The Zucchini Warriors (8 page)

“What was all that growling on the tape? Or was someone watching
Valley of the Dinosaurs
in the next room?”

“Oh,” said Cathy airily, “that was The Beast, one of our players. Cute little guy. Calvin Somebody.”

Diane swallowed hard. “Cathy, I know how much you love football, and I know you’re fantastic, but are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“Of course I’m sure! You think I’ve done all this work so I can
not
play?”

“But Cathy, this isn’t practice where they know you’re a girl! This is a whole other team just itching to knock somebody’s brains out! And as the quarterback, you’re target number one!”

Cathy made a face. “Look, Diane, you’ve been listening to Miss Scrimmage for so long that you’ve started believing all that stuff about how young ladies are delicate flowers that fall apart at the slightest touch. Sure, I might not be as strong as some of those guys, but the big ones are the slow ones, and with any luck, I can stay out of their way. Okay, the team isn’t great, but we’ve been working like crazy. And linemen protect the quarterback, whether she’s a girl or not.”

Diane sat down on her bed, frowning. “I don’t know. You’ve done some crazy things before, but tomorrow — I think about it, and I still can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” said Cathy. “Because tomorrow ‘Elmer Drimsdale’ is going out there to show them how it’s done!”

Saturday was a perfect day for football, brisk but sunny. The game was scheduled for two, but many of the players were in the locker room by noon. Hank the Tank Carson was already there, pacing the length and breadth of the room, a bundle of nerves.

The bus carrying the St. Vincent Junior High Voles arrived an hour and a half before game time, and Calvin Fihzgart was on hand to evaluate their opponents as they filed into the visitors’ locker room.

“Those poor guys,” he said to Pete Anderson, genuine pity in his ferocious eyes. “They’re totally doomed. They have to get on the field against the roughest, toughest, meanest guy in the whole league!”

“Who’s that?” asked Pete absently. He was noting that the other players looked extremely large, and pretty confident for a last-place team.

“Who’s that?!” Calvin growled in disbelief. “Me! The Beast! The one-man wrecking crew! The tower of evil! The baddest guy alive! The roughest, toughest —”

“Oh, right,” said Pete. “I forgot.”

Bruno, Boots and Elmer entered the locker room carrying the Manchurian bush hamsters in their cage.

Mr. Carson was appalled. “Almost an hour to game time, and you’re playing with kittens!”

“Elmer’s under a lot of pressure to get these bush hamsters out of his room,” Bruno explained.

“Pressure? What kind of an idiot leans on the star quarterback right before the big game?”

“Mr. Sturgeon,” Bruno admitted.

Carson looked disgusted. “It figures.”

“Do you think maybe they could live somewhere in the clubhouse?” Boots suggested. “There’s a spare equipment room.”

“Yeah, sure, anywhere!” said Carson impatiently. “I’ll put them up at the Hilton if it’ll take the heat off my quarterback! But hurry up! You should be dressing!”

Around one o’clock, the stands started to fill up with the staff and students of Macdonald Hall. Soon, though, Miss Scrimmage led her entire school over for “a delightful afternoon of sport,” and there was a battle royal for the best seats. A number of local farm families, and a few townspeople from nearby communities were also on hand, and the mobile unit from CHUT-TV in Chutney was setting up to get a few action shots for the evening sportscast. The St. Vincent team had brought some supporters of their own.

Miss Scrimmage’s cheerleading squad was warming up. Each of the nine girls wore a bright red uniform with THE LINE OF SCRIMMAGE spelled out in sequins on the back.

Mr. Sturgeon was leading his wife toward the stadium when an enormous eighteen-wheel tractor trailer backed up to the main entrance. The rear door folded down into a ramp, and out pedalled twenty-four Mr. Zucchini bicycle wagons, cabinets steaming, bells ringing.

“Oh, Lord!” groaned the Headmaster. “When the Zucchini Disposal Squad sees this, we won’t have a football game; we’ll have a cry-in!”

“Come on, William. Let’s find our seats. Mercy, I’m excited!”

Mark Davies had been practising all week, learning how to operate the stadium scoreboard for the game. As the spectators settled in, they were greeted by the message:
WELCOME TO MACDONALD HILL.

Back in the locker room, all the players were suited up, present and accounted for except one.
“Where’s Drimsdale?”
bellowed Coach Flynn in great agitation.

“Easy, Alex,” said Mr. Carson, who was himself pacing the floor. “You know how eccentric he is. He’s probably dressing back at the dorm. He’ll be here when we take the field.”

As if on cue, Cathy poked her helmeted head into the dressing room and waved. A great sigh was heaved.

The Voles were already warming up when the Macdonald Hall Warriors thundered out onto the field. The crowd broke into applause. Miss Scrimmage’s girls, every single one of them aware of the true identity of number 00, went berserk, chanting
“El-mer! El-mer!”

Mr. Sturgeon’s brow furrowed. “Drimsdale appears to be acquiring something of a following,” he commented.

His wife glowed. “Isn’t that a wonderful surprise? Our top student is our top athlete.”

The Headmaster frowned. “Wonderful,” he agreed vaguely.

Calvin Fihzgart was looking around, scowling. “Hey! Where’s the ambulance? I thought there was going to be an ambulance on hand!”

Sidney shrugged. “What for?”

“What do you mean ‘what for?’ The Beast is playing!”

Macdonald Hall won the coin toss and chose to receive the kickoff. The ball was caught by Dave Jackson, who tucked it away and took off, Wilbur and Calvin blocking ahead of him. They made it up to their own 40-yard line before being stopped by the Voles’ defence. There was a small pileup, and the play was whistled dead.

Wilbur, Dave and the three Voles got briskly to their feet, but there was still a Macdonald Hall jersey lying on the ground.

On the sidelines, Boots stood up. “It’s The Beast! He’s down!”

“How could he be down?” said Bruno. “Nothing happened!”

Mr. Carson and Coach Flynn rushed onto the field to attend to their injured player.

“Where’s the stretcher?” roared Calvin, outraged.

“What’s wrong?” asked the coach breathlessly. “He hardly even hit you!”

“My arm,” said Calvin, cradling his right elbow. “I think it’s a compound fracture.”

They helped him over to the bench where Miss Hildegarde, the school nurse, examined his elbow. Calvin bore all this bravely. “It’s a compound fracture, right?”

She stared at him. “It’s just a bruise.”

“The Beast would not get ‘just a bruise,’” seethed Calvin. “With him it’s either a compound fracture or nothing.”

“Then it’s nothing,” she said coldly.

By this time, Mr. Sturgeon had left his seat and rushed to the bench. “Perhaps we had better take the boy for X-rays.”

As the Headmaster and the nurse left with Calvin, and the offensive team took the field, a very nervous Boots O’Neal sidled up to the quarterback.

“Cathy, if you want to take off out of here, I’ll cover for you.”

Behind Elmer’s empty glasses, Cathy laughed. “You want to take off? I’ll cover for you. I came to play.”

“But Cathy, a guy got injured already!”

“Stow it, Melvin. We’re lining up.”

Nervously Boots took his place in the line beside Bruno. “Remember,” he hissed to his roommate. “No one touches her — even if we have to die for it!”

From his pocket, Bruno produced his lucky piece, a penny set in the centre of an imitation-silver four-leaf clover. He kissed it quickly and put it away.

As the ball was snapped, two big Voles came charging forward, trying to get to Cathy. “This is it!” Boots heard Bruno cry as the four met with a resounding crunch. The two Macdonald Hall Warriors stood firm, pushing against the attackers with all their might. Just as Bruno felt his strength almost gone, there was a whistle, and the two Voles trotted off. He looked around, dazed. Cathy had completed a pass to Dave Jackson for a Warriors’ first down.

“Hey, wow,” said Bruno, terribly pleased. “We protected the quarterback. We’re great!”

Last place or not, the St. Vincent Voles were the better team, but Cathy Burton was unstoppable. Her passes were so perfect that the Macdonald Hall receivers could not possibly drop all of them. Cheered on by the enthusiastic Warrior fans and the half-demented girls from Miss Scrimmage’s, she led the team down the field for the first touchdown of the game. The Voles struck back, and the Warriors’ defence completely fell apart. Score tied, 7–7. The Voles added a field goal and, miraculously, Myron Blankenship succeeded in kicking the ball between the uprights to knot the score at 10 a few seconds before the end of the first quarter.

“Attaboy, Blankenship!” cheered Mr. Carson as the players were jogging to the sidelines. “Nice kick!”

“Mr. Carson, did you know that Gary Potts has dandruff?” responded Myron, apparently untroubled by first-game jitters.

“Concentrate on the game,” advised Coach Flynn.

The second quarter was all Cathy. She was brilliant, throwing for three touchdowns amid tumultuous chants of “El-mer, El-mer,” in the stadium. Each time she completed a pass, the scoreboard read
DRIPSDALE
in her honour. By halftime, Macdonald Hall led 31–26.

Henry Carson and Coach Flynn were ecstatic. “We’ve got them!” Carson cried, dancing around the locker room in his excitement. “Drimsdale, you’re incredible! Did you ever consider playing college ball?”

Smiling at Bruno and Boots, Cathy nodded enthusiastically.

At that moment, Miss Hildegarde and Calvin Fihzgart entered the room. Calvin’s left arm was bandaged, and wrapped in an elaborate sling, bent at the elbow.

Coach Flynn gawked at the sling. “What was it?”

The nurse looked completely disgusted. “He has a slightly bruised elbow.”

“So what’s with the sling?” asked Mr. Carson.

“It’s his pillowcase!” she snorted. “And the bandage is electrical tape!”

“It’s going to hurt like crazy when I take it off, too!” said Calvin proudly. “Only The Beast could stand that kind of pain!”

Coach Flynn sighed. “Okay, Fihzgart. Why don’t you sit out the rest of the game? We can talk later about whether you’ll be ready to play again next week.”

As Mr. Carson and Coach Flynn launched into a rousing halftime pep talk, Calvin found himself a seat in the stands among a large group of Miss Scrimmage’s girls. Soon he was nicely settled in, explaining to an enraptured audience how The Beast had acquired his football injury.

The halftime show consisted of the Macdonald Hall band, and The Line of Scrimmage, who featured a special tribute to quarterback Elmer Drimsdale. The Mr. Zucchini vendors used the break in the action to pass out more free zucchini sticks. Some of these found their way into the stomachs of the spectators, but the vast majority were nonchalantly thrown under the bleachers.

Great cheering welcomed the Warriors as they stampeded onto the field for the second half. The scoreboard read
NO TEAM.

Bruno slapped his forehead. “That’s supposed to be
Go
Team!” he bellowed up at where Mark sat, but his voice was lost in the roar of the audience.

From the very beginning of the third quarter, it was obvious that the Voles had taken on new life. Almost immediately they thundered down the field to take the lead with a touchdown. When Cathy came on to direct Macdonald Hall’s counterattack, the Warriors were smothered by the Voles’ defence. Before the quarter was up, the Voles had added another field goal, to make the score 36–31 against the home team.

“Don’t panic!” panicked Coach Flynn during a time-out. “We can win this game, but we have to keep cool.”

“It’s all up to you, Drimsdale,” Henry Carson added, putting a hand on Cathy’s shoulder. “Now’s your chance to show what kind of man you are!”

* * *

Kevin Klapper stepped out of the Macdonald Hall spare cottage into the brisk September air. He had not felt this refreshed and uplifted in years. Not five minutes earlier, he had finished his report, condemning Macdonald Hall for footballmania. He held the eleven printed sheets in his hands, skimming here and there. Oh, yes, they would feel the shock waves of this report inside the ivy-covered walls of Macdonald Hall.

He began to walk, the cool air invigorating him all the more. This was it! With this report he was putting his football obsession to rest forever. He was free.

A distant sound reached him, and he paused. It was hundreds, maybe thousands, of voices, cheering, rooting and screaming together in one uninterrupted roar. It was coming from the football stadium, of course. Today was the first scheduled game for the Macdonald Hall Warriors. He looked at his report and shook his head sadly.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have a look at the team that was putting a permanent blot on the spotless record of Macdonald Hall. His report under his arm, he headed across the campus to the north lawn. He walked into the stadium and peered downfield critically.

Macdonald Hall, trailing by five points, had the ball at their own 8-yard line. It was third down, with only fifty-seven seconds left to play.

Klapper’s first thought was that this did not interest him in the slightest, but a second thought occurred to him:
They’ll never make it
.

He watched as the ball was snapped, and the entire Voles’ big front line charged in, at Cathy. Suddenly Bruno and Boots threw themselves into the path of the thundering Voles. They took quite a beating, but gave Cathy enough time to complete a pass to Larry Wilson, who ran out of bounds at the Warriors’ 39-yard line to stop the clock. Time remaining: forty seconds.

“What pass protection!” Klapper exclaimed, but quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t care. So what if those boys were showing heroic guts and determination?