Boomtown (11 page)
The Slug fans were going nuts. The bleachers rumbled with their stomping feet and their flag waving kicked up a small breeze. The cheerleaders led them in a group cheer. Everyone stood up and did the Slug Wave. They shouted, “EEEEEEEW! EEEEEEEW! It's the
Slugs
!”
Ruth led the crowd in a cheer: “It's better to be
gross
than to be good! Go
SLUGS!
”
And go they did. By some miracle, as the first half continued, the Slugs rose to the occasion. Somehow, they fell down at just the right moment and tripped the Giants. If that didn't happen, the Giants slipped on the mud or dropped the slimy ball or stumbled over each other. Instead of blocking, players were picking slugs off their uniforms. As the game continued, the football field was transformed into a grimy, slimy, gooey, sloppy, disgusting mess. By half-time, neither team had scored a point. By the final whistle, it hadn't changed. The game was tied: 0 to 0!
Slug fans shouted and screamed and ran around in circles and waved their flags and did the Slug Dance. Slime Dogs (hotdogs dripping in relish) and Slug Slush (shaved ice with lime flavoring) sold like crazy. Everyone was talking and laughing and cheering and giving each other high fives. As far as the Slug fans were concerned, their team had already
won
simply because they hadn't
lost
.
Then both teams returned to the field, and tension began to mount. Was it possible? Could the Slugs actually
win
in sudden-death overtime? Would the Giants lose to the worst football team in the history of high school sports? Maybe so. It seemed that no matter what they tried, the first overtime ended with the score still tied. Same with the second. Then the third.
By the time the whistle for the fourth overtime blew, a light rain had begun to fall. Darkness descended over the field and the lights winked on, glistening on the puddles of water and off the backs of the slugs as they crawled through the mud. It was dreamlike as the teams took the field for the fourth and final time.
The Giants had the ball on their own twenty-yard line, eighty yards from the end zone and victory. The quarterback took the snap and handed off to his running back. Four more Giants immediately surrounded the running back; together they formed a five-man wedge. The wedge was able to keep the running back on his feet as they bullied their way through the mud and the Slug defenders. They covered more than thirty yards before the stunned Slugs managed to drag the five players to the ground.
Jonny said, “They've come up with a new strategy. If
one
guy can't run down the field, maybe
five
can do it.”
We watched as the Giants tried it again. Twenty more yards. Then a third time. Fifteen more. The coach of the Slugs called an emergency time-out, yelling at his players and waving his arms.
“I got an idea, Dad!” Jonny said, jumping up from the bleachers and running down to the sidelines.
“Jonny!
Get back here!
” I tried to grab his sleeve, but he was already gone.
He squeezed his way between the quarterback and the coach. There was some animated discussion and then the referee's whistle. The squad broke up and headed back onto the field. The coach slapped Jonny on the shoulder, and he ran back to his seat.
“What did you say to him?” I asked.
“You'll see.”
On the very next play, the Giants pulled the same trick. They surrounded the ball carrier with a wedge and pushed forward, but as soon as they did, the entire defensive line of the Slugs fell flat on the ground. When the Giants trampled over the top of them, the Slugs reached up and grabbed their legs. The wedge collapsed in a Giants heap with the ball carrier in the middle, like a Slug sandwich drenched in mud sauce. They stopped them once. Twice. Three times.
“You see, Dad? It's the one thing the Slugs are good atâ
falling down
.”
The Giants found themselves stranded on the ten-yard line, down to their very last play. At that distance they couldn't possibly miss the kick. They broke from the huddle, lined up for the field goal, and hiked the ball.
“Ten! Fourteen! Six! Hut, hut,
hut!
” The center hiked the ball to the holder, slugs flying in every direction. The holder threw up his hands to guard himself from the sticky missiles. The football squirted past him out onto the open field. Loose ball!
The Slugs scrambled forward, sliding and stumbling and squirming toward the ball. This would be their only chance. Out in front of them lay a wide-open field. All they had to do was get to the ball, hold on to it, slog their way through the mud, and reach the end zone. Unfortunately, the Giants' placekicker reached the ball first.
He scooped it up, turned around, and looked for someoneâanyoneâto whom he could throw the ball. Near the goal line, he caught a glimpse of one of his teammates jumping and waving his arms.
There!
He released the ball just as he disappeared under a pile of muddy Slugs.
The football wobbled up into the air like a rubber chicken with a broken wing; it had just enough strength to reach the receiver. At the very same moment, Ruth and her cheerleading squad were completing their favorite cheer. They threw their pom-poms in the air and flopped on the ground in a squirming pile. Ruth's pom-pom sailed into the air, over the heads of the other cheerleaders, over the sideline, and right on top of the Giants player's head! The slippery pom-pom landed on his helmet and covered his eyes at the same exact second the football was reaching his outstretched hands.
The player was instantly blinded. The football bounced off the top of his helmet and plopped right into the arms of one of the Slug players. He stood there staring at it. He'd played in twenty games, but in all that time he'd never even
touched
the ball. He didn't know what to do with it.
The coach yelled, “
Run!
” He just stood there. The players on the bench yelled, “
Run!
” He looked down at the ball. The cheerleaders yelled, “
Run!
” He turned toward the end zone. The crowd yelled, “
Run!
” His legs began to move.
The boy's name was Waldo Wainwright, number 35, a name and number that would go down in the annals of Slug football history. It was the day a Slug slipped and tripped and squirmed ninety-seven yards
untouched
into his own team's end zone. It was the day the Giants lost to the worst high school football team in history. It was the day the wind and the rain and the earth and the slugs came together and helped lead our team to victory! We cried for joy when we saw that big, clumsy teenager trip and slip and squish and slide his way down the field and collapse under the goal-post. We cheered when the referee blew the final whistle.
The game was over. The Slugs had won
6â0!
The next day we held a parade down Main Street in Stickville. Waldo Wainwright and our two conquering heroes, Ruth and Jonny Button, rode in the lead car, hailed by thousands of loyal Slug fans. They waved brown and silver flags. They ate Slime Dogs and Slug Slush. They released a thousand brown balloons into the air. Mayor Touissaint of Stickville made a speech. They even proposed making the day an annual holiday in honor of the amazing victory.
Everyone gathered together in the streets and sang Stickville High School's fight song:
In a state, in a valley, in a town so very small,
Is a place you will find the oddest school of all.
A place where the slimiest of all God's creatures crawl.
The home of the Slugs; we're the Slug capital!
They make their presence known with a bright and silver trail.
Silently they move, over hump and hill and dale.
Nothing ever stops them; their progress cannot fail.
That's why we love Slugs! The Slug is what we hail!
Finally, around ten o'clock that night, the crowds began to disperse and we made our way home. The next morning, Waldo, Ruth, and Jonny's picture appeared on the front page of the
Stickville Times
under the caption: “Three Local Teenagers Make History
.
” The headline read: SLUGS SLIME THE GIANTS.
As I drank my morning coffee and gazed at their smiling faces in the picture, I was never so proud of my clever son and my wonderful daughter, who gained notoriety in such an unusual and unexpected way. It was the proudest day of my life.
Except maybe at the Homecoming Dance a few weeks later, when Ruth was named the Slug Queen. That was pretty special too.
T
he weather soon turned to crisp autumn air and falling leaves. As the weather changed, so did the fortunes of the Slugs. They lost their next three consecutive games by scores of 97-0 and 76-0 and then the rematch against the Giants, 112-0. Not that it mattered. The conversation in every store in Boomtown was about the Slugs' “winning season,” with friendly wagers on how long the next losing streak would last. The odds pointed toward another forty years, but serious optimists were betting the Slugs would win another game sometime in the next decade.
Janice and I had other concerns. Jonny wasn't his normal rambunctious self. It was shortly after Halloween when Janice came to me and said, “Does Jonny seem
tired
to you lately? I don't think he's been sleeping well.”
“I noticed. He seems to be
eating
a lot more too. Have you noticed that? Like we can't keep anything in the refrigerator these days.”
Janice had Jonny come into the kitchen. She put her hand on his forehead and looked down his throat. “Are you feeling all right? You've got bags under your eyes.”
“I'm okay, Mom. I've had a lot of extra homework. I'll go to bed early tonight, okay?”
Now Janice was convinced something was wrong.
Early to
bed?
Not Jonny! She got out the thermometer, checked his temperature, looked in his ears, and made him cough a few times.
“I'm
fine
, really!”
Considering all the food that was missing from the pan-try, we figured he had to be eating enough. It was probably just a growth spurt. Since he didn't have any other symptoms, we decided he was okay and turned our minds to other thingsâlike the situation at church.
