The Fumble Recovery

 The scene is the bottom of a fumble pile at an NFL game, two veteran players, unable to move have the following conversation...

“Are those your balls hovering over my face Walt?”

“Very likely Frankie. I didn't count the order that we all piled on when that little millionaire running back prick couldn't keep the ball in his manicured fingers. Still I reckon you and me were the first on.”

“Don't suppose you've actually got the football do you?”

“I do not Walt, I think number 47, 2 bodies over may have it. Hopefully he still will when the refs start pulling this shit-pile apart.”

“Well, I must say, it's nice to have a rest, could do without your bulk on top of me though.”

“Quit whining, I actually lost a few pounds since the season started. Hey do they smell nice? I'm trying  new antifungal powder, it's lightly scented, hopefully with a masculine note.”

“They smell great Walt, I get top notes of cedar and sandalwood, and a hint of citrus. Nice combination. Just wishing they weren't 6 inches from my face, that's all. Hey, how's your Janice doing after that little health scare?”

“Thanks for asking, she's well on the way to recovery now. I have 2 seasons left on my contract, then we're thinking of moving somewhere like Colorado, for the clean air. Maybe open a little Motor Lodge, trade on whatever bit of fame and celebrity I've still got when that time comes.”

“Nice, hope it all works out for you. Hello! I just saw a ref's arm reach in, trying to find the football. Hey 47! You got it?”

“Two of us have an arm over it, we'll see who comes out with it...”

“If they don't sort this pile soon, they're going to need a piece of heavy machinery to lift this old body upright, I already lost the feeling in my legs.”

“Hang in there Frankie, if they take much longer they'll call delay of game.”

“By the way Walt, I saw that run-back touchdown you scored after that interception 2 weeks ago. Great bit of running.”

“That bit of running about killed me, I'm built to run about 4 feet and hit somebody, not run 35 yards with a bunch of rich kids chasing me. It really hurt my knees.”

“What did? Your big belly bouncing up and down on them as you waddled to the goal line?”

“I'll have you know that waddle earned me a decent bonus, got a nice still shot from one of the sideline photographers too. I only look half dead in it.”

“Nice. Here we go, I see daylight and a zebra shirt, hang in there Walt, we'll be done soon.”

“God, I hope your team have it, I can't bear the thought of getting straight back into formation. I really need some Gatorade, or a beer. Hey wouldn't that be a thing, beer on the sidelines.”

“From your lips to God's ears buddy. When you feel the pressure lift, let me know, then I'll push up, maybe you can stand straight up, but do me a favor, turn around and help me up right after, will you? I don't think we've got a man on our team that can lift me off the ground.”

“No problem buddy, hey come find me later, I'll give you the name of that antifungal powder. No disrespect, but you could use a little light-scented action down there.”

“No offence taken. Hey I see more and more daylight. They're pulling your number 26 off right now.”

“All that's left is you, me and two overpaid, fresh from college, wannabe superstars fighting over a bit of leather. Funny old way to make a living eh?”

“Each one's got a ref trying to pull them apart, I'll push you up now buddy, ready?”

“Don't strain anything, I may have exaggerated when I said I lost a few pounds.”

“Damn, I'll say. Have you thought about eating a salad or three Walt?”

“Gotta say a big no to that, Frankie. I had an extra olive in my Martini last night, that's about as close as I'll get to a salad. Go on, one more push, then I'll get you, okay?”

“Oof, there you go, don't you dare fall back.”

“No I'm good, hey grab my arm, when you're up wanna knock helmets?”

“Hell no, my neck is killing me, just a fist bump.”

“Gotcha.”