Victory Tour (Part 243)

I was awakened by someone gently shaking my shoulder. That was much nicer than how the trainers had reacted two weeks ago. When I went out and threw six touchdown passes against the Hawks.

I noticed Reggie, who'd thrown seven TDs last week against the Cardinals after being allowed to take a nap, was snoring softly on the next table over.

"You need to get up," I heard Morgan whisper in my ear. "It's after 4:30. I brought you a snack."

"Thank you, baby," I mumbled as I struggled to sit upright.

"Baby?" she smirked. "You've never called me that before."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "Thank you, Pretty Girl."

"I don't mind," she smiled. "As long as it's not for the same reason you call Marie baby. I've told you before, I'm not calling you Daddy."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," I said, thinking both little brunettes deserved to be put over my knee on occasion.

"Here, this'll help get you through the game," Morgan said, holding out a little sack from Rosa's as I climbed off the table.

"Thank you, baby," I smiled, accepting the bag. "You should probably get out of here. Guys are going to be changing clothes pretty soon."

"I don't mind," she grinned saucily.

"Yeah, but your parents might," I said. "I know I would. Git!"

"You're no fun," she mock pouted as she turned toward the fieldhouse lobby.

"Wait until our date tomorrow night," I smirked, heading to the locker room.

At my locker, I looked to see Morgan brought me a beef fajita taco. I wasn't especially hungry at the moment, but knew I would be in another hour or so. By which time it'd be too late to eat anything. There was also the matter of the O-line eating it for me. Those brutes consumed enough of my food for one day.

I scarfed it down in four bites, then hurried to change clothes while chewing and swallowing the last mouthful. Probably shoulda had a sip of water in there.

Dressed in the compression shorts, nylon shorts and the UnderArmour top, I grabbed the shoulder harness and headed back to the training room to get taped. A line was already forming, but Doc broke away long enough to get me in the harness. Stephanie Tucker's was the next table to come open. I took the chance she'd behave herself.

"Why was your grandma here all day?" the head coach's daughter asked as she began wrapping my ankles.

"She was substituting for Mr. Cochran," I said. "I had her first period and Mr. Dunwoody said she was to be in that room for the morning classes. I don't know what she had this afternoon."

"I got the feeling she was checking up on Daddy or something," Stephanie said, not realizing Karen and I qualified as "or something." "She made sure to invite us over for dinner tomorrow night. Like Daddy and Patty don't see enough of each other already. I bet I get to sleep over with your cousins so they can go over to his place."

Well, they are past 21, I thought. I don't think my grandmother would actively facilitate a sleepover unless things were getting serious, though. I guess I'd find out if I was meant to.

Assured my feet would stay on for the next few hours, I thanked Stephanie for her work and went to finish getting dressed. By now, I was an old hand at helping my fellow receivers get their jerseys on over their pads and tie on spirit rags. Some of the guys could use a trim. I don't think they'd seen a set of clippers since Sherry told us we could let our hair grow back in August.

There was just enough time to get my cleats laced up before Coach and his whistle followed by Morgan and her clipboard swung through. The buses were here. It was time to get a move on.

The ride to the stadium was strangely quiet. I chalked it up to guys thinking about it being Senior Night, but we were assured of playing one more home game next week in the first round. That's when the memories would take hold.

We arrived at the stadium and unloaded before 6. I was walking the field with Jed — it hadn't changed any since our game against the Cougars — when my buddy brought up my meeting from athletic period.

"I heard their AD got the boot," he said quietly. "Dad said we better be careful. Word is she was the only person who wanted to keep the Badgers' coach. If she's gone, he probably is, too. Wouldn't put it past ’im to try to take some of our guys out before he goes. Losin' somebody like Reggie or Marshawn could make for a pretty short playoff run."

"Does Coach Tucker know?" I asked.

"The captains met with ’im after lunch," Jed said. "He said we'd just have to see how they play it. Thing is, we still got so many guys out sick we won't be able to sub all 11 at once. Unless we use the scout team."

"We'd better jump on ’em fast, then," I said. "Three scores should be enough for the scout team to stay in front."

We joined our teammates behind the north end zone and donned our jerseys and pads. I noticed a few of the Badgers give us what may have been malevolent glances as they came down their ramp. At precisely 6:15, Morgan nodded, Coach blipped, we pranced, the crowd cheered.

Pregame went normally except for one thing. After the starters went through the script, Coach Tucker had me and the scout team run a few simple plays in the base offense. I think he wanted to see how we'd react to being on the field as a unit in front of an audience. At least there were no downfield passes. I didn't even take my gloves off.

After Fabrice and Jeremy both hit from 45 yards out, another whistle sent us up the ramp. More than half of us stopped there and started lining up in numerical order. Which meant I had to go almost all the way to the top. I should have asked for a smaller number, but there weren't any available.

Like at the pep rally, our parents or some other escort awaited us. Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa were there for me. I kind of wished Kacie, Morgan or Staci had been allowed to join in, but we were going to be in a rush to get through this already. Counting cheerleaders, support staff and escorts, we had nearly 200 people.

The PA announcer welcomed everyone with a little bit about the seniors' dedication, then got on with it.

"No. 1, quarterback Reggie Terrell ..." followed by a list of his achievements on varsity. It continued in the same vein for a while. Even the nonplayers had pretty good résumés.

I noticed Kelli Thornton joined Chuck and what I think were their moms. Mr. and Ms. Richards joined Jed. Dr. and Mrs. Taylor joined Marshawn, etc. I think that was Hans Dietrich accompanying David. I'd have to ask how work was going on the 300 SL.

Then it got to me. It was no surprise I had the shortest intro — this was my first year playing, after all — but the reaction was even worse than at the pep rally. It sounded like some of the moms were joining their teenage daughters in cheering for me.

"No. 98, slot receiver Gary Robinson," the PA guy said, setting off the ruckus. "This is his first season on varsity. Gary is escorted by his parents, Doug and Claire, and grandparents, Hal and Millie Robinson."

We walked to the end of the line, which wasn't all that far. Poor Reggie and his family were practically in the other end zone now. Maybe having a high number wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

We wrapped up with "No. 99, defensive lineman Oscar Hurtado" and headed back to the dressing room for final instructions. Other than being told we'd won the toss a deferred, there wasn't much as far as the game went.

But Coach Tucker did warn us not to retaliate if provoked. We couldn't afford to have anyone suspended for next week's playoff game. He'd deal with things if it came to that.

"Keep your head on a swivel and try to protect your teammates," he said before sending us out.

Guys were talking about what to do as we gathered behind the runthrough tunnel.

"It's real simple, guys," I said, getting everyone's attention. "We put it on them so fast and so hard they won't want to provoke us. That whole deal with the eligibility case was just to get us kicked out of the playoffs so one of them could get in. Why someone would want to subject a team to the kind of humiliation that'd lead to is beyond me, but we oughta be able to show them what they woulda been in for!"

"He's right," Danny Mathis said. "They wanted to be given what we earned! Let ’em see we ain't gonna give ’em nothin' but a whoopin!' Team on three!"

We burst out of the tunnel to a thunderous ovation and took our places on the sideline as the captains went out to reenact the coin toss — we won and deferred, go figure. As our band, which pretty much doubled the number of Badgers fans in the stands (including their band and drill team), played the anthem, I noticed the visiting sideline full of disdainful looks aimed in our direction.

Whatever, dudes.

Coach Ramirez sent the kickoff team out, Jeremy boomed one through the north end zone and the fun began.

The Badgers picked up one first down when Dontrell Williams tried for an interception and missed, but that was about it. I noticed our defensive front shaking off opponents after every play and a couple of defensive backs just walked away from receivers who were quick to start jawing after passes sailed over their heads.

This was about to get ugly, I thought as Coach Ramirez sent out the punt return team. He made sure to tell me no funny stuff.

I lined up about our 25, roughly 40 yards off the ball, and watched as a kid in a white uniform with purple and gold trim shanked one that didn't even reach our 40. I didn't even move until the play was blown dead.

That didn't keep the gunner on our sideline from getting close on his way off the field.

"You goin' down, faggot!" he sneered.

"Not on you," I snorted as a zebra came over to keep things under control.

On our first play, a toss sweep to the left, our side, the Badgers showed max blitz.

"KILL! KILL!" Reggie called out, which I'm sure pleased Scottie Pipkin to no end.

The wide receivers each signaled their acknowledgement, Jed snapped, Reggie pumped right and lofted a deep pass to Ronnell racing down our sideline. It took us eight seconds to take the lead.

Then the shit started. Reggie came sprinting to the sideline as the offensive line and Javon Marcus set up a protective wall. Badgers players were still trying to get to our quarterback after the ball was not only long gone, but in the end zone!

"Them boys jus' wanna hurt people!" he shouted at Coach Tucker, who was looking rather perturbed.

After a quick word with the referee to keep an eye on that crap, he sent the PAT unit in. Which resulted in probably the craziest play I ever heard of, let alone participated in.

I counted to 11 and Fabrice lined things up, setting the tee down where he wanted me to place the ball. Then Jed's snap rolled back to me.

"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!" I shouted, scooping the ball up and racing to my left.

Jay Clark, the wing blocker on that side, released and waved a hand at me. I squared up as best I could and threw the ball his direction. If I'd squared up a little better, my pass might have been on target.

As it was, the ball hit Jay on the back shoulder and bounced up in the air. It came down in the hands of the dude who'd called me a faggot.

Oh, hell no.

As the Badger defender tried to find a way through the traffic, I found another gear and headed his way. The only guy behind me, Fabrice, wasn't out there for his tackling ability.

At about the 5-yard line, I put my left shoulder in the dude's gut with my helmet on the ball. The ball then went squirting goalward and more mayhem ensued. I'm not sure what happened, but I think someone may have kicked or batted it because the ball went rolling out of the back of the end zone.

The guy who intercepted and fumbled still lay on the ground, writhing in agony. Get over it, Princess. It's not like Marshawn Taylor hit ya.

The officials huddled while the Badgers training staff hurried out to tend to the guy. It sounded like derisive shouts were being directed at me from the far sideline as I returned to the bench.

"Dude! Where'd that come from?" Jed shouted as the rest of the PAT team caught up to me.

"Just did what needed to be done," I said. "I picked us to get a shutout and damn sure don't want to be the reason we don't. What happened on the snap?"

"Same thing as the Tigers," Jed said "DT was in the gap and swatted at the ball. They flagged his ass this time."

Doc checked to make sure my left shoulder was still intact — it was, but I could foresee getting a massage from Marie tonight — as Coach Tucker and the Badgers head coach listened in on the zebras. There was more jawing and pointing when they broke up. I hoped it wasn't going to be like this all night. At this rate, Marie would be done ovulating by the time we finished the game.

Then the referee made an announcement that I totally wasn't expecting.

"We have a very rare ruling," he announced over the stadium speakers. "On a try after touchdown, the defending team intercepted a pass in the field of play. After establishing possession in the field of play, the intercepting player then fumbled into the end zone. The ball rolled out of the end zone before a player on either team gained possession. The result is a one-point safety awarded to the kicking team. The foul against the defense is declined. The score is 7-0."

What the fuck?!?!?! A one-point safety? I'd never heard of such a thing. And Jed and I had watched hundreds, maybe thousands, of games over the years.

"I've heard of it happening when a defender catches a blocked kick outside the end zone and gets tackled behind the goal line," Coach Ramirez said. "First time I've ever seen one, though. It's happened in college a few times, but never the NFL."

"Good job, Robinson," Coach Tucker said after taking up his usual station. "Way to play to the whistle."

Dude shouldn't have called me a faggot.

Jeremy put another one out of the end zone and the defense went back to work. There was even more shaking off opposing players, even a few shoves, as the Badgers seemed determined to play beyond the whistle. Reggie was right, these boys just wanted to hurt somebody.

The defense actually backed off on third down, avoiding contact all along the front. With absolutely no pursuit, the Badger running back slipped and fell for a short loss as he tried to get around the end. I guess there were some slick spots after the rain we had this week.

I dropped back for another punt, fully expecting to let it go again. This one wasn't shanked, but it didn't get to me, either.

What almost did get to me was the gunner from the other side. The whistle had blown and officials were waving their arms to stop the clock when the screaming fucktard dived at my knees. I dodged him and started skipping backward toward our sideline, looking all around me to make sure none of his homies had the same idea.

Then the idiot tried it again, getting the attention of the men in striped shirts. I'm not completely positive, but I could swear I heard someone from our stands shout "¡Olé!" as I dodged him again.

There wasn't a third time. Two zebras collared the dude and escorted him off the field. His night was over, we got a free 15 and Coach Tucker's blood pressure rose a little higher.

Then it soared through the roof on first down. We ran our original first play, toss sweep left, this time with Marcell Powers at running back. Hank Preston pulled and led the blocking. Then their left defensive end blew through the hole and took aim at Reggie's knees.

This time, Chuck peeled back and saved our season, getting a hat on the dude before he got to Reggie. This time, there was more than a little shouting and shoving. I saw at least one punch thrown, but couldn't tell by which side.

Offsetting fouls negated Marcell's touchdown, but that wasn't what set off Coach Tucker. He drew a flag himself when he stormed out on the field to protest the blatant ploys of the Badgers.

"Then we'll forfeit!" I heard him shout as he pulled the offense off the field.

Even none of the stunts I'd pulled had ever set him off like this.

The referee apparently wanted to avoid the paperwork such a move would require. He didn't get paid enough to put up with this crap, either. He gave Coach one minute — we were charged a timeout — to decide before crossing the field to lay down the law with the Badgers coach. The ref wasn't against ruling the game a forfeit against them if things continued.

"We'll do it, Coach," I heard from behind me.

"What was that?" Coach snapped, giving me a death stare. Hey, I didn't say anything.

I turned to see the morbidly obese kid, the one who was first to blow chunks the night of the Barf Barrels, and the rest of the scout team step forward.

"We'll play," the kid, who played defensive line on the scout team, repeated.

"I don't want anyone getting hurt, Buddy," Coach said. "Let the district committee handle this."

"If we get hurt, you'll have the JV to run scout team next week," the one I recognized as Morales, the scout team fullback, said. "Be better than losin' Reggie again. Besides, we'll just turn Robinson loose on ’em. He's already put two of their guys out."

Coach thought about it for a bit, which didn't make me feel good.

"You OK with that, Robinson?" he asked.

"Are you confident Scottie can handle holding for kicks?" I asked.

"Fine," he said. "SULLY! MAC! Let's figure out what we want these boys to do."

Coach Sullivan, the offensive coordinator, thought a mix of our regular offense with an occasional Wing-T play would be best. The only passes would be jet sweeps and screens, but doubted there'd be many of those.

Our regular wide receivers would carry in plays, run a fly route, and get the hell off the field. We just had to figure out what to run first. We were facing first-and-25 at our own 28 after Coach's deadball penalty.

"How about the Wing-T toss sweep to the right," Coach McEntire suggested. "Either make them call TO or put that end on his butt."

The only problem I saw with that was it would be my job to put him there.

"Can we have the music?" one of the scout teamers asked.

"What?" Coach Tucker asked as the referee came over to tell us it was time to piss or get off the pot.

"The music like Gary did against the Cougars," another one said. "It all started with us in the first place."

"No explicit lyrics, Robinson," Coach growled.

"Yes, sir," I grinned.

"One last thing," he said, grabbing me by the arm as I turned to take the field. "I want you to send them a message, got me?"

"Gladly, sir," I grinned wickedly, thinking I knew just where to dump the bodies.

I hurried out to join the huddle before first-and-25 became first-and-30.

"All right, gentlemen, we know what to do, let's do it," I said. "Every cheap shot by them is answered with a touchdown. Now, who likes Garth? Oh, what am I sayin?' Everybody likes Garth."

We hurried to line up, the Badgers showing more than a little confusion at the new alignment.

"Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots and ruined your fancy affair," I called out. "The last one to know, the last one to show, I am the last one you thought you'd see here. And I see the surprise and the hate in your eyes as I take the time to explain. Now I look at you, say homie this game ain't through. Get ready, ’cause here comes the pain! READYGO!"

I took the snap, spun left, tossed to the wingback (Rivera, I believe) and continued spinning around. I got around the corner and put my left shoulder right on the solar plexus of that defensive end, who landed on his ass. He'd learn quarterbacks could hit back.

Rivera went for six yards before being ushered out of bounds on the Badgers' sideline, but got his ass outta there before anything happened.

"Line up! Same play!" I shouted, waving Jordan Johnson off the field. "Well, I guess I was wrong, I just don't belong, but then I've been there before. Everything's all right, I'll just say good night and I'll show myself to the door. Hey, I didn't mean to cause a big scene. Just give me an hour and then, well, I'll be as high as that ivory tower that you're READYGO!"

Things repeated themselves except the defensive end was knocked back a couple of steps and Rivera went for 13 yards. We were cookin' now, third-and-6.

"Same play! Run it again!" I commanded as the scout teamers rushed to get in place. "Time for Garth's special third verse, only performed at live shows. Well, I guess I was wrong, I just don't belong, but then I've been there before. Everything's all right, I'll just say good night and I'll show myself to the door. Hey, I didn't mean to cause a big scene. Just wait ’til I finish this glass and sweet little lady I'll head back to the bar and you can READYGO!"

This time, I knocked the sweet little lady back several steps, Rivera found a seam to cut back and it was 13-0.

"Fuck this shit!" the defensive end swore, flinging his helmet off the field. "I'm outta here! This muthafucka crazy!"

That, of course, drew a few flags, but the touchdown stood. I didn't pay attention to the ref's announcement as I hustled down for the PAT, so I couldn't tell you if the guy was ejected or just quit in the middle of the game. Can't say I really cared one way or the other.

Jed, Fabrice and the PAT team joined me, I took attendance and the Badgers didn't try anything stupid. I think they were starting to understand, but we all backed our way off the field just to be sure. Still seven minutes to go in the first quarter and we were up 14-0.

Rivera was receiving congratulations on the sideline when I arrived. I don't know that he ever had a varsity rushing attempt before that and now he had 72 yards with a 53-yard TD.

"I thought I said no explicit lyrics," Coach said when I arrived.

"And I didn't use any," I said. "I called for the snap first."

"Don't push it, Robinson," he grunted.

With the penalty, Fabrice was sent in to kick and dropped a high pooch right on top of the return man at the goal line. The kid muffed it. We still sent the regular coverage unit out there for some reason and Marshawn recovered in the end zone for the easiest TD you could hope for. The PAT unit hadn't finished celebrating the last one before we were right back out there to make it 21-0. We might challenge Georgia Tech-Cumberland at this rate.

And I think the officials realized that. The clock was already running as we lined up to kick off again. I remembered Dad's crack about the only thing worth betting on this week. I seriously doubt he expected before the midway point of the first quarter. Maybe we could get six more possessions and hit my pick of 63 the rest of the way.

The scout team defense with a couple of guys from the bottom 11 went out after Jeremy boomed another touchback. Don't tell the starters I said this, but I don't think they'd have done any better. There was a lot less shaking off opposing blockers after the whistle this time.

Buddy, the morbidly obese kid, lined up at nose and completely shut down the inside running game. He also shoved the Badgers center back into the quarterback even though they were in the shotgun.

I think whatever fight the Badgers had was just about knocked out of them.

Coach didn't even let me go out there for the punt, just left the defense on the field. They were under orders to look for a fake and let the kick go. The punt still barely went 30 yards.

There was about three minutes left in the quarter when I went out with the scout team offense. The first play was just a dive to Morales out of our base set, one of the first plays they teach seventh-graders.

"Somebody gimme a beat," I said before we headed out and was surprised when someone did. It was even the one I was thinking of. "Time to strut our stuff, guys. This hit, that ice cold Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold. This one for them hood girls, them good girls, straight masterpieces. Stylin,' wilin,' livin' it up in the city. Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent. Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty."

The Badgers defense — with a new left end, I noticed — just glared at us as we lined up. I couldn't resist having a little more fun with these dickheads.

"I'm too hot (Hot damn), call the police and the fireman," I called out, hopping over to Morales' other side on the hot damns. "I'm too hot (Hot damn), make a dragon wanna retire, man. I'm too hot (Hot damn), say my name, you know who I am. I'm too hot (Hot damn), and my team ’bout that trophy, READYGO!"

Morales got us a first down before being replaced by a kid named Cash (pretty sure his first name wasn't Johnny), who was playing halfback in our Wing-T set. The call was a stretch play to our left. We were running a lot of stuff to our home sideline tonight. I don't think it mattered, other than keeping guys away from the Badgers bench.

"Girls hit your hallelujah (Woo)! Girls hit your hallelujah (Woo)! Girls hit your hallelujah (Woo)! ’Cause uptown funk gon' give it to you (Woo)! ’Cause uptown funk gon' give it to you! ’Cause uptown funk gon' give it to you. It's Friday night and we in the spot. Don't believe me, just READYGO!"

Cash got us another first down and was a step away from breaking it. Then Alex Dewerson brought in the wingback buck sweep before lining up on our sideline. I noticed all our messengers, who we'd need in the future, just went to our side and ran a fly route. Coach wasn't taking any chances by putting one of our regulars over on the Badgers' side.

"Stop, wait a minute. Fill my hand put a football in it. Take a step, score a touch. Julio, get the stretch. Ride to Harlem, Hollywood, Jackson, Mississippi. If we show up, we gon' show out, smoother than a fresh READYGO!"

I stuck the ball into Morales' belly and watched the defense converge. Rivera was 10 yards past the line and running free before they figured it out. I hurried to the north end for the extra point before the quarter could end.

"Before we leave, lemme tell y'all a lil' somethin,'" I called out as I counted to 11 in the huddle. "Uptown funk you up, uptown funk you up. Uptown funk you up, uptown funk you up. Come on, dance, jump on it. If you sexy, then flaunt it. If you freaky, then own it."

Fabrice made it 28-0 and one of the Badgers felt the need to chastise me for cultural appropriation. At least I think that was his complaint.

"Damn white boy thank he's as street as Bruno Mars," the guy said.

"Bruno Mars ain't street, he's beach," I said loud enough for him to hear.

"Whatchoo talkin' ’bout, boy?" he asked, stepping toward me menacingly as my teammates and zebras rushed to intervene.

"Bruno Mars isn't black," I said. "His real name's Peter Hernandez. His mom's Filipina and his dad's Puerto Rican. He was born and raised in Hawaii, Waikiki, if I remember right."

You woulda thought I said Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn't black the way the Badgers responded. More cussing, more flags, teammates telling me to shut my mouth and get my butt off the field.

"What'd you say?" Coach demanded when I reached the sideline.

"That Bruno Mars isn't black," I said, receiving a confused look.

"I told you not to push it," he growled. "Take a seat."

"Yes, sir," I said, resisting the urge to tell him I was just sending a message.

"You serious?" Lloyd Daniels asked as I reached the bench. "Bruno really from Ha-wy-ya?"

"Yep," I grinned.

"I'm gonna hafta check that out," Marshawn said as Coach Ramirez sent the backup coverage unit out to start the second quarter. It didn't matter. Jeremy put it out of the end zone and our guys got their butts off the field.

"You think that's bad, the song's credited to a white guy," I said. "It's Mark Ronson featuring Bruno Mars."

"Who's Mark Ronson?" Willie Joseph, who apparently still held out hope of seeing action at a skill position, asked.

"The guitar player in the video," I said as the scout team defense forced another three-and-out.

"Ah, hell nah!" Willie spat. "The nerdy white dude?"

"According to ASCAP," I said, grabbing my helmet to go see if I could further humiliate our opponents. I wanted to get two more before halftime.

Coach apparently was more interested in just getting the game over with. We were instructed to run dive left and dive right out of a double tight set until told otherwise, which would only happen if we faced third-and-long. Even then, it would probably be a running play.

And I was told to watch it with my musical selections. I should consider showtunes if I knew any.

The first part of the plan went ... to plan, for lack of a better term. The other part ... well, there were no explicit lyrics, at least.

"White boy thanks he hardcore," I heard a Badgers defender scoff.

OK, they want hardcore, I can do hardcore. Everyone in our huddle agreed with my idea.

"The first thing I remember knowin' is a lonesome whistle blowin' and a young un's dream of growin' up to ride," I called out, doing a pretty decent rap beat (in my mind, at least), "on a freight train leavin' town, not knowin' where I'm bound. No one could change my mind but READYGO!"

Morales popped through the hole and had about eight yards as the Badgers seemed to expect more of our tricks instead of straight-ahead football. Which I guess was a trick in its own right.

"One and only rebel child from a family meek and mild, my momma seemed to know what lay in store." I called out. "Despite all my Sunday learnin,' towards the bad I kept on turnin' ’til Momma couldn't READYGO!"

Morales took it across midfield and Cash came on to take a turn.

"Dear old Daddy, rest his soul, left my ma a heavy load," I called. "She tried so very hard to fill his shoes, workin' hours without rest, wantin' me to have the best. She tried to raise me right but READYGO!"

Cash took it down to the 20 as the scout team line, none of whom weighed as much as 220, continued to blow holes through the defense. I could only imagine what our starters could have done if these assholes hadn't tried to cripple them. As it was, another Badger got scraped off the turf after getting trampled. I think that was five and I didn't have anything to do with this one.

"I turned 21 in prison doin' life without parole," I called. "No one could steer me right, but Momma tried. Momma tried to each me better, but her pleading I denied. That leaves only me to blame ’cause READYGO!"

Cash took it the rest of the way and Coach decided to save the rest of the PAT unit. Travis Murtaugh came in to snap and Fabrice to kick. The center, whose name I still hadn't learned despite spending so much time with my hands on his butt, and Cash were the only ones to depart. Still, Fabrice made it 35-0 and we were barely halfway through the second quarter.

Jeremy looked almost bored as he blasted another kickoff and hurried off the field. I don't think any of the backup coverage guys even went past the 30 before heading to the sideline. They all kept looking over their shoulder just to make sure the Badgers behaved.

The Badgers offense looked like they'd totally lost interest. The running backs tiptoed around like they were just looking for a soft spot to fall down. The receivers quit their routes if they so much as got bumped. The quarterback was only too happy to throw the ball away before pressure could even get close. And our scout defense was eatin' it up.

Another short punt was allowed to roll just across the 50 and the scout offense went back to work, still running seventh-grade plays.

This time, I went with another song that held special meaning for Grandpa. He didn't necessarily like it, but said it reminded him of some guys from the Army. A few didn't come home.

"He turned 35 last Sunday," I called out. "In his hair he found some gray. But he still ain't changed his lifestyle. He likes it better the old way. So he grows a little garden in the backyard by the fence. He's consuming what he's growing nowadays in self-defense. He gets out there in the twilight zone sometimes when it just don't READYGO!"

Morales for a first down on a play he almost broke. He better be careful. I didn't want to score before the third verse.

"Yeah, he gets off on country music ’cause disco left him cold," I called. "He's got young friends into new wave, but he's just too dang old. And he dreams at night of Woodstock and the day John Lennon died, how the music made him happy and the silence made him cry. Yeah, he thinks of John sometimes and he has to READYGO!"

Morales dang near popped another one. I was surprised Coach left him in, but he was the only scout team back who hadn't scored yet. Coach just spun his finger when I looked to see if anyone was bringing in a play. Run it again.

OK by me. Time for the verse that made Grandpa reach for the Jack.

"He was sure back in the ’60s that everyone was hip," I called. "Then they sent him off to Vietnam on his senior trip. And they forced him to become a man while he was still a boy. And behind each wave of tragedy, he waited for the joy. Now this world may change around him, but he just can't change READYGO!"

Morales took it to the house, which was just as well. The fourth verse had a couple of drug references that would probably get me in trouble.

Travis and Fabrice came out and increased the lead to 42-0. I tried to calculate if we'd have time for another possession before halftime. It'd be close.

"What was that song?" Coach asked as I came off the field.

"'Old Hippie' by the Bellamy brothers," I answered. "Came out back about the time my Aunt Karen was born."

"Well, White Hat requested you remove it from your repertoire," Coach said. "He lost a brother in Nam. In fact, just can it with the music the rest of the night. You've had your fun."

"Yes, sir," I said, heading to the bench.

"What was that about?" Jed asked.

"My musical selection seems to have caused some unpleasant memories to resurface," I said. "I've been taken off the air."

"Aww, man, that was the best part about watchin' this thing," Chuck whined. "Now we ain't got nothin' but the fight song. And I'm gonna be hearin' that in my sleep tonight."

Ben there, done that, I thought. Two or three times this season.

I guess the offense wasn't going to get another chance this half. The Badgers lined up to punt with 36 seconds left. I don't know why they didn't let the clock run down, but another short kick rolled to a stop near midfield. Looks like I'll finally get to take a snap in Victory Formation.

Then one of the scout team cornerbacks swooped in among three Badgers who seemed to think the last few seconds would be allowed to tick off if they didn't touch it. The kid scooped the ball up and set sail for the end zone. Fortunately, it was for the correct end zone. I still wanted a shutout.

"That looks like somethin' you woulda done," Chuck snorted as I headed out for another extra point.

Maybe a month ago, I thought. I just hope Coach doesn't blame me for it. I wasn't intentionally being a bad influence on these guys. But the scout team was definitely taking advantage of its moment in the spotlight. That was the fourth one to score.

Fabrice made it 49-0 and we headed up the ramp. I wondered if I'd have time for another nap as the hundred or so band seniors were introduced. I'd been told I might play more than normal, but I don't think anyone expected it to be this much.

The only adjustments to make were whether to run right or left more in the second half. That would be determined by which end the Badgers elected to kick from. We'd run 14 offensive plays and scored five touchdowns, most of it by the scout team. The starters officially ran just one play since Marcell's TD was called back.

Our second kickoff return unit was under orders to call for a fair catch and not to attempt a return. The scout defense was told to let all punts roll dead. Any more stunts like the last one would earn 50 gassers.

The disappointment was palpable when we were informed all snap counts would be on "ready, go" and nothing else. Every violation would earn me 50 gassers. I'd better make sure the rest of the guys kept their mouths shut. Jed and Chuck were a little put out I hadn't had any extra running this week, but it hadn't hurt us so far.

Coach Sullivan and Coach Fuller both wanted to see a few more Wing-T plays. Coach Tucker agreed with the stipulation they could only be on third downs. We'd only had one so far. Then I was ordered to not call for a snap with more than five seconds on the play clock. The goal was to get things over with.

So, naturally, the Badgers had to fuck things up before I even took the field.

The band was just wrapping up as we went back down the ramp. It seems the Badgers band didn't even bother to perform and was already packing up to go home. Couldn't really blame ’em. Too bad they didn't take what was left of the football team along with them.

On the kickoff, some numbnuts had to show he wasn't scared of us and plastered Jesse Garcia, one of our backup safeties, who had called for a fair catch. We'd start at our own 42 after the penalty.

"Robinson, fullback trap out of the Wing-T," Coach Tucker commanded, receiving immediate approval from Morales.

"Yes, sir," I said, heading out to follow his orders.

I waited for the play clock to reach 10 before stepping under center. The line executed things better than they had in practice the last couple of days, the Badgers played it like they'd never even heard of the concept and Morales took it to the house. One play into the half and we were lining up to make it 56-0.

We didn't stop there.

This time, the Badgers almost crossed midfield. They never got past their 30, but the quarterback heaved one deep to a receiver who looked open. Then our scout team free safety recovered to intercept it before going out of bounds on their side. Where he promptly got punched by some idiot who still hadn't gotten the memo.

I thought Coach was going to storm their sideline to address matters. Instead, he sent Marvin Johnson with the training staff to make sure everyone returned safely. Have I mentioned that Marv can be rather intimidating? If anything had happened, I wouldn't have been surprised if Miss Carla ordered Sarge to open fire with his new Barrett.

Our revenge was another Wing-T play Coach Fuller wanted to get a look at. But this wasn't one we'd practiced yet. It was basically built off the buck sweep to the wingback, only this time the halfback ran a reverse going the other way, taking a handoff from the wingback after I did my part.

I tried not to laugh too loud as several defenders ran into each other trying to keep up with the play. Cash scored easily, giving us three 100-yard backs for the night, each with two touchdowns. I don't think the three combined had more than 20 yards coming into the night.

Fabrice's kick got me the bonus question if we ended things right now. Unfortunately, we still had another quarter and a bit to play. I wondered if the clock operator could be convinced to put up eight minutes like they did for junior high games.

Jeremy boomed another one, the Badgers tried three runs up the gut and were forced to punt again. At least we were in the fourth quarter now with the clock running. The scout teamers did everything they could to not score on every play, but it was difficult.

Running the most basic plays, we drove down inside the 10 with about eught minutes to go. Then Willie finally got his wish.

"Fullback power," he said as he joined the huddle to replace Morales. "I get to be the fullback."

It took Willie two plays to get in, mostly because he tried to run over all 11 defenders before he scored. Or at least that's what it looked like to me. I think the only reason he didn't get a defensive back stuck in his cleats was they stayed back deep enough he couldn't get to them.

For a second, I thought one of their guys was going to take a shot. Then I think he realized Willie might fall on him if he did. They were slowly learning not to fuck with us. They needed to be checked for learning disabilities, though.

Jeremy was sent in with Travis this time, making me turn around to take the snap. It would have been more fun to make Jeremy kick right-footed.

Fabrice then sent a roller down the middle that one of our coverage guys almost got to. The Badgers' return man finally realized he'd better get on the ball. Too bad he was inside his 10 when he reached that realization.

That just set up Buddy for what I thought was the play of the night. He stood up the center with one hand and grabbed the running back with the other. Well, actually, he grabbed the ball from the running back, then dragged the kid along for a couple of steps. With linemen hitting him from every angle, Buddy waded through the pile to the 1-yard line. The dude might be fat, but was strong as an ox.

Then he started to fall.

The kid who thought better of serving as a landing pad for Willie could've at least been nice enough share his wisdom with his teammates. There were at least two guys under Buddy when he landed across the goal line for the touchdown. I know that because that's how many had to be scraped off the turf before Jeremy could kick the extra point to make it 77-0.

Fabrice sent another roller down the middle that the Badgers thought to get on quickly this time. Then they made a first down as the clock ticked under five minutes. There was a little over three minutes left when they gave it up on downs. Two knees oughta do it.

For the first time in my life, I actually took a snap in Victory Formation and hit the turf. Then one of the stupid fucks blew through and hit me. Directly on my aching left shoulder.

Flags, whistles, curses, shoves, Gary saying "Owwww!"

Coach and the trainers came out to check on me as the penalty was marked off and the offending defender sent off. They had to put a receiver at defensive back to have 11 on the field. At least my shoulder didn't pop out of joint, it just hurt like fuck-all.

"Want me to get Mario in here?" Coach asked.

"Nah, I can manage one more," I groaned. "Need to send these boys one last message. Don't worry. I promise not to score."

Coach just stared at me as he reconsidered putting Mario in.

"I'll hold you to that," he finally said. "Otherwise, 100 gassers."

The scout team huddled and I called the buck sweep to the wingback out of the Wing-T, heading toward our sideline. I let the clock tick down under 10 seconds — didn't want to leave any time if I could help it — before "READYGO!"

A hand went into Morales' belly, then Rivera's. Then I pulled the ball back and bootlegged around the other end. Down the Badgers' sideline. I was mildly surprised no one came off the bench to tackle me, but I didn't get that close.

The buzzer sounded as I crossed the 10 and I continued inside the 5 before stopping. Then I pitched the ball out of the back of the end zone for a touchback.

It would count as a lost fumble on the stat sheet, but I considered it the ultimate "FUCK YOU" to these guys. Kinda like those secret military operations where one side lets the other know what could have happened if they really wanted it to.

Still, I got my ass to our sideline at least as fast as I'd run on that play. I really shouldn't have dropped three loads since Wednesday night. My legs were rubbery.

Coach just shook his head at me. I guess I pushed it again.

We lined up for the postgame handshake to see the Badgers heading straight to their buses. Their trainers and managers were scrambling to load their gear before they got left behind.

Give my regards to Coach Westmoreland, I thought.

We raised our helmets for the school song — our band was the only people left in the east stands — and Coach gave us a fairly long speech on the values of sportsmanship and maintaining discipline. Then he awarded a game ball to the scout team as a unit. They deserved it.

Art Riddell and people with TV cameras descended. I declined comment and told them to go talk to our three backs who'd each rushed for 100 yards and two TDs.

The relatives and girlfriends arrived for hugs and kisses. Then Marie arrived with a fairly attractive 30-something blonde woman who seemed vaguely familiar.

"Daddy, this is Josephine," my little pet said. "You have to save her!"