Chapter 73: New Record? Why Not?

“Murphy!” yelled Big John Fontana. The Theodore Roosevelt High School’s head coach and athletic director had just blown the final whistle for Monday morning practice. “Give me a second, son.”

Tim Murphy finished his conversation with his friends before turning back toward the coaches. He and the other players were returning to the locker room for showers before beginning their regular school day.

“Yeah, Coach?” Tim replied with his helmet under one arm.

“I got a call from my old friend Greg Simmons from KSAT-12, and he started telling me some story about some superhero who broke up a riot that started downtown, and he claimed the guy looked remarkably like you.”

It was easy to tell who had heard about the weekend festivities and who still needed to. Tim was initially wondering why his head coach was bringing all this up again since Tim had spent a good thirty minutes explaining everything to him the day before. Then again, he caught the coach explaining what had happened to the other coaches.

“Now he tells me our friend, here...” Big John must have been in a good mood because he was playfully shaking Tim like he was trying to force loose change to fall out of his pockets, then lightly shoved him toward his son, the offensive coach, who immediately pushed him back. “He tells me our friend Mayhem, here, is going to be the special guest for a couple of different interviews from his station, and if I didn’t get out of the way and let them do it, he’d make our lives a living hell.”

The group of coaches and one giant man in football pads were a few steps away from the entrance to the locker room. Big John stopped the group and guided them to a couple of benches near the doors that the coaches used to watch the players come in and out of the locker room.

“As I understand it, they’re coming this afternoon to shoot B-roll, as he put it, of our Mayhem and the team, for a feature they are working on for the beginning of the playoffs. The press has decided that we are shoo-ins to win the darn thing. Am I correct so far, Mr. Murphy?”

“Almost exactly, sir.”

“Where did I mess up?”

“Well, we haven’t won anything yet. That’s why we play the games, isn’t it?”

Big John’s smile fought the sun for the brightest object in the morning. “That it is. That it is.” Big John stood up from the bench and whirled Tim into sitting in his vacated spot. “So they are coming later today to interview you about the weekend’s happening...” Big John explained, but Tim cut him off.

“Coach, the way I understood it, I was going to their studio to do the interview about the restaurant first, and then I’d talk to the sports guy about the playoffs and, I guess, my story a bit,” Tim interpreted.

“Yeah,” Big John said while rubbing his chin. “That sounds like what they said they told you, but when I talked to Greg this morning, he said they got their heads out of their asses and realized they don’t have enough info to do a good interview for their sports story,” Big John reported.

“They are still going to come this afternoon and shoot a B-roll. They were probably going to explain it to you, then that they want you to come in tonight for their riot interview, and then give them a couple of days to work on your background, and then do up your playoff interview.” reviewed Big John as he stood above Tim. “Your ‘one night’ of interviewing looks to be turning into about a week! From what Greg told me, he is not looking to make you look bad; he’s looking for something to promote the sports show they have Sunday night after the news.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling from him when I talked to him, but they’re changing up a lot of it,” Tim complained.

“Oh, don’t you go holding that against him. The press are fickle, and all they want is something that will bring ratings for the TV show and clicks for the website, and you, my boy, are it,” Big John emphasized with a slap on the shoulder pads. “Now go on and get a shower for the school day. This will be a strange week for you, Mr. Murphy, so you need to concentrate on what is important: your schoolwork, your family, and the next game.”

After sending Tim into the locker room, Big John regarded the other coaches and told them, “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on that boy. We gotta make sure he isn’t turned into a porterhouse steak for the press to feed on. At least, let’s keep him looking like a salad.”

Inside the locker room, Tim’s teammates desperately needed to confirm the rumors flying through the school.

“I’m telling you, it was nothing, really. I was just trying to keep a bunch of drunk assholes from fucking with my family,” Tim loudly explained for the fifth time since removing his pads after the morning practice. “And no, I didn’t fuck Olivia King or Leni Klum. And no, Big G, I never even met her mom, Heidi! How could I have fucked her? She wasn’t there!”

“All right, assholes, leave the Terminator alone so he can get in the shower. Coach has fucked up the procedure. He might not have time to make himself pretty for the cameras,” Frank Robinson joked. Then he heartily laughed and removed the towel Tim threw onto his head as he jogged toward the showers.

“What do you think, Frank?” Troy Williams quietly asked his fellow captain while no one was paying attention to either of them.

“Think about what?” the middle linebacker asked.

When Troy stared at him like he had asked the stupidest question of all time, Frank decided to go ahead and answer him. “Well, yeah, I believe him. I mean, we heard about what happened on the news. What? Do you think he made it up or something?”

“At first, yeah. I thought he was making it up. I mean, how the fuck does something like that really happen, and how the fuck did he get put right in the middle of it? I’ve been to Bohanon’s a couple of times, and they got security in that place. I can remember seeing them. I mean, he’s a big kid and all, but don’t you remember they used to say that all of YungBalla’s boys were into like MMA and were all practicing that shit? It’s like the only thing they had to do to stay in Balla’s good graces. They had to learn to fight.”

Frank put his hairbrush down and glanced around to ensure no one was close by. “Dude. I’ve seen a little of what that kid can do on a football field. It is fuckin’ scary, bro.” Frank paused, put his brush away in his shower bag, and removed a small bottle of cologne. “I’m actually convinced he can go harder. I don’t think we’ve seen Tim’s full power. If he decides to let loose, fuck me, I hope he’s on my side!” Frank added before splashing cologne on his face, zipping his bag closed, and returning to his locker. The defensive captain of the football team left Troy with his mouth agape and staring at himself in the mirror in thought.

Tim did one final rinse through his hair and turned off the shower. He was also using his enhanced hearing to listen in on the captains’ conversation. He would have to think about that for a while. Luckily, the rest of the team left him alone to get dressed and ready to start the school day.

“So, Tim, did ya do anything interesting this weekend?” Donna Jefferies asked. She circled the table to get to her usual seat beside Tim in the journalism class. She had a mischievous smile pasted on her face that went to her eyes, and she was looking for a story. Unfortunately, the bell for class rang, and the school TV news program, “The Big Stick,” began a few seconds later.

The main anchor was someone Tim knew somewhat. David Arnold, the newspaper’s editor and a wrestler, was seated in the anchor chair. Typically, a mousy brunette named Gloria Daniels was the morning anchor, but they would swap out with others in the TV class from time to time.

“Good morning, Rough Riders! We have a few announcements for this morning, and undoubtedly, the most interesting has to do with some visitors we’ll be having throughout the week. A KSAT-12 news crew will be visiting because they are working on a series of stories about our very own Tim Murphy,”

Tim looked up at the TV from his seat and then at the clapping members of the class. Marcie Matthews slapped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t even look to see who it was. If he could, he would melt into the chair so no one could see him.

“Okay, everybody. Settle down so we can hear the rest of the announcements, please,” Mr. Baird announced to the class. “And maybe then, Mr. Murphy won’t wish he was disappearing.”

At that, Tim looked up and saw Mr. Baird wink at him while working his thumbs through the waistlines of his slacks. The class had learned that Mr. Baird winked when he was joking around.

“The reporters are doing a story about something involving our favorite student and a downtown riot this weekend. They are also doing a general story about how Tim’s football prowess helped the team live above expectations,” David announced. Then he mockingly leaned a little bit forward toward the camera. “Good idea to get in front of the press that the Rider football team is getting ready to steamroll over the entire state on their way to bringing a state championship to our school.” The class cheered in a prominent display of school spirit. When the journalism class quieted down, other classes down the hall were still cheering loudly.

“So the administration reminds you to act like adults whenever visitors are on campus. If they happen to ask you a question, answer them truthfully and stay away from any shenanigans. Any problems will be dealt with severely by our administration,” the senior newspaper editor said. David then picked up the sheet of paper in front of him. “Shenanigans! They actually said ‘shenanigans.’” He shook his head and continued to read the rest of the morning’s announcements.

“Mr. Murphy, a moment of your time across the way if you please. The rest of you, here is today’s assignment. Get it written and then printed out and put in the class basket; then you have the rest of class for yourself.” He picked up his collection of papers and marched toward the exit but paused at the door and turned to the class. “But no shenanigans, please.” The class laughed as Tim followed the teacher to his office across the hall.

“Hey, Tim, have they interviewed you yet?” David Arnold asked when Mr. Baird and Tim entered the office.

David gave Tim a faux punch to the shoulder. Other wrestling team members Tim had met through the football team greeted each other the same way. Tim figured it was a wrestling thing and left it at that.

“Nope, not yet,” Tim answered the senior wrestler. “You know, seeing you on TV a moment before coming over here is a little disconcerting.”

“Aww, don’t worry about that. You’ll get used to it. I have.”

“Okay, David, hand me the thing Greg Simmons sent over this morning.” David reached for a clipboard on his desk and pulled the top sheet off for the teacher. “Good, this looks right.” Mr. Baird turned his attention over to Tim, who was leaning against the office wall. “All right, Greg discovered after talking with you over the weekend that they were gonna need a little more time to do background on you before they tried doing a story about you. They are doing that now.”

“Coach said the same kinda thing to me right after practice this morning.”

Mr. Baird nodded in understanding. “Okay, that interview is postponed until tomorrow evening. Today, though, most likely right after school and before practice, they’ll interview you about that brouhaha downtown,” Mr. Baird added as he leaned forward in his chair, which squeaked under the weight change. “So, what the heck happened this weekend?”

“Well, I’m doing the interview with KSAT-12 because their reporter, Alicia Martinez, pretty much had everything right in her reporting. So you can watch or re-watch her reporting, and you get most of the story,” Tim answered.

“Yeah, but you just said you get most of the story,” David pointed out, and Mr. Baird nodded. “So what happened?”

Tim smiled and thought it was a good idea to tell the overall story as he had to his friends the night before. “I was there for my birthday dinner with my family and neighbors. They knew the place’s owner and got us a last-minute table. When we got there, we found out we would be sharing the special dining room with some people who were eating before a concert that night. The meal was great, but more of the celebrity’s friends showed, and it was pretty easy to see they had been celebrating long before they got there.”

“Ah, the tracksuit assholes that suck YungBalla’s dick whenever he wants,” David said. Mr. Baird just grunted in agreement. “Those guys suck worse than he does. Wait a second. They’re supposed to be these badass MMA dudes. They make, like, daily films of themselves fighting each other and all comers. How the fuck did you fight them off?”

Mr. Baird slapped David on his arm, pointed both hands openly at Tim, and then mimed being a muscle-bound hulk. It made both Tim and David laugh. The point was made and taken.

“So these guys were talkin’ smack as you’d expect according to their own press clippings,” Tim continued his explanation. “They started saying shit about us and my little sister, then they noticed the triplets with us.”

“Oh shit, the triplets were with you!”

“Yeah, but no one else knows about that. It’s probably best to keep it that way, so no one starts hunting them for a story.”

Just then, the door to Mr. Baird’s office burst open with Donna Jefferies babbling a million miles a minute. Tim caught the door just before it made contact with his face.

“Holy shit! Mr. Baird! The triplets were there this weekend! They were at the rioting! They were there! I got the full story from them! They told me everything that happened. I got it down, and I can write the story in about an hour!” Donna was hopping up and down like a child riding a sugar rush in extreme excitement. Mr. Baird and David quickly glanced at each other and began smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

“We know, Donna,” David said calmly, but the journalism teacher got as excited as the young writer and directed, “Well, get to writing, little lady!”

Donna smiled, spun on her heels, and sat down at one of the empty computers in a journalism office. It wasn’t clear if she had noticed Tim standing behind the door. He slowly closed it again, and all three men shared a quick laugh.

“So what actually started the fists to go flying?” David queried, continuing his interview with Tim. At least, that was how Tim decided to classify it in his mind.

Both David and Mr. Baird noticed the change in Tim’s demeanor. He got cold. It was jarring to the two men. David stepped back, bumping into the desk Mr. Baird was sitting behind.

“Dude,” David raised his hands in a defensive position as his voice faltered slightly. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, it’s cool. I, well, we were just wondering.”

Tim took a deep breath and counted to ten to calm himself. He tried to force a slight smile to show he was no longer getting upset.

“No, it’s fine, but they started talking shit to my little sister, and she was beginning to get upset. See, we were having dinner there to celebrate not only my birthday, but we also were celebrating my little sister’s great grades this semester. She worked hard, and they really improved. She was rightly proud of the work she’s been doing all year.”

Tim pulled out a chair and took a seat. “I mean, imagine having me as a big brother and all the attention focused on me. I was so happy inside when my dad suggested going to a fancy place like Bohanon’s not just because I’m doing well on the football field, but also because she has really improved.”

Tim quickly wiped the tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Well, Mr. Bohanon and a lot of waiters and waitresses began serving food to our table and the several tables being taken up by that big crew. Everybody began enjoying their meals when some lady screamed out from downstairs. It turned out to be Leni Klum. You know, the model. Her mom is Heidi Klum.”

Mr. Baird and David both started nodding their heads. When they glanced at each, they suddenly stopped, embarrassed.

“Olivia King and she obviously knew each other. She came with a few other really pretty girls, and that was like offering raw meat to a pack of wild dogs. The tracksuit guys began trying to get the new girls’ attention, and each one was shut down rather quickly and efficiently. So now we have a bunch of testosterone-packed guys not getting what they want when that is exactly what they always got in the past.”

“A few minutes of grumbling to each other about striking out with the few girl available to the group and the alcohol still free-flowing turned a small campfire into an inferno. Just then, you could hear from downstairs there were a bunch of people causing trouble. It was like twenty-something more tracksuits arriving for food who were already three sheets to the wind. My dad and Mr. Matthews, the triplets’ dad, decided it was time for our families to leave.

“We got up to go, and they started talkin’ shit even more. Then they noticed the triplets and their mother, so we started toward the door, and I got in between my group and them. Eventually, they began going for the triplets, and I didn’t let them.”

“Wow! What a story. You weren’t hurt?” Mr. Baird asked after a little delay.

“No. We were all fine, and after the cops figured out what happened and how all I did was basically protect my family and friends, they let me go.”

“Well done, sir, well done. Always protect your family and friends,” Mr. Baird congratulated Tim, then stood up and fixed his shirt by running his thumbs under his belt line from his navel to his sides and back.

“Okay, David, we’ve screwed around long enough. Timothy, remember, don’t fall apart when you talk about your sister during the interview this afternoon. Don’t forget, but don’t be a robot, either. Just tell them as you told us, and the media will be satisfied and might leave you alone for a while,” Mr. Baird explained with a hand patting Tim’s shoulder. “Tell them the truth, don’t lie, and don’t embellish anything either. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Give an interview, but don’t make anything interesting enough for them to want to know more.”

“Exactly!” Mr. Baird concluded. Before Tim could leave the office, he was stopped. “Tim?” the football star turned back to his teacher. “You might want to have a word with the three lovely ladies. I’m guessing they think you are one step from walking on water. Find out if they want it known they were there over the weekend, even if they’ve already outed themselves,” he instructed while pointing discreetly to the young lady typing away in the corner.

Tim left the journalism offices and returned to the classroom, all mouths closing and staring at him. The looks were somewhere between awe and profound worry. “Um, don’t worry, I’m not going to beat up anyone in here,” he joked.

While everyone was laughing, he went to his seat and began working on the class assignment.

“Hey, um, can I ask you something, actually?” Margie Matthews had changed seats with the youngest sister to speak with Tim quietly. “Do you mind if we tell people our version of what happened? I mean, if you don’t want us to, we won’t,” she tried apologetically.

“Well,” Tim said, looking up from his assignment.

He was about to give a tongue-in-cheek response to her question, but he noticed the other two sisters were busy looking like they were trying not to be looking at him. Tim reasoned to himself they were not in a joking mood. “Yeah, I don’t mind. I mean, do you guys mind if I say you were there?”.

“Oh, no, we don’t mind, but we kinda already talked to Donna, and she writes for the Big Stick, so I guess she’ll put out an article online as soon as she finishes it,” Margie explained hurriedly, her words all blending into one.

“I was across the hall doing the same thing with David and Mr. Baird. If you want to tell the story to others, I’m cool. Just try not to embellish or anything. I don’t want people to think I’m a superhero or something like that,” Tim instructed as he raised his arms, flexed his biceps, and made his pectoral muscles bounce obscenely under his white Polo shirt. The snorting laughter from the triplets grabbed every class member’s attention.

Tim found it impossible to ignore or forget about the plethora of news vans parked alongside the football field when he jogged out to begin the afternoon practice. That reality was complicated by the story, blowing up throughout the class day, of what Tim did to rescue his family and the neighbors. There were rumors that Tim got shot 12 times, had broken YungBalla69’s arms and legs, and raped Olivia King on the table in front of his family as they enjoyed their dinner. Wrong but very imaginative, he had to admit to himself.