SATIRE

By Grady Andersen, Newswire Intern 

The Blue Blob had always believed two things to be true: rivalry comes first and Bearcat is unbearable. 

The problem was that lately… those two truths didn’t sit as comfortably together as they used to. 

He hovered near the tunnel entrance, pretending not to watch Bearcat joke with a group of interns. He hated how easy it looked — how Bearcat filled space like he belonged there. Like the world had been painted his shade of red on purpose. 

“Stop staring,” D’Artagnan said, adjusting his plumed hat. “You’re doing the thing again.” 

“I’m not staring,” the Blob said, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re aggressively observing.” 

The Blue Blob turned away just in time for Bearcat to glance over and catch him anyway. Their eyes met. Bearcat smiled. 

Naturally, he scowled and quickly turned around. 

They’d been enemies for years — professional, public, loudly committed enemies. Xavier versus Cincinnati. Blue versus red. The kind of rivalry that got printed on t-shirts and shouted by drunk alumni. 

And then there was Mr. Red. 

The ex. 

The memory still stung: the way Mr. Red had made everything feel like a competition, even affection. How he had always come second — to the crowd, to the image, to the noise. 

Bearcat was supposed to be the same. Flashy. Self-assured. Too much. 

So why did he keep noticing the small things? The way Bearcat always stayed late to help kids get photos. How he never mocked the Blue Blob’s softness, even when everyone else did. 

They were paired together for a rivalry promo shoot — close quarters, forced smiles. Bearcat leaned in just enough to murmur, “Relax, Blue. I promise I don’t bite.” 

“I don’t trust you,” the Blue Blob shot back. 

Bearcat grin softened. “Yeah. I know.” 

That was the thing. He always knew. 

The shift happened slowly, the way big things often do. Late night texts about travel delays. Inside jokes that no one else understood. Competitive banter that fizzled into laughter instead of sparks. 

One night, after the Crosstown Shootout, they sat alone on the bleachers. The jumbotron hummed above them. 

“You ever get tired of being the villain?” Blue Blob asked quietly. 

Bearcat didn’t joke this time. “Only when people forget I’m also just… a guy doing his best.” 

The Blue Blob nodded. He understood that all too well. 

Mr. Red’s return was inevitable. He cornered the Blue Blob at Crosstown Shootout, all confidence and sharp smiles. “You trading up now?” he asked, eyeing Bearcat across the room.  “Red looks good on you. Temporary, though.” 

Before he could get a word out, Bearcat was there — calm, solid, unmistakably present. 

“He’s not temporary,” Bearcat said evenly. “And he doesn’t need saving.” 

Mr. Red scoffed, but the Blue Blob felt something steady lock into place. Bearcat tugged him by his hand, leading him back to the celebration. 

Later, under the stadium lights, the Blue Blob hovered beside Bearcat, their shoulders almost touching. 

“This is a bad idea,” the Blue Blob said. 

Bearcat nodded. “Absolutely.” 

They stayed anyway. 

On game day, they were everything the rivalry demanded — loud, relentless, brilliant. They played their parts perfectly. But when the crowd roared and the cameras turned away, Bearcat tapped the Blue Blob’s arm once, a quiet check-in. 

Still here. 

Still choosing this. 

The Blue Blob smiled to himself. 

Enemies, on paper. 

But something warmer, stronger and entirely their own beneath the noise.