Monday, March 7, 2011

Devil's Escort the Novel (teaser)

One hundred and eight degrees climbs another notch expanding matter and thresholds to heat. Players do everything they can to take in natural air surrounded by metal stands on turf stadium. Paul, a man’s body slapped with the brain of an adolescent, looks at the digital thermometer hanging from a huge blue scoreboard. The team’s mascot, a white mustang, was painted under the temperature. Somehow, the mustang looks more like a retarded mule then the majestic wild horse it’s meant to portray. The Ponies have the worst record in the league for the past three years and one could draw the conclusion a less then authentic cartoony horse has something to do with it.

Whistles belt out short loud chirps. “Alright, stop for a fifteen second break!” Paul puts his hands over his head and slowly controls a deep breath. Players struggle to encourage other teammates hunched down huffing and puffing. Paul “come on get up let’s go guys! Two more then we’re done!” Short, rigid and hairy Coach Benet blows his whistle. “Sprint you pussies!” Spit flies out his mouth as he bites down on the whistle. “Move your asses or everyone is getting two more laps.” Benet’s face glows bright red and blood vessels swell on his throat. “I want to see you winning this year.” Players drag their feet and attempt to stay focused as heat waves ripple off the stadiums metallic chairs like over spilt gas. “Oh, ya baby I’m cold!” Sidney shivers then transforms into a wild dog. “ Ruff, ruff.” Snarling at the teams slowest runner is Coach Sidney. A Former Cowboy’s linebacker and it’s easy to see he’s the biggest man on the field. He’s got weird style but wears it well. A tall mohawk afro with three separate sized shiny necklaces that match his gold ear rings. He claps his hands chest muscles bounce and stretch the pink tank top with black tiger paws on it. “Push it! Let’s go!” Sidney runs up to the fattest lineman and slaps the linemen’s slow plump sweaty ass. The whistle gives out one long last chirp.“Alright good job, get in here.”

The team runs to circle up on Coach Benet. “Take a knee.” They snap off helmets then shoulder pads and Benet twirls a whistle around his pointer finger. He brushes down a Tom Selleck mustache resting his chin and thinking as a copper bracelet slides down his arm. The sweat and skin alchemized a visible green stain around his wrist. “All the losers and tit suckers get off my fucking field. “ The team struggles to catch wind. He points up to the thermometer. “I know it’s hot, you can take it. Right?” The team responds with a massive “yes sir.” He takes off his ten gallon straw hat. “If you caint’, go play tennis or soccer because this is a man’s sport.” Sweat drips in his eye and he doesn’t blink. “If you want to play for me, you better bust your ass!” He spits the wipes down his mustache. “Don’t cramp up. I’m tired of players having to get I.V.’s.” Paul squirts cold water on his face. “Get hydrated before practice. Drink a Gatorade right when you wake up.” He looks over at Coach Sidney who is shuffling through his fanny pack. “Coach Sidney, anything to add?” Coach Sidney steps forward cracks open a quick whiff of ammonia meant to give power lifters a head rush before throwing weight in the air. Sidney snorts in the strong scented break stick then snarling he growls at the players around him. “I’m going to bench five hundred pounds twice then hit the showers, I got swamp ass.” The team laughs. “Alright, everybody up on me let’s get in here and get a loud as fucking break.” The players enclose on Benet shoving each other as the bounce around with pure testosterone. “Break it out three. One, two, three, the team joins in Mustangs!” As the players disperse Paul picks up his helmet and shoulder pads. “Paul, come here a minute I want to talk to you.” Paul runs to the sideline where his coach stands now accompanied by Sidney and three other assistant coaches.

No comments: