Chapter 13: 9-11

I didn’t stay too late up at the lake, just long enough to satisfy Kelly’s urges. Mine, too, to be honest about it. Regardless, I got home and crawled onto the bed with a groan. I would rest a moment and change out of my clothes.

I woke up with Jack pushing my shoulder. “Come on, bro, you’re going to be late!”

I was as stiff as a board. “Go away!”

He pushed me again. “Get your ass up or Mom’s going to find you still sleeping in your clothes!”

“You’re such a little asshole,” I told him. “Why our parents decided to waste time with you I will never know.” I swatted at the arm pushing me. Just moving my arm hurt.

“Up!”

I rolled upright slowly and swung at him, but he danced out of the way. I muttered a few things and stood up. I wandered off to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and showered. As I headed back to the bedroom to change, I ran across my father in the hallway. “I’ve seen bodies down out Melnick’s that looked more alive than you.” Melnick’s was a large funeral home on the corner of Matucket and Peachtree.

“They probably felt more alive than I do,” I replied.

“You going to live?” he asked, smiling.

“My bumps and bruises have bumps and bruises.”

“Get dressed and get downstairs. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

Unsympathetic bastard! I groaned and got some clothes on and went down to find my family waiting for me. Jack decided to push his luck. “It’s about time we sent over the professionals. After that lame performance the JV is going to have to show you how to do it right.”

I grabbed him and put him in a headlock and marched his ass out the door. Mom laughed and Dad said, “Don’t hurt him until after the game.”

We went over to East Matucket High but found a change. Coach Halifax had the junior varsity team suit up at home. He had heard how the locker room had been trashed before we got there and decided not to chance it. Meanwhile, I found Earl Ray and he handed me a copy of the Times-Dispatch. Earl Ray had a younger brother on the JV, too, as did several of my teammates. I saw most of the team there, along with our girlfriends, and we all gathered around.

The headline read ‘Underdog Pioneers Slaughter Warriors!’ and there was a big picture of Speed Demon scampering across the goal line. I read a couple of paragraphs, but Earl Ray nudged me and said, “It gets better! Read down at the bottom!” He tapped the page and pointed to a small article beneath the story about the game. ‘ Pioneer Team Nothing But Thugs and Goons Claim Warrior Parents!’

I read the little story and looked up to find Earl Ray and Brax grinning at me. “I’ve never been a goon before,” commented Brax.

Earl Ray laughed, and I went back to reading. It seemed that several of the Warrior’s parents had decided that we must have cheated or something to have managed to beat the mighty Warriors of East Matucket. Their sons were fine and upstanding young lads, and we were nothing but barbarian riffraff. That phrase was quoted, along with a memorable line from Candace Holden, mother of my favorite enemy. ‘ They’re nothing but goons over at that school, thugs and goons!’

I looked up at Brax. “You’re nothing but an assistant goon, like me. Earl Ray is the head goon.”

Earl Ray laughed. “My mother must be so proud right now.”

I nodded. “The thugs must be the offensive line. We’ll have to check with Speed and Russ.”

Brax looked at me. “Do you think she could actually sue us?”

There was a section where Mrs. Holden was demanding an investigation and a lawsuit over our behavior. That had been responded to by the District Attorney, who had also been at the game. ’This was nothing but a good, tough game of football. If the refs didn’t have a problem, I don’t have a problem.’ I shook my head. “No, that’s total bullshit,” I said.

I went back to the main story. A couple of paragraphs detailed the damages. Randy Holden had three broken ribs from when I had put him down, and he was out for the rest of the season. The two linemen that had gotten their bells rung by Moose and Bull were alright, with minor concussions. They had been released and sent home with their parents. The wide receiver Earl Ray had gone through had a broken arm and was out for the season, too. Several other Warriors had sprained ankles and wrists that would limit them for part of the season. The Warriors had started the game as the prohibitive favorite for the region, and maybe the state championship. Now they would be lucky to have a winning season.

The Pioneers had their share of misery and woe. Barry Sanders and Vin Greelo both were listed as sprained ankles and would probably be out for several weeks. Neither were with us at the school, but when we got over to East Matucket, Vin materialized, hobbling around on crutches, a giant smile on his face. We all cheered him and helped him up into the stands. “Hey, am I a thug or am I a goon?” he asked us.

“You’re a goon. The offense was the thugs,” Earl Ray pronounced. Vin was a third-string end and had sprained his ankle taking down the Warrior tight end at the end of the game and stripping the ball from him. That had set up the next play, which resulted in a Speed Demon rushing touchdown.

“Cool!” He turned to his girlfriend, Denise Whitlock, and said, “I’m officially a goon!”

“Trust me, you were a goon before, too,” she said. We all got a good laugh out of that.

I looked over at Kelly, who had found me at East Matucket. “Was I a goon before?”

“You were worse.”

I snorted and we kept busting each other’s chops until the game started. The junior varsity wasn’t quite as dominating as the varsity was, but the JV Pioneers decided to behave like their big brothers and trash the Warriors. It was interesting on a different level, too. The rest of the goons and I were grouped together, and we were looking at our replacements in a year or two. One JV Pioneer of note was named Jack ‘the Ripper’ Reaper. Earl Ray looked at me and said, “Grim, you’d better watch your ass! That boy’s looking to take your job!”

I shook my head. Jack the Ripper was two years younger than me but already looked like he was at least my size and speed and had managed three sacks by halftime. “I think he’s looking for both our jobs.”

“Not my problem. I graduate this year. You’d better step it up, though, or he’ll have your job and you’ll be back on the JV squad!”

“Shit!” was my only reply. Earl Ray was right, too. Jack looked tough out there as a middle linebacker. If he kept playing at this level, he was going to make it to the varsity his sophomore year.

After the game was over, Jack was in trouble again. Marty Halifax gave him a big kiss on the sideline, and the next thing we all heard was Marty’s dad yelling, “RIPPER! THAT’S A PDA! GIVE ME A LAP!” Jack laughed and gave Marty a second kiss and headed for the goal posts. Now he had a second lap to run. The boy was a glutton for punishment!

Even Coach Summers couldn’t believe Jack was chasing Coach Halifax’s daughter. He was on the sidelines with a few of us, and he looked at me and asked, “Your brother have a death wish or something?”

“Hey, Coach, we told him!” I looked over at the stands where his family was. He had some young daughters in middle school. “You know, it’s going to happen to you, too. You’ve got three girls! What happens when they decide to become cheerleaders and date football players?”

“Shut up, Reaper, or you’ll be doing laps, too!” he groused.

I just laughed and got out of the line of fire.

Monday morning it just got crazier. Our separation of the team into the offensive thugs and the defensive goons got out, and everybody on the team was being called a thug or a goon. At lunch the team got called down to the locker room, where Mrs. Hollister came down and congratulated us and introduced a guy who looked familiar. It turned out to be Brad Dillon, the sportscaster from Channel 9. They wanted to do some interviews with us. A cameraman was there with a fancy camera on his shoulder. That sounded a lot more interesting than the mystery meat in the cafeteria and could probably get us out of a class or two.

It was Dax Vercolo who gave us our name, during the interview. He said we were the ‘Goon Squad’ and we promised to live up to our name. He also told them our motto of eat-’em-alive-and-shit-out-the-bones, but no way was that going to make it onto the air!

Then Brad grabbed me and Earl Ray and asked us what we thought of our new nickname. Earl Ray said, “I love it!”

Brad looked at me. I said, “I think it’s great. My mother was worried I’d never amount to much, but now I can tell her I’m a goon!” Off camera the place was going nuts at that.

There were a few other interviews, notably with Russ and Speed, and then we got sent on our way. Coach warned us not to get our hopes up, and that ninety percent of what we said would be cut. Still, it was pretty cool.

I made sure to get home in time for dinner and to watch the news. Coach was right, in that most things were cut down to tiny pieces. Our new name was given, along with a modified version of our motto. That was cleaned up to become “Eat-’em-alive-and-spit-out-the-bones!” Then he closed with my interview, and my comment about Mom being proud of me. Mom laughed so hard she was crying, and my father and brothers were just rolling on the floor.

That Friday, East Cobb was playing at Matucket. By then the Booster Club had managed to make a breakaway banner with our motto on it. That was modified again, so that it became, “EAT ‘EM ALIVE AND S*IT OUT THE BONES !” I was surprised Mrs. Hollister let them get away with that. In any case, we ran out onto the field through our banner, and then ran through East Cobb like shit through a goose. On Monday, September 10, theTimes-Dispatch called our style of play ‘ violent, brutal, and ruthless.’ For a bunch of testosterone-loaded high school kids, that was just music to our ears!

Things changed the next morning. Things changed for all of us. We were in our first period classes. For me that was English Eleven. At about quarter-of-nine, there seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from the hallway, and most of us were looking at each other. A minute later Mrs. Hollister came over the intercom and announced that an airplane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. Mrs. Dicksley, our teacher just slumped down into her chair and stared, which I thought was weird. A few minutes later, a second announcement came on that the other tower had been hit, and Mrs. Dicksley just collapsed.

Marcy Davenport grabbed Mrs. Dicksley before she fell to the floor, and then she looked around wildly for help. I was in the second row, and I got to her at the same time Lew Freeport got there. Lew was a little shit of a guy, so I picked up Mrs. Dicksley and told him to get the door. He went ahead of me, and we got Mrs. Dicksley down to the nurse’s office, where I found a line ahead of me. Most were kids, almost completely girls, crying and moaning. Mrs. Dicksley was completely out of it, though, so we were able to barge through and lay her out on a cot.

That was when I first saw what was going on. Nurse Toussaint had a small television in her office, and I stared as the images of jetliners hitting the buildings played over and over. Then another plane hit the Pentagon. The world was coming apart around us. I was still there watching at 9:59 when the first tower collapsed. Around me in the room I heard people screaming and crying, and a couple of people retching. Me? I just felt numb all over.

I wandered out of the room and went outside, to just stare up at the sky. What the hell was happening? Were there other planes crashing into stuff? Why would people do such a thing? I just stayed there, sitting on the grass until one of the teachers came around and rounded up all of us who had gone outside. Nobody was paying any attention to the classes. You might be in a classroom, but mostly you were listening to somebody’s radio. All afterschool activities were cancelled, including practice.

I rode the bus home, and I wasn’t the only one who was numb. Some of the kids were still crying and holding each other. By then we knew that some Arab nutjobs were responsible, but not who they were or why they did it. I guess Allah wants everybody to die. I heard that several guys got in a car and drove down to the Matucket County Office Building, where the services had a recruiting station, and tried to enlist. There was already a line ahead of them. Eventually an officer came out and told them that it was appreciated, but it would be best if they came back after they graduated from high school and handed out a few flyers and brochures to them.

President Bush got on television that night and told us all to go about our business. Stopping in terror would be giving into the terrorists, and we couldn’t allow that. Those might not have been his exact words, but that was his meaning. On Wednesday we went back to school. Mrs. Dicksley was out, and I heard from Marcy Davenport that Mrs. Dicksley’s father worked in the World Trade Center, way up high, on one of the top floors. He hadn’t made it out. I just nodded. Kelly said that her father had called from London; he had several friends who hadn’t made it out, either.

We began practicing again, but it was bleak for a couple of days. We only had Wednesday and Thursday to get ready for our next game, and Coach Summers was not pleased with us. We were doing a lot of pushups and laps when he thought we were slacking off. We picked up the pace, but the game that Friday was not a raucous and happy occasion. We won, but the celebration was muted. Too much had happened that week.

Dad told me that it must have been like this with his grandparents listening to the news on the morning of December 7^th, 1941, as the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. “This’ll be as big as that was, history-wise,” he told me.