Empathy Football

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hup-hup! Hike! The boys scattered left and right like leaves in front of an industrial leaf blower. Big Kevin Hardy plowed over medium-sized Alan Moore, who fell on top of Little Timmy Fossy, who squeaked like a dying rabbit. "Ow," they all cried, feeling his pain through the implants. The receivers stumbled from the jolt they had just chugged. Over head the computer made minute adjustments. The linebackers tackled and everyone howled. The ref called a foul and the crowd hissed and cheered. The tackles were so lousy now. That usually happened by the end of a game, people left flushed and wanting more. Their boys bawling from the shared experience, their bruises forming in sympathy. Somehow it was hard to high-five to. But their therapists still thought it could work miracles with rowdy boys with nothing to lose! And it was true that box office sales had increased twofold since the PTA gave their approval. So really, everybody got something, and the boys got everything and learned nothing - but made millions in the All Stars.