disc toward the end-zone. He knew he couldn ' t make it, and even if he could, the absurdly tall McCartney was closer. He ' d make the catch. The game would be over. Mannix wouldn ' t win the pizza. It was impossible.
He leaped anyway, in a desperate dive. He knew he shouldn ' t be able to reach it, but suddenly he felt a strange tingling in his fingertips and the ground fell away beneath him. It should have been coming up towards him. Strange.
Then he looked down and saw McCartney lunging in slow-motion, several metres below, leaning in for the catch. Several metres below. How odd. Was he...? Flying?
Foto: Jose Emilio de Veyra
Mannix swooped down at breakneck speed and clasped the disc in his outstretched hand just as it was about to graze the ground. McCartney fell just short. The crowd exploded. They ' d just seen something so magical, so impossible, that they didn ' t even notice the clock hit zero.
Mannix stood up, brushed himself off, and held the disc alot. Officials brought him a microphone, and The Pizza Cup, a fity-foot tall golden trophy filled to the brim with pizzas of all kinds.
" Thank you everyone!" he shouted. " But I can ' t eat this all myself. I ' d like to share this fabulous prize with my valiant opponents, my excellent teammates, and with all of you! Just be sure to save me a slice or two of the one with barbecue sauce, okay?"
Foto: Jose Foto Emilio: Jose de Emilio Veyra de Veyra Sleeves Magazine