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Thursday 1.47am PST

SANTA ANA (Ca): Jackson "Go Fish" Price (Fisher+), former FBA star for the Hunstville Mayors and head coach of the Santa Ana Spectrums, died after a single-vehicle accident in Tustin, CA. The 36-year old mustelid is survived by his wife Clarice (Fisher) and his son Taylor (Fisher).

Reliable sources state that all of Jackson Price's holdings will transfer to his thirteen-year-old son, including the majority share in the ownership of the Santa Ana Spectrums. There is no word yet on the team's immediate future.

Assistant coach, Randall Yoster (Border Collie), is expected to fill in as interim head coach until a solid solution can be put in place.

OAthletic has announced that Thursday night, with the Spectrums facing Price's old team, the Huntsville Mayors, the Spectrums will be wearing specially-made blackout uniforms, and a moment of silence will be paid to Price's memory.

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Thursday 5.00am EST

The telephone rang loud and clear in the early morning silence of the Albany Omni suite that Stefan Calico (Tabby Cat, Owner/GM, HNT) had rented out after watching the Pride destroy the Alphas last night. The bodyguard Leo (Black Cat) had filled one of the recliners and was slowly being roused from slumber by the repetitive tones. When the ringing stopped, his brow furrowed, wondering if they'd call back or...

"WHAT!?!"

The deep roar from the master bedroom confirmed his dread, and he set about getting himself and the boss' things in order for a potentially hasty departure from upstate New York.

* * * * * * * * * *

Stefan stared westward out the window across the pre-dawn downtown Albany skyline. It was still very dark -- the streetlights and billboards were still illuminating everything -- but the feline wasn't paying attention to any of that. The disturbingly tragic news he just received over the phone (and confirmed by the muted Sportsden broadcast on the TV) shook him deeply, despite having almost no opportunity to get acquainted with the late fisher outside of business. And as much as he knew that his own team needed him to be there in Santa Ana for their game later today, he had promised them yesterday after their successful back-to-back victories that he'd find the weakness in Dakota's roster as they played against Plymouth up in Sturgis while the Mayors were taking care of the Spectrums in Southern California.

"Well, f.... fish," the tabby grumbled to himself, then smirked at what he'd just said. "Sorry for razzin' ya so bad in Modesto after your game against the Thrust. But I hope wherever you're at, the knee's perfect and you're at peace." He then made the sign of the cross and bowed his head before turning away from the window to deal with a very long day.

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Thursday 7.00pm PST

The Prism Palace held a very different air than ever before on a game night. The crowds outside didn't shout and holler, the lines were orderly, and conversation was made in calm, hushed tones. Before the main entrance, a shrine of flowers, cards, photographs and memorabilia had been formed, with candles flickering as the sun set. Inside, the typically garish banners and video screens had been transformed by new, more somber images of the night's fallen hero: Jackson Price.

The stands should have been packed with screaming fans, each proudly displaying their team's colors and standards, but tonight the predominant color was black, and waving a banner seemed to be in poor taste. Despite the sold-out crowd, no one was unruly, and overall, it was quiet. That quiet turned to silence as the Spectrums announcer, Alan Foster (Dingo), stepped out onto the darkened court, wearing a black suit and tie.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," the Australian spoke into his microphone, trying painfully hard to keep his voice from breaking. "Tonight we gather here in vastly different spirits than we would ever care to. We gather here not only to enjoy a game of sport between two friendly rivals, but to honor the life and work of a very special man: Jackson Price." Foster had to pause, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.

"Many of you know him from his professional days, as the brash, unyielding master of the court that he was, but we... we here knew as more than that. It was him that brought this new look and feel to this team. He rebuilt not only a group of players, but this city's faith in the game he loved so much. He changed a great many lives, mine included, and he should never, ever be forgotten. He believed that if you thought you could do something, you could do it, no matter what. He was truly a man without limits, and tonight we honor that courage, we honor his work and all that he has inspired, while mourning his untimely departure from this world.

"Tonight we will not have fanfare. There will not be loud music, or flashing lights, or any of the glitz and flash that cheapens what we're really here for. Tonight we will have a game, a game between Jackson Price's old team, and his new one, both of which he loved very much."

Again, Foster had to stop, this time lowering his head and holding his paw over his muzzle as he tried to compose himself. At last he looked up, cleared his throat and finished, "Please, with your respects, welcome both the Huntsville Mayors and your Santa Ana Spectrums as they take the court together, joined by Mrs. Clarice Price, and her son, Taylor Price."

The lights came up, and all eyes turned to see both teams walking in file, side by side, into the stadium, led by their coaches. The Mayors bore a black stripe across their left shoulder while the Spectrums uniforms had been fully blacked out, even their socks and shoes, for those who wore them. Between the two columns walked thirteen year old Taylor Price, in a black suit, and behind him walked his mother Clarice. In her arms she bore Jackson's trademark blue blazer, folded, while his yellow hat rested on top. A slow clap started, spreading throughout the sold-out stadium, reaching a crescendo as both teams stood before their benches, and Clarice handed Taylor his father's hat and jacket, which the boy placed on the coach's empty seat.

From there, the teams broke to begin their warm-ups, and Clarice was escorted by security up to the owner's box, while interim head coach Randall Yoster beckoned Taylor to join the team on the bench for the night. During warm-ups, a memorial video of Jackson Price's career was shown on the arena's massive screens, chronicling his meteoric rise from his college career through the pros to become rookie of the year and a three-time champion. His injury was also covered, followed by the rebirth of the Spectrums under his guidance. It was not a perfect video, but no one in the stands cared. It had been a labor of love, and that love could be felt in every seat in the arena.

Midway into the fourth quarter, Spectrums team captain Omar Pink (Saluki, SF, SAS), was fouled hard by Evan Ashton (Lion, SF, HNT), and given two free throws. Lining himself up at the line, Omar stared up at the hoop, readying himself for his shot as the crowd went wild, but he then stopped, lowering the ball and holding up his paw for silence. Turning to the referee, Pink said nothing, then walked to the bench where he waved Taylor Price to follow him out onto the court. The arena watched in awe as the Spectrums' most seasoned player led their coach's son out to the line, then put the ball in his paws before nodding and stepping back.

Immediately the refs began to step in, but both the Spectrums and Mayors alike made motions to show that it should not be stopped. Taylor looked down at the ball in his paws, turning it over before looking at the players gathered before him. Finally he looked up at the hoop, took a deep breath and readied himself. The arena was silent as the boy put up his shot, then exploded with thunderous applause and cheers as it bounced off the backboard and fell into the hoop. The shot wouldn't count, and Omar Pink would face a fine, but no one cared. All that mattered in that moment was the magic of a boy making a shot before both of his father's old teams. Taylor returned to the bench, Pink took his second shot, and the game went on. But for that moment, that one moment, everything stopped, and everything was right.

In the end it didn't matter who won or lost, as both teams had lost something far more precious than a tally mark on their win/loss count.

---

Thursday 10.00pm PST

After the game, the Spectrums attended their usual press conference, where questions were less about the game and more about the loss of Jackson Price, and about the future of the team. It was clear none of the team wanted to be there any more than they had wanted to be on the court, that night, the wind taken from their sails by the tragic news.

Clarice Price held her own against other reporters, and she thanked everyone for their love and support, and for all their well-wishes. When questioned about her stake in the team, now, she let the press know that all of Jackson's estate transferred to their son, Taylor, due to an agreement they had made years ago in the event of either of their deaths. Taylor Price was not available for comment. In fact, he was nowhere to be found.

At last, after the press had their fill, the team filed back into the locker room where Randall Yoster broke out Price's last bottle of Glenlivet 30 Year, and a toast was had to Price's memory. Small stories were exchanged, but no one was really in the mood to hear or tell them, so all talk was abandoned for the night, each player finding their way out until only Yoster remained.

He sipped another drink of scotch, still in disbelief that Price was gone, and he looked around the room, his heart empty and spirit broken. It wasn't fair. Price was so young, so full of life, and so committed to his team, and now Yoster would never see him again, never be able to speak to him, or hear him rant. It was so sudden, and so unfair. A whimper sounded, and the old border collie swallowed to try and quell any sounds, but then he heard it again, and realized it wasn't himself.

Standing, he cocked a floppy ear, and it was then that he realized where the noise was coming from: Price's office. Yoster approached it quietly as the lights were off, and he carefully eased the door open. The sound was louder, now, and he padded on in until he could see a brown tail sticking out from behind the large, antique desk, and he knew exactly who it was.

There, sitting with his back to the desk drawers, and his knees tucked up to his chest, was thirteen-year old Taylor Price, and in his arms was clutched the plush Jackson Price doll that his father had brought home from the pre-season game with Huntsville. The boy was crying, burying his face in the doll and his arms, letting out all the pain, fear and sorrow he's been holding back through the game, sobbing unashamedly now.

Randall's heart broke, and the old dog quickly knelt at the boys side. "Oh, Taylor, I'm so sorry," he said.

Taylor's cheeks were wet with tears and his eyes were red. He'd obviously been there for some time, but when that familiar voice sounded, he looked up and didn't hesitate to throw his arms around Yoster, hugging him tightly.

"It's not fair!" Taylor sobbed. "He's my dad! He can't be gone!"

Yoster fought back tears of his own, his own arms wrapping around the boy's back, rubbing him softly. "I know, Taylor, I know. You're right, it's not fair. I'm so sorry."

For a long while Taylor couldn't find words, just hugging his surrogate grandfather and crying out his pain. At last he pulled back, sniffling as he looked over the doll in his paws. "I just... he said he was coming home, last night. I waited up for him! And... he never came home. And now he's never gonna come home."

"I'm sorry, Taylor," Yoster said with a sniff of his own, and he hugged the boy once more. "I'm so, so sorry. I know he loved you so very much, and I know he wanted to be home with you. And as long as you know he loved you, he'll never really be gone."

Taylor couldn't say anything more, and the two of them just sat there in the dark for several minutes, each caught up in their own grief. At last, Taylor wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked up at his father's old uniform framed up on the wall. "Randy," he said, his voice raw from crying. "I'm gonna make him proud of me. I'm gonna be just as good as he was, you'll see."

Yoster nodded slowly, not knowing if Taylor was being serious, or just letting his anger and sorrow speak out. "I know you will. But you don't have to make him proud of you. He always was. And I'm sure that he's still proud of you right now, wherever he is. But right now, you need to be strong. You're the man of the house, now, and your mother is going through just as hard of a time as you are. I need you to be strong for her, can you do that?"

Taylor nodded, and Yoster rubbed his shoulder as he smiled and continued, "Now, come on, let's go find your mom, okay? I'm sure she's wondering where both of us got off to."

Again Taylor nodded, and he tried to smile at the cartoony plush version of his father, there in his paws. "I laughed so hard when he first brought this home for me. He laughed, too. Do you think it'll ever stop hurting?"

"In time, son," Yoster replied. "But as long as you remember the good times, like that one, it doesn't have to hurt."

Taylor sniffed again, swallowing hard. "I want to go home, now, Randy," he said.

"I think that's a good idea," Yoster answered. Together they stood and took one more look at Jackson's old office, then quietly went out the door, Taylor still clutching that plush close, needing to feel his father at his side one more time.

---

Sunday 8.00pm EST

The first thing to greet Stefan Calico when he returned to his office in Explorer Stadium just before the end of the first half of the Mayors' match with the Pride was the shrill tone of the telephone. Normally his secretary would've handled the call, but she was in the owner's box fielding all the inquiries about his whereabouts. And while his bodyguard was in the outer office getting drinks together, the tabby checked the caller ID on the phone... then flinched before picking up the handset. "Yes?"

"Our team is doing quite well," said a raspy voice on the other end.

"Thank you for the compliment," replied Calico.

"Have you seen the newest poster that was released?"

"I have," came the verbal response. Rather fitting image in this case, thought the feline, as he remembered seeing the promotional copies emailed to him from Tallahassee's marketing department. The big controversy was featured dead center with Klaus Korber (Doberman, G, TAL), a domestic canine, being held on a chain leash by Championship Fighting Association superstar Slayron "Slash" Wolfe (Timber Wolf), a feral lupine. The social conflicts between feral and domestic species and the connotations of the leashes were not exactly on the cat's mind during the conversation.

"So you're not purposely trying to back out of our deal, Mr. Calico?"

"The proposal hasn't even been approved by the front office, you know," mewled Stefan. "I'm just making sure to cover all our bases if it doesn't."

"We've risked a considerable investment up here on you. Don't disappoint us," warned a different voice over the phone.

The tabby rubbed his temples. "I'll check with the front office again. I'm sure I can convince them to speed up the process."

The click on the other end of the phone only served to frustrate the feline even more, and he was about to slam down the phone when his ears swiveled to the sound of a clearing throat. His bodyguard Leo was at the entry to the office, holding two mugs of hot chocolate in his paws. And Leo shook his head a bit.

The tabby hung up the phone and motioned the tall feline over. "I know, Leo, but you know how specific they were. The Commissioner already told me it was going to need a lot of revisions, but he did stress the escape clause that you advised I put in at the bottom."

Leo set down the black mug on Calico's desk, which had a bright orange "14" on its side. The Jackson Price memorabilia were fetching a pretty penny from the gift shop, but Stefan just traced the number with his claw. "Even so, I may have to find another parachute. I just have to find a way to make it look good."

The black cat nodded and sipped his own drink as the golden-orange one grinned.

And down in the stadium, the horn sounded and the crowd cheered.

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FBA Transactions - Monday December 19th updated regularly by T.Matt Latrans

The Huntsville Mayors have traded Brittany Jameston (Lemur, G/F) to the Tennessee Moonshiners for Mitch Diego (Kangaroo, F).