Story Hour

Last night I saw an old high school classmate. I'll call him Nick. Wanna hear a story about Nick?

So in high school I was too busy with my dance classes and later with my busted knees to cheer, but they'd call on me from time to time to do mascot appearances and stuff. One time the cheer coach asked me to do an away game at a particular school, because we really "needed the wholesome school spirit."

See, our last game at this gang-ridden high school ended in an all-out brawl between the teams that required a riot squad from the police to break it up, and the coachs were axious to get through this game showing maturity and class, and of course to really drive the point home, to win. I'm promised an escort, so I don't get beaten up by the opposing fans.

So the mascot costume, horrible memories there. We were the "Patriots," so atop my revolutionary soldier costume, I had to wear this HUGE foam head, with tiny eyeholes.

So, there we are at the game. We're bouncing around, doing our cheer thing. And what better think to give to the top heavy, visually impaired cheerleader who's bouncing around in a crowd? A flag on a very long pole. How could that go wrong?

I took out the star football player, Nick. I hit him square in the back with the pole. His injured back. His own personal achillies (sp?) heel. The star football player, taken out by his own cheerleader.

I remember looking up at the stands and thinking, "Bet no one here has ever seen a football team beat the shit out of their OWN mascot before."

My escorts and I hid in the bathroom until everyone had gone.