Galaxy wars: a science fiction story

Prologue
I watched the Olympiakos-Ergotelis game up to the moment when the referee booked Hiplinger for a hand ball early in the first half. That was a play where the ball came from two meters away, and there was absolutely no intent to handle the ball as the player had his back turned and his hands close to his body. After that, and having watched greek football every week for about 40 years, I turned off the game, and took my wife out to a restaurant. I had a great time even though I knew that back home, inside my my dark tv "things" were going to happen. That's when I conceived of my next great novel!

Galaxy Wars

In a far away galaxy, in a different time/space I am an ambitious referee who takes enormous pleasure out of the power that comes from inter-galactic football officiating limelight. It's my fix.

But over the last two galactic centuries, the god who controls who is to officiate, where, how, and who their evaluator will be, think of me as someone he can't trust to further his little planet. So, I get iced. I don't get to see my name on the papers, or my amazingly cool persona on the tube, since I rarely get to play god in big games, and when I do, it's little games in far away asteroids that no one is paying attention to my greatness.

Man, I don't like ice. I want to officiate in big games where I can get exposure and people can see me and talk about me.

At last, the big cheese that wants the galactic championship really bad manages to get rid of those who kept me playing little dingy games, and I finally get to mingle with the galaxy's supernova team that I admire so much. Their planet is the most ... (can't find a proper word here - I'll get back to this later) in the galaxy They even have megaphones to amplify their "booing" of opponents every time they have the ball. I mean, who in the world can argue with that? Booing opponents through a megaphone is a sure sign that these creatures in the stands are of superior stock.

 I am so happy I get to finally rub the back of this superhero with the anti-radiation suit (bad people call these outfits "palta") and maybe if I am lucky he would rub my head. Man! if he does, I won't take a shower for a month from fear of washing away his holly sweat. If he lays his holly hands on my body, I'll even reverse my call for him and I don't care what people think.

It should be a fun and easy gig. The super-galactic heroes will surely zap a couple of lazer beams early in the first half so I won't have to worry about a thing. But, darn it, things don't work out so well. Half the game goes by and the hyper-galacticos can't freaking make a goal against a middle of the pack asteroid. On top of it, the fans keep askin for my help by chanting really vile things about my mother.

That's not a good thing and it can really upset the galactic order further. Ever since another planet began  orbiting on a higher oval, leaving the super-galactic planet wobbling in space, things haven't been the same around this galaxy.

So I go to the locker room at half time really depressed, because things don't go according to plan and because I really like my mom. Why can't they appreciate me? What kind of flock is this? Didn't they see how quickly I stopped the little asteroid when they got too cocky and thought they can venture forward? At least I know one person appreciated my work out there for half the game. The big grandpa that stomps around the super-galactic-league with the "beat the referee stick" takes action and instead of beating me up he brings a carrot! I know what you are thinking you twisted readers. I don't mean anything bad about this. By "carrot" (as opposed to a "stick") I mean he offers to support my efforts by stopping his flock of sheep from bleating angrily against me and my mom.

I know this is a field that bunnies frequent, but I didn't know they have such yummy carrots, so I am getting over my fears and apprehension. He delivers on his promise and calls (through a megaphone nonetheless) on all the vegetable market entrepreneurs and scientists on the stands to stop swearing at me and my mom. It's ok that he tells them to stop bleating because it's bad for the flock and not because it's despicable behavior. It's ok.

 "How can I ever re-pay such kindness?" I ponder as I take the field for the second half. This is trully a planet of gentlemen. I hope the galactic supeheroes get their act together before they get all stressed out and start crying or diving, because who knows what can happen then. What if in my eagerness to help I call an obvious dive a penalty for the supergalacticos? I need to keep my cool and put all my training to use here.

But the more I see that the galactic super heroes can't score I get more and more worried.

Nightmares of going back to officiating in meaningless little asteroids and comets creep into my mind. Pictures of other referees who didn't serve the super galactic team and got banished to the ends of the galaxy haunt me. I see the fate they suffered getting closer to me with every tick of the clock. I like my car but I know it might burn. My dad likes his car too, and that too can burn just like it happened to that guy from the little obscure VoloS-34 asteroid. Pictures of angry droids breaking my saccharomyces cerevisiae processing shop, or worst, beating me up a few months from now, send me on high alert.

What to do? What to do?

If I concentrate on calling a game based on the archaic (and now totally disproven formula) 50/50, no one will tell me "bravo super-galactic ref"! Instead, I'll be crucified in the media for every little call, and I'll have to worry about my planet's safety.

When the going gets tough, my brain begins to work (I told you I was really cool and smart, didn't I?)

I do some simple first-grade math and quickly realize what the problem is. Playing 11 against 11 makes things really hard for the planet that absolutely must win and for the established galactic order of things. From my extensive experience, I know how to fix that! I think 11 against 10 is a better ratio, so I am looking for this little foul that can ensure parity in the universe, and lo and behold, it happens! It could not be easier. That ufo kind of turned his body and touched the galloping super-galactic hero (the one with the radiation suit, remember?). Easy call.

And since I am on a roll, I can do even better: 11v9.

Not even Einstein can argue with my formula. Take that Einstein! You come up with E=mc squared, I come up with 11v9=3-0! I am a genius and above all, I am safe! All the scientists that watch the game will completely understand. The rest don't matter. Do they?

Besides, there is really no incentive any longer to play a 50/50 game when facilitating (er, I mean officiating) the hyper-super-amazing-galactic rabbits. What idiot came up with that formula anyway, and why do people keep thinking about it as if promotes good order in the galaxy? That was valid only before the dark matter was discovered. I can sleep easy. The little asteroid didn't expect they were going to win in this planet anyway and in the end, they themselves will admit that the ejections "must have been given". 

You see, the whole plan worked because I was smart enough to have that ufo booked earlier in the game, on a play that he should have not been booked, and this one, in the end won't be remembered. Ain't I a smart one? I spread the sneaky calls in time/space so no one can concentrate on one play and question my intentions. 

Who in the world will question a hand-ball booking. Sure, even I know it was a silly booking, but I don't understand why the little asteroid players didn't get the clue early on. The little asteroid players should have rolled over sooner so I would not have to bring out the big red ray guns.

Of course, I would never book the other super-galacticos players for such plays, but no one would talk about that either. It's too complicated a case to make. What would they say? That I would never be using the yellow or red ray gun (god forbid) against the  super-galacticos players for such plays?

That's what's called a "good official" in this galaxy. One that knows how to do this kind of work. Not like the other idiots that screwed up their lives by pretending this silly 50/50 formula is still valid. This is no 2012 you idiots. This is super-galactic-league!

I bet I made my case to officiate the biggest game of the gallaxy in a few of weeks with this solid performance today.

I pulled my colored square ray guns with confidence. And I was happy the sheep stopped swearing at my mom as soon as they realized I was there to help. I am sure no one will question me, especially now that I know the god who controls my career knows I am on his side. I bet he now understand who's on his side and how these kinds of business can be taken care without giving him a bad name. I don't give one big call that everyone will pounce on. I just equalize things over time a bit to help out the situation. 

I know there will be some opposing galaxy inhabitants who will thing this is weird, but who cares. They have absolutely no power in the refereeing circles and offices, and the media will never make as much noise about this as they did about some diving exhibitions from last week. This ain't 2012.

I don't mean to twist the plot too much, but in all honesty, I am a little mad to be in this position.

I thought this was all going to be taken care of when I read mid-week that the league owners chastised the opposing big planet's team for downgrading their product. I know that these galactic club owners don't have really high IQs, and that one would have a hard time picking them out of a lineup with mayonnaise jars, but why can't they maintain a winning planet without making fools of themselves and me?

To be fair, I am beginning to suspect that all the super-duper-galacticos suck. The front-line mayonnaise jar (with the fake mustache) had already helped as much as he could by hibernating some of his planet's players before the game, and made sure the other mayonnaise jar (the bigger size one with the extra rotten eggs in the mix) was happy with his intergalactic announcements mid-week. That was quite a show by the way!

It was like that trick in the circus with a little kitty in a cage with a huge guy holding a stick. It's so much fun to watch that kitty roll over every time the stick guy says "roll over".

I watch the circus games often because I like the shape of that big guy with the stick that gets the kitties to do tricks for him. In a galaxy full of funny-looking aliens, he really stands out as the funniest. He looks like Snorlax, and he usually brings some more funny guys with sticks along just in case the kitties don't cooperate. I am glad someone invented speech so I get to enjoy his eloquent lines. It's amazing how he can string together intelligent words that are closely matched to the inter-galactic kindergarden flash cards: "We Zcrewed you", "I know gwhat to do", "roll over", "we teach eethos", "more souvlaki".

No one will really know, but I am mad. I mean, with all the super-galactic players they collected, why can't these idiots zap a little asteroid outright and they have to rely on me and my red ray guns? At least they showed superior moral character by trying their hardest to run up the score after I put my formula to use. I can't complain there.

At least I hope they remember me when it's time for the goodies to come around. I want a cushy seat at the inter-galactic governing body for officials, or better yet nice place in their own planet. Sure, their planet is kind of red and the people there are weird, but so is Mars and I am not less weird than they are. Am I?

Epilogue

I am happy to report, that no aminals were harmed during the writing of this novel, and all the characters, mayonnaise jars, and animals, are fictional.

I know that life can be stranger than fiction though, and I am sure someone will associate this novel with real life as improbable as this might seem. I hope they don't get their double-chin all shook up, and I don't mean to contribute to their psychological degradation. It's a game and it's all good fun to me no matter how much some of the mental cases try to make sure it isn't. 

I am also happy to report that no matter what Panathinaikos does tomorrow, Panathinaikos will still be in first place.