Introduction
Much about athletic competition defies rational analysis: why should we care about how fast someone runs in an oval, how far something is thrown or hit, whether an oblong or spherical object is caught, whether the person lands on their feet after twirling and tumbling through the air, whether the Red Sox or the Yankees win …
(Hint: the correct answer is that the Red Sox should win. No explanation necessary. Full stop.)
Sure, it’s fun to play the game, but what explains our emotional investment in the outcome of the game as mere spectators?
Is the joy we derive from watching sports analogous to the pleasure we get from reading adventure books—a kind of vicarious participation? Is it about admiring the grace and beauty of the human form striving to achieve what seems impossible, to explore the limits of endurance, agility, speed, and strength? Is it about anticipating the strategy of coaches, decrying the bias of referees, screaming as part of a mob in a stadium, and arguing with friends in front of a TV? Is it about identifying with a team, a region, an accent, a certain name and color of jersey and logo and all the legends and lore that have been built up around them?
Whatever the reasons, we do care; we care a lot. The proof is in the endorsement deals and advertising budgets surrounding athletic competition: lots of zeroes at the ends of those numbers.
Modern athletic competition is also characterized by the increasing involvement of high technology: space age materials and outlandish designs generated by supercomputers are used to construct racing yachts; controversies flare up over advanced swimsuits at the Olympics; athletes and regulators engage in an arms race over performance enhancing drugs and the methods for their detection; biomechanics research, high-speed cameras, and big data statistics have transformed our understanding of what is happening on the field; fans and pundits debate endlessly about the propriety of enhancing athletic performance (and our enjoyment of such performance) through technological means.
And we can already see hints that two of the hottest areas in contemporary research—computing and bio technology—will find applications in sports and generate new controversies: will computers become better at picking out promising prospects for teams than scouts? Instead of relying on judges, referees, and umpires, should we strive to automate all such decision-making in competition to eliminate bias? Will machines succeed as coaches and devise novel strategies on the field? Can we clone famous athletes? Will the use of surgically implanted artificial tendons or muscles be permitted? What about robots competing against humans in the same games?
No wonder sports have proved to be an enduring theme in science fiction. We love to speculate on the future of athletic competition and to dream about ways technology can add to (or detract from) our enjoyment of these contests.
Here, in your hands, is a collection of science fiction stories about sports written by Mike Resnick, who is the award-winningest science fiction author in short fiction, the all-time champion, according to Locus.
These stories evoke the wonder and romance and passion of sports through a science fictional lens: you’ll see heroes and fans and pick teams and take sides; you’ll read fables, tall-tales, serious speculation and mythic allusions; you’ll find Mike’s characteristic humor and tugs at the heart; you’ll cheer, curse, stand still, laugh triumphantly, and perhaps even shed a tear.
Grab your favorite drink; dish up some chips and salsa; you’re in for a treat.
(And I’ll even forgive Mike for not including a single story in here about how the Red Sox defeated the Yankees. Maybe next time.)
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