Harold Stevens had wanted a career in football and he got it. He wanted to make history in football, and he did. Due to contractual obligations, he never got to spend all the money he made, but he got to live, eat and breathe football.

Harold had graduated from High School with All-State honors. In the three years that he led his team as quarterback a dynasty had developed. By the time his senior year rolled around, there was no doubt that he would have the college of his choice.

As could have been predicted, his four years in college proved to be a repeat of his performance in high school, and his junior and senior years gave the college its choice of bowl games. Harold, although he obtained a degree in economics, and a minor in psychology, kept his career goals in football.

The pro draft had Harold picked in the first round. He went first, in fact there was almost a fist fight between the representatives of two teams that had their eyes on Harold. It wasn't that odd, all the teams had their eye on Harold.

Harold's first season as a professional passed in a blur. There were linemen that had tried to kill him, a couple almost succeeding. While in college and high school Harold had learned that he stood out in the crowd. In the "profession" of football, he was just another player. Most all of the players he worked with were as good as he was in their respective positions.

There had also been late parties and early games. There had been a blur of activity on and around the field. Harold wasn't aware of most of it, although he was aware that the team's success before and during the Super Bowl was due, in large part, to his efforts and his second nature at calling plays and reading the defensive team.

After the Super Bowl, the coach approached him, talking about his brilliant future possibilities, investments, and the uncertainty of life. He reminded Harold that the life expectancy of any quarterback was geometrically decreased any time he stepped onto a playing field with defensive lineman.

Harold remembered an offer to stretch his useful playing life by as much as three or four times. "Look at George Blanda, hell, if they'd gotten to Namath before the knees blew out . . . " Harold remembered all of this.

The first time the medical team came to him was a week after Harold's first Super Bowl. Harold had been advised to expect them, and to allow them to do what they needed to do. Harold was told he would get drowsy, and to not worry, it was normal. He slept deeply, without dreams.

When he awoke the medical team was around him. It seemed to him that he had only slept a few minutes. The team psychiatrist was waiting besides the bed for Harold. Harold listened quietly as the man talked.

" . . . So you see, while it was February when you dozed off, now it is October. The team is in the running to be selected for the Super Bowl again, and you have about four weeks to get ready for the second half the season." With that, the man sat back, intently watching Harold.

Harold didn't move. He sat there, staring at the man. He quietly assimilated the data. After a few moments, he asked "Why?"

"The contracts you signed, for a large sum of money, by the way, stipulated that the team could do whatever was medically necessary and possible to extend and improve your playing life and abilities. Cryogenics allows us to keep you frozen for half a year, therefore extending your physical life, not to mention your playing life."

Harold sat there, nodding quietly. Then he stood, and began a regimen that he kept up with until his first game. From then on, it was football, football, football. It worked for the team. They made the Super Bowl for a second year in a row.

Harold had made plans to travel around the country and relax after the game, and was a little upset when the medical team arrived. He recognized the equipment and protested. His protest almost became violent until a security guard had been called. His lawyer pointed out the clause in his contract that allowed the team this kind of power over him.

Harold remembered that afternoon like it was yesterday. In terms of his memory, it had been ten years ago. Due to the cryogenics, his memory ran a little different from normal. He remembered years as he lived them, not as they occurred. His team has just celebrated an unprecedented twentieth Super Bowl appearance.

There had been an outcry against the practice when it was first uncovered. Harold had played in ten Super Bowls by the time the cryogenics story broke. Harold knew the public became outraged when the news became known, but by the time he woke again, the story seemed to have evaporated, and his life went on. He never found out what happened, no one on the training staff wanted to talk about it.

Harold wanted a career in football and he got it. He wanted to make history in football, and he did. Due to contractual obligations he lived, ate and breathed football.

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