At one end of the playing field, in the vicinity of the team, Bobo practiced his routines while the players practiced for the big game. Bobo wore his own little football helmet, part of the costume, irremovably attached to the top of his synthetically furry blue-green head.
Bobo stood on one leg while balancing a toy plastic football on the palm of a mutant hand. Then he did a few cartwheels, no easy feat in the costume! He had to stay limber. Then he rock-and-rolled, shaking his too-large hips and butt, though no music played.
The real practice intensified. The team’s speedy players demonstrated their speed. If only Bobo didn’t have his costume. . . . He looked at his toy football. If only Bobo could practice for real! To be a real football star, and win the girl of his dreams!
Bobo forgot himself and went running after the players, believing he was one of them. He tripped and fell flat onto the playing field. Tychon didn’t want Bobo on the actual field. Bobo knew he’d disobeyed Tychon.
The mascot turned onto his back. Whistles blew, players moved about, coaches yelled. Bobo lay on the football turf, arms spread, staring through holes in the costume at the sky. The ground supported his back—the same turf the football heroes fell on. The thought occurred to him—what to do now?
The team went about its business. He was only rehearsing, after all. He was only Bobo.