Hut! Hut! Hut!
Jack walked slowly into the briefing room, his eyes fixed on the folder in front of him. He was scowling, his eyes dark with concern. He looked up to see General Hammond. "Sir," he said, his voice emotionless.
"This will be the last time I'll be able to speak to you about this, Colonel," Hammond said, his voice deadly serious. "From here on out, I have to maintain my impartiality."
"Yessir, I understand." Jack sat down at the corner chair after General Hammond took his customary seat at the head. "We both know what's at stake here, Jack. I don't think I have to remind you of that."
"No, sir. I'm aware of what's at risk here."
"We're looking at no less than five years. Five years, Jack. That's a long time to wait."
Jack merely nodded and laced his fingers together on top of the table. "I've read the latest intel. I think we have a chance."
"How so?" Hammond asked skeptically.
Jack's face broke into a wide grin. "Because Daniel's playing quarterback, sir."
++++
Daniel walked through his new apartment, still looking around him as though he couldn't believe he was actually back in his own home. He'd just taken a shower and had slipped on his most comfortable pair of loose sweat pants. He hadn't bothered with a shirt as the late autumn day was still moderately warm for this time of year and it was comfortable inside. He was toweling his hair dry when he heard the knock on the door. From the rapid staccato pattern he knew immediately that it was Jack.
He opened the door and stood there smirking. "This, Colonel, is fraternization with the enemy."
"Aw give it a rest," Jack said, rolling his eyes. He waited a few moments then let out an impatient sigh. "You gonna let me in or what?"
"Nope," Daniel practically laughed.
"'Scuse me?"
"Can't come in. Can't associate. Can't even tele-phone," Daniel snickered. "You're the coach of the officer's team, and I am the quarterback of the civilian team, and never the twain shall meet."
"Oh fer cryin' out loud, Daniel," Jack grumbled. "The game's on in ten minutes. Now come on, lemme in."
"Nope."
"Daniel."
"Jack."
"You're serious." There was no trace of a question in Jack's statement.
Daniel got an extremely dangerous look on his face, his eyes practically flashing. "Ask me how serious I am, Jack. Go ahead. Ask me."
Jack snorted, looked away, then looked back at Daniel who was beginning to look a little smug. "Alright. How serious?"
"I'm SO gonna kick your ass," Daniel yelled and closed the door in Jack's face.
Jack heard the hoot of laughter as Daniel threw the chain and turned the locks. He felt his blood begin to boil within him. "Your ass is mine, Jackson," he snarled as he stalked away.
++++
A loud whistled trilled into the cool November morning. "Again!" Jack shouted from the sidelines.
"I'm gonna make you swallow that whistle," Colonel Wallingford informed Jack angrily.
"Hey, we've got a game to win," Jack barked back and shoved the man back out onto the field.
"Why aren't you out here?" Sam snarled as she untangled herself from a host of other bodies.
"Bad back. Bad knees," he responded distractedly as he read over his play list.
"Bad attitude," came Janet Fraiser's mutinous reply.
"Temper, temper," Jack said sweetly.
Jack ran his team through the plays for another two hours until finally giving in to the pleas to let them go home. As his less than enthusiastic team was packing up, they heard the sound of rhythmic running coming up the street beside the park where they were practicing. Jack's jaw nearly dropped as he heard Daniel shouting cadence to the crowd behind him.
"I DON'T KNOW BUT I BEEN TOLD," Daniel shouted.
"I don't know but I been told," came the chorus of response.
"THAT JACK O'NEILL IS GETTIN' OLD."
"Jack O'Neill is getting old."
"SOUND OFF."
"One Two."
"SOUND OFF."
"Three Four."
"BRING IT ON HOME."
"One, two, three, four,...one two.... THREE FOUR!!" came the joined voices. Daniel paused, running in place before throwing an academy-perfect military salute in Jack's direction. Effortlessly he picked up the pace to take the lead again and just as he passed, Teal'c, running at the rear of the pack, turned and . . . . smiled. Jack threw down his clipboard in disgust, yanked his hat off his head and scratched his hair rapidly.
He looked over at his 2IC who hid the wide grin on her face behind her hurriedly wrapped scarf before she scurried away.
++++
The day of the game dawned bright and clear. The temperature had dipped down to the twenties over night and by game time, it had only warmed into the mid-thirties. It was the day before Thanksgiving. At a near-by high school football field, people jammed into the bleachers to watch the annual Cheyenne Mountain Complex Football Championship. Hot chocolate was in plentiful supply, as was coffee and various items brought for the tailgate parties going on in the parking lot. Laughter was in the air - as was the competitive spirit.
Daniel and his team had arrived early to warm up and run a few series of plays. He was currently practicing some passing downs when he saw Jack's tall, lanky frame shambling across the field. Teal'c, who would be playing center, snapped the ball to him and Daniel dropped back, looked to his left then threw right . . . . at Jack.
Jack caught the pass but Daniel saw the wince as the perfect, tight spiral impacted into his hands. He trotted over to meet him at mid-field. "Jack."
"Daniel," said the older man, not able to hide the small, fond smile. "You ready for this?"
"Oh, I think so," Daniel said with his own smile.
"Nice display the other day at the park."
"You like that?"
"You're just racking up the points in my book, you know that don't you?"
Daniel merely chuckled. "I better get back. Good luck today, Jack." Daniel turned and walked away, not waiting for an answer. "You're gonna need it."
"I heard that, Rockboy," Jack said.
"I know," Daniel laughed as he ran off.
Jack shook his head and made his way over to his team.
After another hour of warm ups and practice, the teams adjourned to opposite ends of the field to go over final strategies. Whistles and catcalls sounded as General George Hammond, bedecked in the black and white stripes of referees the world over, trotted out onto the field. Jack and the coach from the other team, Charlotte Henderson, the firey-tempered daughter of a college football coach, met at center field to determine who would receive the opening kickoff.
Excitement began to build as the two teams took to the field. This wasn't a two-hand touch football game, and there were no grab-flags involved. This was American street football with no holds barred. This was . . . The Turkey Bowl.
++++
"Simpson, you go long, hook right, three deep. On three. Break!" Daniel, having received instructions for the play from the side line, brought his team up and looked over the defense. It was hard to recognize the people beyond the dirt and grass stains any longer. There was blood and cuts, scrapes and bruises. . . and smiles. "Ready!!! Hut!..Hut!............HUT!"
Daniel took the snap and dropped back. Teal'c, who'd been double and triple teamed all during the game, was overwhelmed and the shouts of 'BLITZ!' from the sidelines was deafening. Daniel heard a wild yell from his right, turned, and hit the ground with two arms full of Janet Fraiser. The military sideline went wild as Daniel fought for breath under a triumphant doctor. She stood up, leaned down over him, pointed her finger and shouted, "I nailed your ass, Jackson!" One high pitched shout of, "GO MOM!!" echoed over the field as Cassie did a dance of triumph in the stands. He watched Janet strut back to the sidelines and high-five Sam who ran out to take her place for the next play. Jack was delirious and picked Janet up in his arms and spun her around. He put her down and looked up at Cassie.
"You get that on tape, kiddo?" Jack shouted.
Cassie gave him a thumbs up and kept on filming.
Daniel, still laughing so hard his sides hurt, got up and returned to the huddle. He looked up at Teal'c before he called the next play. "How did you not stop her, Teal'c?" he asked.
Teal'c, head draped in a black and silver Raiders bandana looked crestfallen. "DoctorFraiser ran under my legs as I battled with my two other opponents," he replied solemnly.
"It's always the little ones," Daniel snickered.
++++
It was the end of the 4th quarter and the score was tied. Both teams had tried and failed to capitalized on their last possessions, but no one had scored. With ten seconds left, Daniel took the last snap of the game. Shouts of "PASS" filled the air. Kermit Ferguson, senior consultant in the geophysics department and former NCAA running back, blazed down field toward the end zone. Daniel had to dodge to his right as his offensive line collapsed and Captain CB Butterfield came barreling after him. Coming from the other direction, Lieutenant Connor was taking dead aim on him. Daniel backpedaled, trying to give Ferguson time to get free. It was now or never. Cocking back his arm, Daniel threw as high and far as he could toward where he hoped Ferguson would be. As soon as the ball left his hand, Connor laid him flat on his back with a resounding thud.
Jack watched as the ball leapt into the air, its perfect spiral sending it toward the waiting crowd under the goal posts. He prayed it would fall short, but being batted out of contention would work, too. Flashes of a Super Bowl long ago and the dreaded 'Hail Mary Pass' danced through his head. He watched as the ball hit the outstretched hands of those waiting, deflect off the fingertips of someone in the swarm of players and spin crazily through the air - to land in the surprised arms of Nyan, thus securing the victory, once again, for the civilians. . . for the sixth year in a row.
Hammond blew his whistle loudly, thrusting his arms up into the air to signify the touchdown and thus, his hopes for the acquisition of the coveted Golden Turkey. He turned to watch as Daniel's team members swamped him where he lay, then pulled him up and onto their shoulders as they carried him down the field where the process was repeated with a very astonished, and somewhat frightened, Nyan. Hammond shook his head, smiling fondly at the antics of those around him. "Colonel."
"Sir," Jack answered, his face a study in disappointment.
"That was one helluva game."
"Yes, sir, it was."
"At least this time we got close," Hammond laughed. "You did a good job, son."
"Thank you, sir. I would have rather we won than lost with dignity." Jack tossed his game sheets and notes into a duffle bag and sat down on the bench. He and Hammond were congratulated and complimented on an excellent game by the opposing team as they ran around the field, trophy held high.
Hammond slapped Jack on the thigh as he stood. "Mulligan's awaits us, Colonel. And I believe as the losing coach, you're buying the first round."
"Yes, sir," Jack sighed. When he looked up, he saw Daniel, dirty, bloody, but smiling, walking toward him.
"You dammed sandbagger," Jack yelled. Daniel laughed and Jack couldn't help but smile. "Where the hell did you learn to play football?"
"I played in high school," he said as he sat down, groaning with strained muscles and a body that hadn't played that hard in years. "God, I'm gonna hurt in the morning."
"In more ways than one," Jack commented, leaning back, surveying the people around him like a proud father. "Apparently I'm buying tonight."
"Oh god," Daniel groaned as he leaned forward, trying to stretch out his abused back. "Just what I'll need on top of all the sprains and strains . . . a monstrous hangover."
"You okay?"
"No, I'm not okay," Daniel chuckled. "Did you see what Janet did to me?"
Jack laughed. "Who knew, huh?" Jack took a drink from his water bottle then handed it to Daniel who took a long pull as well. He ran a finger down the side of a lycra-clad thigh. "So. Do you get to keep these?"
"Well of course. As a team we actually had uniforms." Daniel cast a quick look around them before answering. "You got a sports fetish I should know about, Jack?"
"Besides the fact they're so tight you can practically see right through them, and the fact that you're wearing nothing but a jock under there, it's a damned wonder I could call any plays at all today."
"I'll wear them for you any time you want," Daniel whispered. "With or . . . without . . . atheletic supporter."
"And no shirt," Jack murmured as he stood up.
"You're a kinky man, Jack O'Neill," Daniel said as he let Jack help him to his feet. "Hurry and take me home and I'll let you have home field advantage," Daniel said as he headed for his car. "Maybe even score a touch down." Jack smiled and followed.
"Hey Daniel, you know, Hammond should have thrown a flag."
"What for?" Daniel asked over his shoulder.
With a cheeky grin Jack walked passed him to his truck, patting his ass gently on the way. "Backfield in motion, Danny. Backfield in motion!"
- finis -
