Outrageous applause greeted the Otter as he came out on 
stage.  He smiled and waved to the audience there in the 
television studio, then walked over to his desk and chair.  
Snugging his outrageously colorful tie, a trademark of his, 
he sat down amid the gleeful shouts from the crowd.  He then 
waited a moment as the cheers and applause subsided.
	"Hello everyone!  And welcome once again to everyone's 
favorite sports show, IRONPAW!"
	Once again the crowd went wild.  Once again he smiled 
for the cameras.
	"Well, thanks for that heartwarming greeting.  I am, of 
course, your host, Beamer!"
	More applause.
	"We send our cameras around the planet in search of the 
most spectacular sporting events known to morphkind.  We've 
seen Mountain Goat wrestling in the Andes.  We've gone deep 
sea diving with the Whale-kin.  
	"But today marks a landmark event in the history of our 
show.  In the 3 decades we've been broadcasting, today's 
event is the first one that we bring to you from the event 
site itself!  Live!  All for the enjoyment of you, our 
faithful viewers!"
	Even more applause.  Beamer held up his right paw to 
signal quiet.
	"Okay.  Okay.  I know you're all excited about this.  
I'm pretty excited too, but this is only a 1 hour show.  So 
let's get right to it shall we?  We are here at the 
beginning of the annual SpearGate Marathon; a torturous 10 
mile run through the heart of old Downtown SpearGate, long 
since destroyed in the Tailless War.  And with us tonight, 
is the very man in charge of the organization which manages 
it.  Please join me in welcoming to our stage, Rick Bottom!"
	The curtain at stage right parted, and in walked Mr. 
Bottom.  The Burro wore a resplendent charcoal-gray pin-
striped suit.  It matched the color of his fur almost 
perfectly.  The smiling executive turned to the cameras and 
waved  as the studio audience clapped and hooted their 
approval.  The stage band played some inspirational racing 
music from some long-forgotten film as he walked across the 
stage and sat down in the chair beside Beamer's desk.
	"Hello Mr. Bottom.  And thanks for coming here today."
	"No problem, Beaker.  I watch your show all the time."
	"That's Beamer." The otter corrected, still smiling.  
"So.  How long have you been in charge of this marathon?"
	"This is my first year to be in charge of operations.  
When the race first began, I was just a contestant in the 
crowd.  A racer.  And now I run the race without actually 
running the race."
	A small laugh rippled through the crowd in polite 
acknowledgment of the burro's attempt at wit.
	"Well, that's great Mr. Bottom.  Or can I call you 
Rick?"
	"Sure Beeper.  Rick is fine."
	The otter's face only showed a flicker of annoyance at 
the mispronunciation of his name.
	"Okay Rick.  I understand that this year's race is 
going to be different somehow?"
	"You bet."  Rick then reached into his pocket and 
pulled out a crisp, brand new, 1000 credit note.  He held it 
up to the audience, who all gasped and ahhed at the sight of 
so much money.  With a cocky smirk, he set the note down on 
Beamer's desk.
	"I have 1000 credits here, Beater." He confidently told 
the confused otter.  "They all say that this year, the 
winner of the race will also set a new speed record for the 
10 mile course.  What do you say?  Want to take me up on it, 
hmm?"
	Beamer scratched absentmindedly at his ear as the 
audience murmured in amazement.
	"You realize that the record for this race has stood 
unchallenged for 19 years."
	"That's right.  And this is the year that we finally 
break that record! I have 1000 credits here to back me up on 
that boast.  So what do you say, Mr. Sports Personality?  
Care to take the bet, here on international television?"
	Immediately the studio audience began chanting and 
jibing for the otter to accept the bet.  After a couple of 
moments, the otter grinned and pulled out his wallet.  He 
withdrew out a set of 100 credit notes, letting the crowd 
count them out for him as he laid them one at a time next to 
the burro's cash.  The band began a drumroll and crashed the 
cymbals every time another bill hit the desk.  There was a 
fresh round of applause after Beamer put down the tenth note 
with a theatrical slap.
	"Well, Rick.  I can't have you making me look like a 
coward on my own show.  Besides, I could use some extra 
spending money.  This record has stood solidly for almost 
two decades, ever since the legendary `SlickFoot' ran the 
race and died at the finish line."
	The burro smiled back at the otter.
	"You don't think it'll fall today, do you?"
	"I have 1000 credits here, and they all say that you're 
full of beans."
	The crowd roared!  This challenge between two of the 
best-known sports personalities in the business was 
unexpected, but clearly enjoyable.  The excitement of the 
race was all but forgotten in the excitement of the moment!
	"Okay Beaner!  You're on.  We'll see in a bit just 
who's right, and who's broke."
	"That's Beamer!" he repeated with more emphasis. "And 
yes, the race is about to start."  He turned to look at the 
large projection monitor that was rising up from behind his 
chair.  The 12 foot screen showed a group-shot of rabbits, 
each wearing a numbered vest, all lined up at the starting 
line.
	"Hey, wait just a minute!"  Beamer protested.  "That's 
not even half as many racers as there were last year!"
	Rick nodded.
	"One of the changes we made this year was to stage our 
runners." He explained.  "Rather than letting them all take 
off in one big block and get in each other's way, we let the 
faster runners go first all by themselves.  Thus the rabbits 
all leave first."
	With that, a starter's pistol went off, and the rabbits 
leaped away from the finish line, charging down the path 
toward the monolithic blackened city.  The studio audience 
added its own applause to the that of the crowd seen lining 
the course of the track.
	Beamer turned to face Rick, a smile upon his face. 
	"That's been tried before though." He said confidently.  
"About 3 years ago, in the New Hebrides Open.  The results 
were unimpressive."
	"True." Rick concurred with a nod.  "But that's not the 
only change we've made to the race.  See, this year we 
opened up competition to allow groups that we previously 
discriminated against to race with everyone else.  Within 
their own block of course."
	"Oh?  What group was prevented from racing in the 
past?"
	Just then, another gunshot rang out, and the image on 
the screen spun as the camera panned to the right to see the 
next cell of racers.  Beamer's eyes widened as the picture 
stabilized.
	"The Carnivores!" Rick laughed out loud.
	Sure enough, the next group of runners were all 
carnivores.  Wolves, cheetahs, and jaguars all raced after 
the preceding rabbits.  Each of them was wearing a numbered 
vest, flapping in the wind.  And every one of them was 
smiling from ear to ear as they sprinted down the road.
	It wasn't clear how they found out about their 
situation.  Somebody must have shouted out a warning.  But 
suddenly the slowest rabbit in the back of the group looked 
behind him, let out a terrified scream, and put on a burst 
of speed that quickly put him yards ahead of everyone else.  
Then the others glanced back as well, curious as to what 
could cause such acceleration. 
	Within seconds, all the rabbits were busy trying to 
break their previous personal best records.  Nobody was 
screaming anymore; everyone was too busy gulping air.  The 
rabbits' ears all flapped straight behind them as they raced 
into the ruins of the once great city.
	Rick guffawed as he reached out to collect his money 
from the horrified Beamer.
	"Come to Papa." He laughed.  "Daddy needs a new pair of 
running shoes!"