Who's Beethoven?

Three, two, one, Go! A computerized trumpet blares the starting melody. Then the four different robots spring to life. All on their own, they maneuver the field trying to knock the forty purple 13 inch balls from above the player’s station. You can see the tense faces of the four sets of drive teams down on the field: All watching their robot making sure nothing goes wrong until they get control again. Up in the stands Sarah and I are each holding the other’s hands as tight as a dog holds onto a juicy steak. Both our eyes gravitated towards our robot, Beethoven. He stands five feet tall. Well, five feet from his arm to the ground: an arm coming out of the middle of him that extends up to eleven feet in the air. The arm has a bright red hook on it used to connect our robot with a black 1 inch in diameter pole. Beethoven’s wheels are all connected to one another by a chain that runs along the top of him, which stands 18 inches of the five feet. He seems to be going a bit too fast, and his arm is extending. Sarah squeals next to me that he’s going to hang right off. I can’t speak: I’m too mesmerized, by the fact that team five the Robocards were in the last match of the Pittsburgh Regional. This is it I think as Leslie wearing her “lucky” safety glasses and TJ with his “lucky” beanie grab the joy sticks to take control of our collaboration of wires, aluminum, and chain. At the same time Steven who doesn’t have anything lucky has already shot two of the three purple balls into the stationary goal that sits on the second plateau of the playing field. The playing field, I’ve just noticed it for the first time this match. It’s a giant carpeted square that holds the robots, two tiers of a double plateau that come together in the center with a bar raised ten feet in the air. Two movable goals a positioned at opposite ends of the playing field and are ready for the assault of competition. Then we get to the plexi-glass wall that keeps the humans safe from the machines. Above them is a slated holder with forty purple five point balls.
Leslie has him positioned ready to raise it and win. The arm starts to move toward the black pole that would seal our fate. They collide and our hook shoots out of its holder desperately wanting to see the ground. TJ won’t let that happen though. The cord starts to contract and collect as the hook rises toward the pole. Lightly like he was performing brain surgery TJ hooks the pole and starts cranking Beethoven up, up in the air. As he rises the gears and crank can be heard in the silent audience like a machine gun in a closed room. Again a horn, but this time a fog horn to signal the end of the two minute match. Sarah and I quickly count and at the same time we screamed that we had won and the regional was ours. I picked little Sarah up and spun her around three times, then we both ran and screamed for no apparent reason. The rest of our team was stunned. What to do. They quickly caught on as Sarah and my attitude spread like the plague. I got hugs from everyone, Mom who couldn’t stop crying Mr. Hall who was as emotional as an x-Vietnam solider can be, short Mrs. Morse who looked as least like a teacher as I’ve ever seen her. As the hugs continued slowly almost like flowers opening up a song filtered though the haze of people. We are the champions my friend. More hugs, Mayur who stands six feet four inches tall but is so skinny I can pick him up with one arm. And we’ll keep on fighting till the end.