Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Mr. Meek Plays Polo space-polo playerâ€”a fortune bet on his ability Relined. Wheeze In, Whiz Out! It added, as an afterthought, in shaky, inexpert lettering: We Fix Anything. Lots of ships pull in with punctures. Won't take no time." Meek cleared his throat uneasily. "I'm afraid it's more than a alone? No one with you?" Meek gulped and nodded. "Dead reckoning," he said. "Sure, game. Like checkers. Only it ain't. Not chess, neither. Even sides and play for hours. About the time Gus would think he had it figured out, they'd change the rules and throw him off again." "That doesn't make sense," protested Meek. Inn and wait around," advised the mechanic. "He'll come in sooner or later. Drops around regular, except when his rheumatism bothers him, to pick up a bundle of papers. Subscribes to a rivalry, but all this killing! Surely they don't enjoy getting killed." "Sure they enjoy it," declared Moe. "Not being killed, maybe ... although they're willing to take a chance on that. Not many of them get killed, in fact. Just a few that get sort of careless. But even if some of them are killed, you can't go messing around with that feud of theirs. If them boys out in sectors Twenty-Three and Thirty-Seven didn't have their feud they'd plain die of boredom. They just got to have somebody to fight with. They been fighting, off and on, for years." "But they could fight with something besides guns," said the welfare lady, a-smirk with righteousness. "That's why I'm here. To try to get them to turn their natural feelings of rivalry into less deadly and disturbing channels. Direct their energies into other activities." "Now you're talking," Moe enthused. "They take to games. Seven-toed Pete with the deuces wild." demanded. "Got your message, I did, and here I am. But it better be important." him, keeping out of reach. "Have some trouble?" he asked, trying to be casual. "Trouble! Hell, yes!" blustered Gus. "But I ain't the only one that's "Revenuer?" "Nope. From the welfare outfit. Aims to help you fellows out. Says there ain't no sense in you boys in Twenty-three all the time fighting with the gang from Thirty-seven." Gus strangled on his drink, clawed for air, wiped his eyes. "So that's why you asked me over here. Another of your danged peace parleys. Come and talk things over, you said. So I came." ripping up space for a long time now. Time you growed up and settled down. You're aiming on going over right now and pulverizing Bud. It won't do you any good." "I'll get a heap of satisfaction out of it," insisted Gus. "And, fifty paces, it's out. Miss Perkins won't stand for anything like that." Gus wiped his whiskers and looked hurt. "Nothing of the sort," he denied. "Dang it, you must think I ain't got no sportsmanship at all. I into it." "You shut your trap," snapped Gus. "She wants us to play games, don't she. Well, polo is a game. A nice, respectable game. Played in the best "It wouldn't be no nice, respectable game the way you fellows would play it," predicted Moe. "It would turn into mass murder. Wouldn't be once you got him in the open." Miss Perkins gasped. "Why, I'm sure they wouldn't!" "Of course we wouldn't," declared Gus, solemn as an owl. "And that ain't all," said Moe, warming to the subject. "Those crates you guys got wouldn't last out the first chukker. Most of them would play polo in ships tied up with haywire. Those broomsticks you "You're prejudiced," Gus told Moe. "You just don't like space polo, that is all. You ain't got no blueblood in you. We'll leave it up to this man here. We'll ask his opinion of it." "All we want to know," Gus told him, "is what you think of space polo." "Space polo," declared Meek, "is a noble game. It requires expert "I saw a game once," Meek volunteered. "Swell," bellowed Gus. "We'll have you coach our team." "But," protested Meek, "but ... but." Meek looked crestfallen. "Can't get near them, then," he said. "Sure you can," said Gus. "Why not?" "Well, a spacesuit's metal and...." "Got that all fixed up," said Gus. "You come back with me and I'll let you have a pair of stilts." "Stilts?" Seem to be scared of it, sort of. You can walk right among them if you want to, long as you're walking on the stilts." checker board, and now were settling down into their respective places preparatory to the start of another game. out the game. Apparently, in each case, the game had been finished. Which, Meek knew, should have meant that some solution had been reached, some point won, some advantage gained. popping in and out of holes. If there were opposing sides ... and if it were a game, there'd have to be ... they didn't seem to alternate the moves. Although, Meek admitted, certain rules and conditions which he had failed to note or side. Suddenly there was confusion on the board. For a moment a half-dozen of Then, as suddenly, all movement had ceased. And in another moment, they were on the move again, orderly again, but retracing their movements, going back several plays beyond the point of confusion. Just as one would do when one made a mistake working a mathematical Oliver Meek shut his eyes and groaned. "Gus will give me hell for this," he told himself. He shook his head dolefully. "This here Ring ain't ever going to be the same again. If we don't watch out, we'll find ourselves being polite to one another." "That would be awful," agreed Meek. "Wouldn't it, though," declared Gus. The syrupy, chamber of commerce voice of the announcer was shaky with excitement and pride. "Next week," he said, "the annual Martian-Earth football game will be played at Greater New York on Earth. But in the Earth's newspapers tonight another story has pushed even that famous classic of the delight. "The sporting event, ladies and gentlemen, that is being talked up and down the streets of Earth tonight, is one that will be played here in our own Saturnian system. A space polo game. To be played by two men have never played polo before. Few if any of them have even seen a "But they're going to play it. The men who ride those bucking rocks that make up the Inner Ring will go out into space in their rickety ships and fight it out. And ladies and gentlemen, when I say fight it out, I really mean fight it out. For the game, it seems, will be a sort of tournament, the final battle in a feud that has been going on in the Ring for years. No one knows what started the feud. It has gotten so it really doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that when men from sector Twenty-three meet those from sector Thirty-seven, the feud is taken up again. But that is at an end now. In a few days the feud will be played out to its bitter end when the ships from the Inner Ring go out into space to play that most dangerous of all sports, space polo. For the outcome of that game will decide, forever, the supremacy

<question>:
What is the likely outcome of the polo game?

<options>:
A Don’t know enough about their abilities to say
B Sector twenty-three wins
C Sector thirty-seven wins
D They will likely call a truce

<answer>:

A