Coach Hyatt Is a Riot!

by Dan Gutman

  My Weird School Daze #4

  Coach Hyatt Is a Riot!

  Dan Gutman

  Pictures by Jim Paillot

  Contents

  1 The Thing I Love

  2 Coach Hyatt Is Mean

  3 Cheerleaders Who Throw Up

  4 Weird Training Methods

  5 Dancing in the End Zone

  6 Rufus the Doofus

  7 The Sharks

  8 The First Half

  9 Halftime

  10 Our Secret Weapon

  11 The Moose Goes Nuts

  12 The Secret Play

  13 UFM*

  About the Author and the Illustrator

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  For Emma

  1

  The Thing I Love

  My name is A.J. and I love school.

  Going to school is just so much fun! I wish we could go to school at night. I wish we could go to school on the weekend. I wish we never had vacations.

  Just kidding!

  I hate school! Do you know what I would rather do than go to school? I would rather eat a dead-bug sandwich. No, I would rather eat a live-bug sandwich. That would be even worse than a dead-bug sandwich, because the bugs would still be moving around in the sandwich while I was eating it. Ugh, disgusting! But even more disgusting than eating a live-bug sandwich is going to school.

  I don’t hate everything, you know. Some stuff I love. Like video games. And skate-boarding. And trick biking.

  I’ll tell you the one thing that I really love more than anything in the world. And it’s not Andrea Young, this annoying girl in my class with curly brown hair.

  I love Pee Wee Football.

  In the fall I play football every Saturday. Football is cool because you get to push and shove and yell and knock kids on their butts. And the best part is, you don’t even get punished!

  At school, if you push and shove and yell and knock kids on their butts, you have to go to the principal’s office. But in football you’re supposed to push and shove and yell and knock kids on their butts.

  That’s why I hate school and love Pee Wee Football. If you ask me, the world would be a better place if they closed all the schools and turned them into Pee Wee Football camps.

  The only problem is, my team stinks! We’re called the Moose,* and we lost every game last season. Every game!

  The good news is, we’re getting a new coach this year named Coach Hyatt. I bet he’ll be a lot better than our old coach, Mr. Boozer. Mr. Boozer was a loser.

  I put on my uniform and shoulder pads to get ready for our first practice. Shoulder pads are cool because they make it look like you have big muscles. Our uniform is red, and we have red helmets with a lightning bolt down the middle.

  Mom drove me to practice at the high school field. We got out of the car and looked around until we found the other guys in the seventy-pound league.

  “Give me a good-bye hug, A.J.,” my mom said.

  Mom is always trying to hug me, especially in front of other kids. Moms are weird.

  “Not now, Mom.”

  “Hug me, A.J.,” my mom said.

  “No way.”

  “I want a hug, A.J.,” my mom said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Mom reached out to grab me. But I faked left. Then I faked right. Then I faked left again. Ha-ha! I totally faked out my mom! She can’t play football to save her life. Eat my dust, Mom!

  There were around twenty kids with red uniforms like mine. Some of them were in my class, and some others I didn’t know.

  “I can’t wait to meet Coach Hyatt,” said my friend Michael, who never ties his shoes.

  “I hope he lets me be the kicker,” said Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food.

  “I hope he lets me play fullback,” said Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes.

  “I hope he lets me be the quarterback because—”*

  I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence, because that’s when a cool car pulled up. It looked just like a real car, only smaller. Michael knows all about cars. He said it was a Mini Cooper.

  Coach Hyatt and some kid got out of the little car. They were coming over to us. The coach had on a red shirt and a red hat, and wore a whistle around his neck.

  But there was something really strange about him.

  He wasn’t a him at all!

  Coach Hyatt was…a lady!

  2

  Coach Hyatt Is Mean

  Girls aren’t supposed to be football coaches! That’s a scientific fact. What do girls know about pushing and shoving and knocking kids on their butts? Girls only care about puppies and butterflies, and what color nail polish they have on.

  But the lady who got out of the Mini Cooper was Coach Hyatt. I knew because she had a big name tag on her shirt that said MY NAME IS COACH HYATT. She blew her whistle.

  “Line up!” Coach Hyatt barked.

  We all looked at her. I wasn’t about to line up for some lady coach. Ladies don’t know the first thing about football. My mom thinks that sacking the quarterback means you put a bag over his head.

  Like I said, moms are weird.

  Coach Hyatt blew her whistle again.

  “I SAID, ‘LINE UP!’”

  We all lined up. Coach Hyatt looked mean. We were all shaking and shivering and quivering.

  “Now listen up!” she barked. “This is my son, Wyatt. He’s on the team, whether you like it or not.”

  Wyatt Hyatt? I knew right away this kid was weird.

  Wyatt was a little guy. He looked like he was in first grade. Wyatt was picking his nose and wiping it on his helmet.

  “I hope you kids are ready to work!” barked Coach Hyatt.

  “Uh, we’re here to play football,” I told her.

  “Well, you’re gonna work! And you’re gonna sweat! And you’re gonna stink! And you know what?”

  “What?” we all asked.

  “You’re gonna like it!” she barked.

  Coach Hyatt was scary! Some kids were already whimpering and saying they wanted to go home.

  “Aren’t you taking this a little too seriously?” asked Michael. “We’re only eight years old.”

  “When I was eight,” Coach Hyatt told us, “I built a log cabin with my bare hands.”

  I didn’t know what that had to do with anything. But I wasn’t about to complain, because Coach Hyatt seemed so mean.

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” one kid asked.

  “No!” Coach Hyatt barked. “Bathrooms are for losers. You’re weak! I’ll chew you up and spit you out. I’m gonna turn you ragamuffins into winners!”

  I didn’t know what a ragamuffin was. I figured it must be a muffin made out of rags, or a rag made out of muffins. But it didn’t matter. If winners are people who aren’t allowed to go to the bathroom, I think I’d rather be a loser.

  I didn’t even have to go to the bathroom; but after Coach Hyatt said we weren’t allowed to, suddenly I had to. I hate when that happens.

  She made us run all the way around the field, which is like a million hundred miles. Then she made us run all the way around the field backward, which is even farther. Then she made us run all the way around the field sideways!

  We were huffing and puffing and holding our sides. When we finished, Wyatt picked his nose. There was a big jug of Gatorade on the bench, but Coach Hyatt wouldn’t let us drink any.

  “Can we take a break now?” Ryan asked.

  “No!” Coach Hyatt barked. “Breaks are for losers.”

  I thought I was gonna die.

  3

  Cheerleaders Who Throw Up

  When my mom dropped me off for our next practice, she didn’t even try
to hug me. Some of the ragamuffins from the first practice didn’t come back. I guess they couldn’t take it.

  Coach Hyatt wasn’t there yet. But you’ll never believe in a million hundred years who pulled up in a blue minivan.

  A bunch of girls!

  It was that annoying Andrea Young, her crybaby friend Emily, and some other girly girls. They piled out of the minivan and came over to us.

  “Hi, Arlo!” said Andrea, who calls me by my real name because she knows I don’t like it. Andrea was wearing earrings that were little footballs and a necklace shaped like a goalpost.

  “What are YOU doing here?” I asked.

  “We’re cheerleaders!” said Emily.

  I knew Andrea took ballet classes after school. She takes Irish step dancing, too. And modern dance. And clog dancing.* That girl sure likes to dance. But I didn’t know she did cheerleading, too.

  “Since when do you do cheerleading?” I asked Andrea.

  “I’ve been cheering since I was four years old,” Andrea said.

  “Don’t you get tired?” I asked.

  “Very funny, Arlo.”

  “How can you cheer for football?” Michael asked Andrea. “You probably don’t even know what a touchdown is.”

  “Yeah!” agreed Ryan.

  “A touchdown is a scoring play in which any part of the ball, while legally in the possession of a player who is inbounds, crosses the plane of the opponent’s goal line,” Andrea said. “I read a book about football, so now I know all about it.”

  I hate her. Why can’t a goalpost fall on Andrea’s head?

  “Do you want to hear one of our cheers?” asked Emily. “We wrote them ourselves.”

  “Oh yes,” I said, “I’d love to…in the next century.”

  So of course Andrea and Emily did their cheer anyway. They danced around while chanting:

  “Jump in the air! Fall in the dirt.

  Just make sure no one gets hurt!

  Go…Moose!”

  “That cheer is lame,” I told them.

  “You’re mean, Arlo!” Andrea said.

  Their cheer was lame. Football cheers should be cool. I made up a cheer on the spot that was way better than their dumb cheer.

  “Bust ’em! Beat ’em! Make ’em bleed!

  Hit ’em till their eyeballs fall out.”

  “That doesn’t even rhyme,” Emily said.

  “And it’s so violent!” said Andrea. “We only do positive cheers that don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.”

  “Yes,” said Emily. “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game. Isn’t the important thing to have fun?”

  “No!” I said. “Where’d you get that crazy idea?”

  The girls did one of their routines where they throw each other up in the air while they do a cheer.

  “Laugh and play and shout and sing!

  Winning isn’t everything!

  Go…Moose!”

  What a lame cheer. But I had to admit that Andrea and her friends were pretty good at throwing each other up. In the air, that is. If you threw up a person, it would be disgusting.

  I remembered that in fizz ed, Andrea is always the one who can balance feathers, juggle scarves, and do stuff better than anybody else. She’s a good soccer player, too. But she’s still annoying.

  “Do you want to see us make a human pyramid?” asked Emily.

  “Why don’t you go to Egypt and make a real pyramid,” I suggested. “And don’t come back.”

  “Humphf!” said Andrea. She and the other cheerleaders stormed away to practice at the other end of the field.

  When girls get mad, they always say “Humphf.” Nobody knows why.

  4

  Weird Training Methods

  Coach Hyatt pulled up in her Mini Cooper with her weird son, Wyatt Hyatt. She blew her whistle.

  “Line up!” she barked. “I hope you ragamuffins are ready to work today.”

  “Are we gonna run more laps?” Michael asked.

  “No!”

  “Are we gonna do jumping jacks?” asked Ryan.

  “No!”

  “Are we gonna do push-ups?” asked Neil the nude kid.

  “No!”

  “Sit-ups?” I asked. “Touch our toes?”

  “No!”

  “Then what are we gonna do?” Michael asked.

  “You’re going to pick up my car,” said Coach Hyatt.

  “WHAT?!”

  “You heard me! Pick up my car!”

  “I can’t pick up a car,” I said.

  “You can’t pick up a car by yourself,” said Coach Hyatt. “But I bet that all of you can pick up my car together.”

  She told half of the team to grab the front bumper of the Mini Cooper and the other half of the team to grab the back bumper. Wyatt just picked his nose.

  “Okay,” Coach Hyatt said, “when I blow my whistle, pick up the car.”

  She blew her whistle, and we pulled up with all our might. And you’ll never believe in a million hundred years what happened.

  We picked up the Mini Cooper!

  “WOW,” we all said, which is “MOM” upside down.

  “Look at that!” Coach Hyatt barked. “You ragamuffins picked up a car! That’s teamwork! My motto is, ‘If you can pick up a car, you’ll go far.’”

  It seemed to me that you could go a lot farther if you got in the car and drove it somewhere. But still, it was cool to pick up a car, even if it was a Mini Cooper.

  Coach Hyatt had us pair off and pass the football back and forth. She said she wanted to see who could throw the ball and catch it. Ryan got teamed up with Neil. I got teamed up with Michael. Wyatt just picked his nose.

  I’m a good quarterback. Michael and I were passing and catching pretty good when one of my throws got past him. The ball rolled all the way over near the cheerleaders. Andrea picked it up.

  “Hey, throw it back!” Michael yelled.

  “What’s the magic word?” Andrea asked.

  “Please?” said Michael.

  Andrea picked up the football. And you’ll never believe in a million hundred years what happened next.

  She threw it way over all our heads! I mean, it must have gone fifty yards in the air. And it was a perfect spiral, too.

  “WOW!” we all said, which is “MOM” upside down.

  5

  Dancing in the End Zone

  When we arrived for our next practice, Andrea and the girly cheerleaders were practicing their routines at the other end of the field.

  “Losing! Winning! We won’t lie!

  We’re most happy with a tie!

  Go…Moose!”

  What a lame cheer. Finally, Coach Hyatt showed up in her Mini Cooper with her nose-picking son, Wyatt Hyatt. There was a guy sitting in the car with them, but he didn’t get out. Hmm, that was weird. Coach Hyatt blew her whistle.

  “Line up!”

  “Are we gonna pick up your car again today?” asked Neil.

  “No!” the coach barked. “Today you ragamuffins are going to learn the most important part of football—how to do an end zone dance.”

  “A what?” asked Ryan.

  “After you score a touchdown, you have to do a dance in the end zone,” Coach Hyatt said.

  Then Coach Hyatt showed us her end zone dance. She shook her butt, lifted a leg over her head, hopped up and down for a while, and then put her hands in the air and waved them around like a crazy person.

  Coach Hyatt is a riot!

  “Now you try,” she told us.

  We all shook our butts, lifted one of our legs over our heads, hopped up and down for a while, and put our hands in the air and waved them around like crazy people. Wyatt just picked his nose.

  “Can we have some Gatorade now?” asked Ryan.

  “No!” barked Coach Hyatt.

  After we learned the end zone dance, the coach went to her car. Remember that guy who was sitting in it? Well, it turned out he wasn’t a guy at all. He wasn’t a girl, either.
<
br />   He was a dummy.

  “This is my friend Elvis,” Coach Hyatt said as she carried the dummy over to us.

  Sure enough, the dummy looked just like the real Elvis. It sounded like him too. Coach Hyatt pushed a button on the back of the dummy and it started singing, “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog….”

  Coach Hyatt said we were going to use Elvis to practice our tackling. Tackling is fun, because you get to knock the dummy on its butt.

  We all lined up to tackle Elvis. I got to go first because my name begins with A.

  “Okay, A.J.,” said Coach Hyatt. “I want you to pretend this is somebody you really hate.”

  That was easy.

  “I’m gonna pretend it’s Andrea!” I told the guys.

  “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog!” sang Elvis.

  I pretended that the Elvis dummy was Andrea and rammed it as hard as I could.

  “Don’t be cruel!” sang Elvis as I got off him. “Ooooooooh! I’m all shook up.”

  “Good job, A.J.!” said Coach Hyatt.

  Each of us got to tackle the Elvis dummy five times. It was cool. Coach Hyatt showed us how to go for the legs so the runner would fall down. Wyatt just picked his nose. Doesn’t that kid ever run out of boogers?

  When we were finished, the coach blew her whistle and said we could take a drink from the Gatorade jug.

  That’s when Little Miss Perfect came over. She had on a cheerleading uniform and was holding pom-poms in her hands.

  “That was a very violent exercise you were doing,” Andrea told us. “Is it really necessary to hit the dummy so hard? I think that leads to violent behavior in children.”

  “Can you possibly be more boring?” I asked Andrea. “Why don’t you go back to your side of the field and work on your lame cheers?”