with coverage over the top! Warbaum hands off to Dozier, but he is utterly stuffed at the line of scrimmage, only gaining about a yard before he's brought down."

"The delay handoff there was a great tactic to eat some more time off the clock, Len. They knew that they didn't need to score just yet, and now, they're on the other side of the two minute warning with only a buck and change on the clock, and three plays left to make something happen."

After the commercials, Jon was finally starting to catch his breath again, but it was tough when Thornton was fondling his junk the entire way to the back corner of the end zone. On the way back to the huddle, he felt one of the linebackers shamelessly drive a finger at the birth of his warm, sweat-soaked hole and penetrate it for a moment, but his hurried pace thereafter was nothing more than fan service.

He knew that he'd be getting more of that attention after the game, but he had a job to do, first.

"They're clogging up the line," Warbaum muttered. "If we can beat them to the edge, we can win this thing!"

The quarterback completely ignored the play that was called from the sidelines. He was a general on the field, and he didn't trust anyone more than Jon to get the job done when the chips were down.

"Jon! Sunday special," was all that he said, knowing that his best receiver would understand.

"We pick things back up here with just under two minutes to go, second and goal for the Slingers," Len moved between broadcast and commercial seamlessly. "I know they'd love to take some more time off the clock, but barring some kind of penalty, they don't have enough downs to end the game without Grayslake getting one more shot."

"I think they're gonna score here no matter what happens," Frank chided. "These offenses are putting on an absolute clinic today, and I'm sure they're not done yet!"

"No chance," Len agreed. "Second and goal, Warbaum operating out of the shotgun. He takes the snap, hands off to Dozier again who meets with a wall of defenders...he tosses it back! It's gonna be a flea flicker, but Hogarth is covered in the end zone; but look at that! Sanders comes back across the field on the sweep from the far side, completely unnoticed! A _brilliant_fake as Warbaum tosses it to Sanders on the way past! There's nothing but green in front of him as Sanders bolts ahead to the end zone! Touchdown, Slingers!"

The play was a genius move to get the defense looking in every direction but the one that they should have. Jon stood before the crowd with the ball in the air, but even after the play was over, the game continued.

He felt arms wrap around him from behind as he was tackled long after the fact...but no flags were thrown.

"I gotta say, this guy has absolutely changed the way end zone dances work," Frank pointed out. "Back when I used to play the game, the other team never joined you in the end zone to help you celebrate."

"The times, they are a changing...isn't that right?" Len asked, as Jon was dogpiled by a couple of different defenders. Keeping him pinned, two of them lifted his tail upright as his stretched, eager pucker was exposed to the crowd and blown up on the jumbotron. "The customary display is shown to the captive audience as Thornton digs a pair of digits in there...and he's going really deep this time!"

"Deep enough to be a personal foul?" Frank joked.

The broadcasters chuckled for a moment, but when the quick series of deep, thrusting jabs didn't stop, they weren't sure how to pick things back up.

**

"Another incredible victory for you guys this afternoon. Record setting game for the Slingers, record setting game for you personally; how do you feel, Jon?"

Playing half naked and being completely exposed to a crowd meant that Jon thought nothing of a bunch of lights and cameras shining on him, but he still smiled nervously...because he had to answer them.

"I, uh...I feel good?" he replied, thinking that answer was almost too obvious. "I feel _really_good, I guess. It's really cool to break so many records in one season."

Generally a bit aloof, Jon couldn't help tapping his trademark fangs each time that he answered a question, drawing a sense of comfort from the nervous twitch. His naivety meant that he was modest about his accomplishments, even when they were bewildering to others.

"Do you think the Slingers have what it takes to win the big game?"

Another question with an obvious answer made Jon smile to the corner of his muzzle. He didn't want to repeat the usual, canned answer, but he was being held down over a bench by a number of different reporters, literally and figuratively.

His jockstrap had been tossed aside, his right leg kicked up, and upon the inside of his thighs, a series of paws kept him from going anywhere as the entire country watched his postgame interview, getting an eyeful of the quivering entrance that so few players had touched, and the full, swollen orbs just above. His member couldn't help a little inflation as it leaned back over his own torso, his body making it clear that he loved the attention, even if he was flustered.

"Heh, y-yeah? If you say so, then we do!" he tried turning the onus of the answer on the reporters. He was smart enough to know that his words would be immortalized in South Bend, and the promise of a big game victory wasn't taken lightly.

"Hey Jon. Lucy Stratus, Channel Five? What's the chances that a guy like you will be on the open market anytime soon?"

The reporter was already two fingers deep in his open, stretched asshole when she asked the question. Whether she was talking about the free agent market or the dating market, Jon couldn't be sure, so he played it safe.

"That's kinda p-personal," he stammered over his words as he tried, but failed to ignore the pleasure of her penetration. He turned an eye over his shoulder and watched jealously as his teammates were treated to the warmth and cleansing of a postgame shower...he knew he still had a few more answers to go before he was able to join them and bask in the fruits of their victory.