by Steve Moore
Spiro’s next football game was against the defending league champions: Chaney Middle School, “Home of the Werewolves.”
It was an away game. On the way there, Joey, Carlos, and I were sitting in the worst seats on the bus—at the very front. As usual, Jimmy Jimerino and his posse hogged all the best seats at the very back of the bus where they could get away with all kinds of fun shenanigans.
I was sitting next to Coach Earwax, who was preoccupied with his usual habit during bus rides to away games.
Yanking hairs out of your nostrils requires total concentration, so I knew Coach wouldn’t notice when I decided to practice with the Magic N64.
At one point, we stopped at an intersection where an elderly woman with a walker was trying to cross the street through a crowd of pedestrians holding coffee cups in one hand and cell phones in the other.
She was getting bumped and jostled just like a running back. Perfect test subject.
I pushed the Start button on the controller and pointed it at the woman. Then I worked the joystick and buttons.
She dodged left. She dodged right. I pushed the joystick forward with my thumb.
Well, the elderly woman didn’t sprint like a running back, but she did shuffle a little bit faster and cut through the pedestrians all the way to the safety of the far curb.
She must have gained some confidence because, as our bus pulled away, I looked back and saw her get bumped again on the sidewalk by a man in a suit who was talking on his cell phone. She raised her walker overhead and conked the guy right on top of his noggin.
After my experiment with the pedestrian, I stuffed the Magic N64 back in my bag. Our bus had arrived at Chaney.
The school is built like a medieval fortress. We drove through rusty iron gates that looked like something in an old horror movie.
The gates squeaked loudly when they opened, as if the hinges were all rusty from several centuries of exposure to dark and stormy nights.
As our bus rolled slowly through the parking lot, scattered packs of Chaney students stared at us with menacing scowls on their faces. They looked as if, at any second, they might charge and attack the rear tires of the bus.
And there were crows that looked like vultures perched in gnarly trees with no leaves. And a black cat dashed across in front of our bus—I’m not even making that up!
Coach Earwax wasn’t too concerned, though. He had been to Chaney many times before and had never been severely injured. He tried to calm our nerves.
That wasn’t helpful.
Chaney Middle School had a reputation as the scariest team in the league. Our game was at night, during a full moon, so it was especially creepy.
The most frightening Chaney player of all was a big, hairy guy nicknamed “Beast.”
Beast was standing next to the entrance to the visitors’ locker room. Apparently, he was the self-appointed Official Werewolves Greeter.
But he wasn’t smiling like a normal greeter. Beast growled and gnashed his teeth like a lunatic. I’m pretty sure he was foaming at the mouth.
It was Beast’s way of trying to mess with our minds before the game even started. And it was pretty effective.
We all tiptoed past Beast and into the locker room with our heads lowered to avoid eye contact—even Coach Earwax!
But not Mosi Humuhumunukunukuapua’a. He had no reason to avoid eye contact. Mosi was as big as Beast.
Mosi walked past Beast and looked him right in the eyes. Then he flashed a big, wide grin and greeted Beast, Hawaiian-style.
“Aloha!”
Beast instantly stopped growling and gnashing his teeth. He even stopped foaming at the mouth. He was baffled. Stumped. Flummoxed.
Beast probably had never seen anyone as ginormous as himself. And he’d probably never been greeted by another human being in such a friendly manner.
Once Mosi had passed by, Beast blinked his eyes and shook his big head and snapped right back into monster mode …
… just as equipment manager Ricky Schnauzer walked past carrying a load of football gear.
Ricky dropped to the ground and played dead.
Everyone on our Spiro football team was expecting that the game with the Chaney Werewolves would be gory and horrifying and grisly. But I had the Magic N64 in my bag.
And I wasn’t afraid to use it.
The Chaney boosters were packed in the home bleachers. They were all dressed in black, and instead of cheering, they howled like wolves at the top of their lungs.
The visitors’ bleachers were empty because no Spiro boosters wanted to risk venturing onto the Werewolves’ turf and getting bitten.
Actually, there was one brave Spiro booster who’d traveled to the game.
She was answered with a bone-chilling chorus of howls.
The Werewolves wasted no time letting the Mighty Plumbers know that we were trespassing on their home turf.
Chaney kicked off to start the game. While the ball was still in the air, Joey made one of his famous psychic predictions.
I turned to Joey and leaned in closer because he is a very soft-spoken guy. I wanted to make sure I’d heard him correctly. Did Joey say “Touchdown”?
Joey nodded his head, but it didn’t turn out the way I had expected.
Skinny Dennis was back to return the kickoff. He caught the ball at our ten-yard line and then sprinted straight up the middle of the field. Big mistake.
He ran full speed right smack into Beast’s massive chest.
THUNK!
Skinny Dennis looked like one of those big honking bugs that splat onto the windshield of your car in the summertime.
Beast took the football out of Skinny Dennis’s hands, and then he walked—walked!—into the end zone with Skinny Dennis still stuck to his chest.
Derp! Touchdown, Werewolves.
Skinny Dennis wasn’t hurt, but he was grossed out because Beast is a hairy and smelly guy.
I knew right then that I had to grab the Magic N64 out of my bag and pitch in to help my team against the Werewolves. It was survival of the fittest!
The Werewolves kicked off again. Skinny Dennis was still trying to shake off the collision with Beast, so Tommy Hanks was sent in to return the kickoff.
The kick was a long one. Tommy backed up all the way into the end zone. He caught the ball and took off. But instead of running straight up the middle and right smack into Beast’s hairy and smelly chest, Tommy wisely cut toward the sideline.
I pushed Start and aimed the N64 at Tommy. Then I started thumbing the joystick and buttons like a madman.
Tommy juked and zagged and zigged. I maneuvered the joystick in an arc, and Tommy reversed direction, and ran around Beast and the other Werewolves defenders. Then he beat cheeks all the way to the end zone!
The Spiro “crowd” went wild.
She was sort of confused.
Becky and I jogged out for the extra point. We set up, I took the snap, and Becky booted the ball straight through the uprights.
All tied up!
Tommy celebrated on the sideline as if he alone had scored the touchdown. He even gave himself a nickname.
Derp!
I knew the real reason Tommy scored, and I had it stashed in my equipment bag until the next time the Mighty Plumbers had the ball on offense.
Meanwhile, our touchdown celebration didn’t last long.
On the first play from scrimmage, the Werewolves quarterback handed off to their running back. His nickname is “Silver Bullet.” Not only is that an ironic nickname for someone who plays for a team called the Werewolves, it is also an accurate nickname. He is very, very fast.
Silver Bullet took the handoff, planning to run through a hole that Beast would open up in the Mighty Plumbers’ line. But Beast ran into an obstacle. A big obstacle.
Mosi Humuhumunukunukuapua’a.
The two ginormous linemen slammed into each other in a thunderous collision, and then they stood chest to chest, locked in an epic struggle. It was like a physics le
sson come to life.
Irresistible Force meets Immovable Object.
Neither one budged an inch. They canceled each other out!
Silver Bullet cut around Irresistible Mosi and Immovable Beast and took off down the sideline all the way into the end zone.
While the Werewolves celebrated, Mosi and Beast were still locked together in the middle of the field. The referees had to blow their whistles until their cheeks practically exploded before the two players finally backed off.
The back-and-forth scoring continued. Every time we scored, the Werewolves would answer with a touchdown. And every time the ball was snapped, Beast and Mosi would collide like two boulders and go nowhere.
At halftime, both teams jogged off the field and into the locker rooms for the traditional pep talks.
Quick Time-Out about Halftime Pep Talks
I’m not 100 percent sure, but I’m at least 61 percent sure that halftime pep talks were invented by a guy who was a coach way back in ancient Rome.
I think his name was Gluteus Maximus. Or Sid Caesar? Maybe Dick Butkus. I forget.
Anyway, he coached a professional team of gladiators, those muscular dudes who wore gnarly-looking metal helmets and battled to the death in the Colosseum in order to entertain Roman citizens, who would otherwise have been bored out of their skulls.
The coach always wore a houndstooth fedora hat, even though that particular style of hat didn’t become popular until many, many centuries later. Coach whatever-his-name was wise and very strict. He didn’t put up with any shenanigans from his motley crew of professional killers.
And gladiators were really hard to coach. They had anger issues and toe fungus and inflated egos. Oh, and they had a lot of extra spending money.
When they weren’t in the Colosseum fighting to the death on a field of blood and gore, gladiators would cruise the glitzy nightlife of Rome with a huge posse of clingy friends. They even had nosy paparazzi capturing images of their night on the town!
Gladiators pretty much paved the way for modern-day sports superstars.
But the wise coach with the houndstooth fedora kept his gladiators under control. He was like a father figure. And if the team was trailing at halftime, his pep talks would always turn the tide.
He’d say stuff like, “Go inside! Go outside! When you get them on the run, keep them on the run! Don’t stop! Go, go, GO!!”
Or something like that.
After the halftime pep talk, his gladiators were so pumped up that they’d charge back out onto the Colosseum field and pretty much cream the other weak and useless team.
Coach Earwax didn’t quite measure up to the legendary Roman gladiator coach.
He tried to inspire the Mighty Plumbers at halftime of the Chaney game with some manly phrases like “Fight for every inch!”
But it didn’t come across very well because Coach had a bad habit that created an image problem.
It’s hard to get inspired by a coach’s halftime pep talk when he’s been digging wax out of his eardrums with car keys and then he forgets to remove the keys from his ear.
Halftime wasn’t a total waste of time, though. We got to eat tasty granola bars and chug a ton of Gatorade. And then every one of us had to use the restroom. Except Joey.
For a tiny guy, Joey has a very big bladder.
After Coach Earwax’s halftime pep talk, Jimmy Jimerino complained to Coach about his “role” in the game.
The running game was so effective, Coach Earwax kept calling plays for Tommy Hanks, even though Jimmy was a fast runner and an excellent passer. After all, he was the Great Spiro Hope for the Mighty Plumbers’ football season.
In the Chaney game, it was not “The Jimmy Show,” so his hotshot-athlete ego was bruised. But Coach didn’t budge.
The game plan remained the same in the second half, and the seesaw battle continued. The Werewolves would score, and then the Mighty Plumbers would score.
The Werewolves were determined because never in the history of Chaney had they lost a football game on their home field.
By the end of the fourth quarter, the Werewolves were ahead by one touchdown. The Mighty Plumbers set up for another kickoff return (with the help of my Magic N64).
Tommy Hanks caught the kickoff at the ten-yard line. My thumbs punched the buttons.
Left! Right!
Derp!
My hands were so sweaty from working the buttons all game long that when I tried to shove the joystick forward with my thumb, I lost control of the controller!
Tommy actually had a pretty good run without my help, though. He carried the ball all the way down to Chaney’s fifteen-yard line before he was tackled.
We had just enough time left to run one more play.
I grabbed a towel and dried my sweaty hands, then picked up the controller. Jimmy took the snap. Mosi and Beast … well, you know what they did.
Tommy took the handoff.
Left. Right.
Tommy lowered his head and charged straight into the Werewolves’ defense.
It looked like he was going to get hauled down and mauled, but when I pushed a C button Tommy jumped—and I’m not even making this up—all the way over the Werewolves’ defensive line and crash-landed in the end zone.
Touchdown!
All we needed was an extra point to tie the score and send the game into overtime. By now, Becky and I had pretty much mastered our kicking routine.
But we did not kick an extra point.
Ms. Katinsky, the assistant coach, spotted a weakness in the Werewolves’ defense. It was Beast.
Before Becky and I ran onto the field for the extra point, Ms. Katinsky called us aside—along with Mosi Humuhumunukunukuapua’a.
Ms. Katinsky told me to take the snap, but instead of setting it down in the proper upright position for a kick, I was to flip the football to Becky.
Then Ms. Katinsky told Mosi to “step aside” when the ball was snapped instead of slamming into Beast and getting locked in an irresistible-force-meets-unmovable-object stalemate.
We were not going to kick an extra point to tie the score. The Mighty Plumbers were going for a two-point conversion to win the game!
Hike! I took the snap and flipped the football to Becky.
Mosi stepped aside and waved Beast through the line.
Beast was caught off guard. He charged right past Mosi, and his momentum carried him all the way downfield to the opposite end zone, where he crashed face-first into the goalpost.
Beast was out cold.
Becky tucked the football under her arm and followed Mosi through the hole that Beast had left open—right into our end zone.
Two-point conversion!
The game was over. We had defeated the Chaney Werewolves on their home field for the first time in their school history.
Normally, both teams would meet at midfield and slap hands or bump fists and say “good game.” But the Werewolves weren’t in the mood for good sportsmanship.
They stood and scowled at us from their sideline. I swear, their eyes were glowing red. At that very moment, the clouds parted and a full moon beamed down on the field.
The Mighty Plumbers beat cheeks for the locker room. We didn’t want to be anywhere near the Chaney players when their bodies morphed into hairy creatures.
As our bus exited Chaney Middle School, Beast was standing next to the rusty front gate. He had an ice pack on his head. He growled and gnashed his teeth and foamed at the mouth.
Mosi opened his window and stuck his huge head out. He smiled and made direct eye contact with Beast.
“I’m sorry!”
Beast was so enraged, he chased our bus for at least a mile, biting at the rear tires.
We had defeated the Chaney Werewolves on their home turf, but there was a price to pay.
On the bus ride home, Tommy Hanks gripped his knee and howled in pain. He had been injured when he went airborne and crash-landed in the end zone on the final touchdown of the game. No way that had an
ything to do with the Magic N64, right?
CHAPTER 15
The next time I saw Tommy was a week after the Chaney game.
He was in the Spiro athletic trainer’s room, leaning on crutches. He was wearing one of those hip-to-ankle braces that look like some kind of robotic device. Tony Fitz, the athletic trainer, told us that Tommy had torn the “anterior cruciate ligament” in his knee.
Tommy had surgery to fix his scrambled joint. The athletic trainer was going to help him with rehabilitation, but he was out for the season. No more Tommy Touchdown.
I had never heard of that knee ligament gizmo, but my dad later told me that anterior cruciate ligaments connect the thigh bone to the shinbone and help keep the knee joint from going all berserk.
But the ligaments are kind of flimsy, so sometimes they snap.
Dad knows all about that stuff because when he was a hotshot athlete in college, he snapped anterior cruciate ligaments in not one, but both of his knees.
Tommy looked sad, so everyone visited him in the athletic trainer’s room and tried to cheer him up. Coach Earwax even awarded him the game ball from our victory over the Werewolves.
Usually, being awarded a winning game ball is a big deal, but the sports budget at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School is kind of skimpy. They can’t afford to just give footballs away for free. Tommy got to take the game ball home, but then he had to give it right back the next day.
One by one, teammates filed past Tommy and gave him the usual season-ending-injury encouraging words:
Jimmy Jimerino and his posse chipped in and bought a cheery book for Tommy, but it was just a cruel prank.
Jimmy’s kiss-up posse cackled like hyenas.
And Becky was great, as usual.
She gave Tommy a huge hug (right in front of Jimmy) and told him to work hard and rehabilitate his scrambled knee ligament.
“You’ll be back.”
Tommy tried hard to hide it, but he sort of got all teary-eyed.
CHAPTER 16
Before our next game, Coach Earwax needed to find a running back who could take over for Tommy Hanks.
He picked Ronnie Howard. It was Jimmy’s suggestion. Ronnie was sort of a drama king who would crumple to the ground in exaggerated pain whenever he got tackled. Jimmy probably figured Ronnie would be worthless at running back and then Coach Earwax would turn the game over to the Great Spiro Hope.