Chapter 88: Let’s Go Be Heroes

“Great game, Tim!”

“Go for it all, Tim!”

“Mayhem! Mayhem! Mayhem!” The chanting students were all on cloud nine.

This wasn’t the usual stuff of a Monday morning; it was turned up to eleven. Tim thought it was becoming a nuisance, but it still wasn’t possible or even necessary to avoid it. Walking through the school and getting love from pretty much everybody that morning was a good way to over-inflate an ego.

“Don’t let it all go to your head, geek!” Johnnie Boynes always had a way of piercing the inflation of Tim’s ego at just the right time.

Tim considered Johnnie his best friend. Sure, he had acquaintances all over the school, but he didn’t really know anyone else. Johnnie was the only one who knew Tim before the transformation.

However, Tim considered that maybe he didn’t know Johnnie, either. He couldn’t help but wonder if he were in Johnnie’s shoes, he might be beginning to resent the adoration currently thrown at Tim.

The onset of another group of “adoring fans” pulled Tim out of his head as he made his way from his math class to English. Standing at the doorway were Jerry & Terry Rogers, which meant Tommy, the leader of the Darq Squad, was already in the classroom. He always greeted the two imposing men, and they always returned the greeting with a simple nod. Tim didn’t realize it, but he would make himself stand up especially straight whenever he came across those two. Maybe it was a defense mechanism of some kind.

Tim still couldn’t figure out what Tommy did for the administration to allow the two bodyguards to stand guard outside each of his classes. However, Tim’s friends had confirmed it was true.

“Sup, champ?” Tommy appeared to be somewhat jovial with his greeting.

“Sup, Tommy?” The two shared a quick, complicated handshake they had been practicing for the last few days.

“My man, that was a great game on Saturday,” Tommy said to lead the conversation. He leaned in closer to Tim and whispered, “I ain’t ashamed to say I made a few bones off you and your boy handling your business.” He then leaned back into his chair and raised his voice to a normal level. “So you got this state championship in the bag then, right?”

“Well, we got a look at the Panthers film from their playoff wins. They are damned tough. It’ll be a challenge,” Tim answered politically.

“Nah. Bump that. Way you been playing, you got it in the bag, and that bag will be mine. After all, your good fortune is also my good fortune,” Tommy laughed at his turn of phrase. The bell rang, signaling the beginning of class and the end of superfluous conversation.

At lunch, all the players were giddily sharing stories of the congratulations they had received all morning. Tim thought some of these guys should become professional writers because of their imaginations.

“Hey, have you guys checked out the Duncanville game film?” Johnnie asked the table. The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees. “I’m just saying, there’s a decent chance some of us might get some playing time. I mean, sure, Tim is otherworldly and will probably lead us to more state titles, but reality has to set in, and we need to be ready for a chance to play in what could be our only shot at the state title.”

Johnnie got several agreeing moans and head nods, but still, no one raised their voice. Tim decided to take one for the team.

“Yeah, I watched them all yesterday,” he stated before inhaling one of his hamburgers. In the midst of chewing, he looked around the table, and each face was staring back at him, apparently waiting for the good news. “They are tough, and they are deep, but we got a chance since it all depends on who is ready to play the game. Let’s see what new level of hell the coaches have for us later on.”

There were a few grunts of begrudging agreement before the group conversation could flow back into one of the saltier recollections of congratulations from this morning.

“Shit. What are you, a coach or something?” Johnnie said and smiled to soften the perceived insult. The table’s guffaws agreed much louder to that, and the conversation shifted into more positive recollections.

The mood in the locker room was sour. Everyone was there and dutifully getting ready for the traditional introduction practice for the week. Mondays were generally reserved for teaching and game plan processing. Tuesdays were always the much more difficult and strenuous practices where the game plans were ironed out. Wednesdays featured more processing and over-correcting the game plan. Any last-minute questions were addressed, and the JV game happened on Thursday. Fridays were traditionally game nights and filled with the usual pomp and circumstance for the weekly game versus the bad guys of the week. If it was a Saturday game, Friday was for repeating Thursday for the varsity, and the JV acted as the bad guys in practice. Once in the playoffs, there were no more JV – or freshman games, for that matter – so the freshman and JV players served as stand-ins for the bad guys of the week.

Coach O’Shaughnessy called for the team’s attention with his usual shrill whistle tweet. He was the only coach Tim had heard who got that sound from regular coaches’ whistles.

“Gather up, ladies!” he shouted, standing in front of the large dry-erase board. “We have a couple of announcements, and I believe our offensive captain, Mr. Williams, has asked to go first, so...”

Coach yielded the floor to the senior quarterback.

“Fellas! We are going to be getting ready for the biggest game of many of our lives. For many of us, it is the last game we will ever get to strap up and hit somebody as hard as we fucking can. You underclassmen can’t understand this right now, but trust us, seniors,” he glanced over everyone’s heads and stared affectionately at the locker room itself, “it’s over before you realize it.”

Troy made a quick wipe of his face and stomped his foot to change his emotions. “Now, a few weeks ago, we had a bit of an incident in the locker room at halftime, and because of that, there is a significant member of our team not here to help us prepare.” The coach’s office door opened, but no one turned to see who it was out of respect for one of their leaders. “Earlier this morning, we finished all the legal shit and put it behind us. No need to go into particulars, but we got Coach Fontana back for the final game.”

Troy Williams stood straighter and pointed to the coach entering the locker room area.

At first, a feeling of confusion overwhelmed everyone. There were questioning glances at Coach Fontana that swiftly switched to Coach O’Shaughnessy. They also flitted to Troy, who was clapping loudly and moving guys out of the way so the old man could make his way to the front of the team. By the time he was in front of the team, the collective applause was plenty loud.

Coach Fontana was deeply embarrassed, and his standard deep, South Texas red skin darkened with his blush. “Okay. Okay, boys. Simmer down. We are short on time. Yes, we have put my dumbass stupidity behind us. I asked for his forgiveness, and it was given to me. However, I am not returning to coach full-time. The last couple of weeks away from it all cemented my feelings that it was past time for me to go. As such, I will not be returning as head coach or athletic director. So Marty, do you think you got another week in ya?” In response, Coach O’Shaughnessy smiled and gave a thumbs-up, and the team cheered.

“I am going to retire, but I just felt like if you guys would have me, I’d like to lend a hand and try to help you men get over the hump and hopefully, win yourselves a state title.” The former head coach then took a step back and waited for an answer. He didn’t wait long.

Coach Fontana was a hardass, old-school-type coach, but each player, except for most freshmen players, saw him as a second father, and they could go to him with any problems. Tim never had anything but deep respect for the man. His resume earned him that, at least, and Tim’s few interactions with the veteran coach did nothing but earn continued respect.

Frank Robinson hopped up from his squat and bounded up beside his fellow captain, “Thanks for warning me, ass!” His smile and a shoulder bump belied his words.

“Coach Fontana, we respect you almost as we respect our own fathers and, in many cases, even more so, so if Troy says the hatchet is buried, then it’s buried. Now I hope you got some old-school tricks in that big, watermelon-sized head of yours,” the rest of the team was shocked at the captain’s words. “What? He don’t work here no more! He’s basically a volunteer,” Frank explained as Troy wrapped a towel over Frank’s head and attempted to put the middle linebacker into a chokehold. It didn’t work, but the levity relieved any hostility that might have been lingering. Coach Fontana shook both of the captain’s hands and waved for them to retake their seats.

“Okay, now that that is taken care of, it’s time for us to get serious. I’m going to work primarily with the quarterbacks and the overall offense. I am, however, gonna help everywhere because, oh good lord, be careful of what you wish for since you might just get it.”

The overhead projector was aimed onto the dry-erase board and film everyone had seen at least once since Saturday night began playing. “You wanted to be seen as the best football team in the state of Texas? Well, in order to be the best, you gotta beat the best, and ladies, I give you the Duncanville Panthers. Think of the most difficult opponent you’ve individually had this season and put that son of bitch in the second string on this team. They are a hell of a team, and they know it.”

“Okay. So, a quick recap. We have approved getting the higher quality buses for the team, but we’ll use the school buses for the band and the dance team girls. They’ll need three or four for the band and their instruments, two for the dance team, and one more for the cheerleaders and athletic trainers and their equipment. Do I have that right?” Dr. Kevin Johnson, the head of the Rough Rider Sports Booster Club, asked at the special Monday night meeting.

The leaders of the Sports Boosters, the Marching Band Booster Club, and the Dance Team Booster Club met in the school cafeteria and agreed with the recap.

“Good. So don’t forget, we’ll need the cash. Everyone better pony up!”

The meeting ended as each attendee dropped off their checks, the majority of them reaching in the thousands of dollars, including Raymond Murphy’s check.

“Great job, Kevin, getting all these people together for this,” Raymond praised as he handed over his check to the head of the Sports Boosters. Raymond sneaked a peek at some of the checks, and they matched up pretty much with the $1,000 he had handed over.

“Yeah, well, pretty soon, all this you can see will be yours,” he revealed while thumbing through the handful of checks and keeping a running total in his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with your boy the main reason for the success of the football team, the other parents will naturally gravitate toward you taking over as the head of the booster club,” Dr. Johnson explained while putting the checks into a money pouch. “As a matter of fact ... you got an extra half hour?”

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Well, I might as well introduce you to the private banker for the booster club right next door,” he shared, pointing in the general direction of a red brick building next door to the school. “I’ll go ahead and put you on the account as the incoming president.”

“Wait a second! Shouldn’t there be like an election to find the next president? I mean, that’s how they do it on TV,” Raymond joked.

“Normally, but really, the last few presidents were basically picked by the previous officers. I guess they did an informal sort of vote, and you got it,” Dr. Johnson pronounced as he opened the bank’s front door.

“Yeah. Lucky me, I guess,” Raymond grumbled.

“Exactly!”

“Nah, man, she’s actually a pretty good teacher. I mean, I’ve read the book already, but with the discussions in class, she got me rereading the thing. I think that’s pretty good,” Tommy spelled out to one of his bodyguards, Jerry Rogers. Jerry’s brother, Terry, quietly nodded his agreement.

“Well, if you say so, but I just feel if you need to reread a book because of a discussion, then you might not have been paying attention the first time that you ‘read’ the book,” Jerry answered, using finger quotes.

“Okay. Point taken, but you have to agree, it is a good book,” Tommy said.

“No doubt,” both brothers said at almost the same time. “Jinx!”

“Ha! Twenty-five, little bro, and you owe me a Coke.”

“Shit,” Terry added before dropping onto the floor and beginning his 25 push-up penalty for not announcing the jinx first. Tommy smiled at his friends’ lifelong brotherly antics and continued with his lunch.

The simple happiness of their brotherly games was interrupted by a ringing phone. All three recognized a recent YungBalla69 song as the ringtone. Tommy motioned for the brothers to close the private room of the restaurant where they were eating lunch and to stand guard. Jerry asked a question using only rudimentary hand signals. He pointed with two fingers to the door and then to himself. Then, he pointed to the door and made an extra effort to jump his fingers outside the door. Tommy raised his own two fingers and copied the extra effort finger signal. Jerry nodded his understanding, and both brothers stood outside the room as they guarded against any entrant.

“YungBalla69, what’s good?”

“I’ll tell ya what’s good. I got this friend. Well, he’s more of an acquaintance. He has several very popular streaming channels where he basically pulls pranks on people and tries to coax unsuspecting people into fights with him to then be stopped by the huge security personnel accompanying the douchebag. I was having dinner with him last night, and he told me that he was looking for their next location for a shoot. I suggested San Antonio,” YungBalla69 admitted.

“Did you aim this douchebag at me?” Tommy growled.

“Fuck no. I like you. I’d only send this particular douchebag, as you succinctly described him, after enemies, and I’m pretty sure we can both think of one we’d love to see embarrassed, especially before the most important game of his life,” Christian Young bragged.

“Okay, I see where you are going with this. I’ll tell you the truth, my first inclination was to tell you to quash this until after next weekend, but fucking up our mutual friend’s thought processes before the biggest game of his life and then piling stuff on afterward would be pretty sweet,” Tommy enthused. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at the empty room. His smile grew, thinking about the kind of money he could win by betting on the state championship, especially if he knew something during the week could cause one team’s superstar not to be playing at his peak proficiency. “I like it. What do you need from me?”

“I’ll put you into communication with one JohnnyBengali. I think he will need some info on where Superstar could be found and where he could screw with him. Is this number safe to give to him?”

“Sure. What’s his story?”

“You don’t spend much time on social media, do you?”

“Nah. That shit’ll rot your brain and turn you into a cuck. Pretty soon, all your thinking is focused on what will my viewers think of me if I do this or what can I do to get my viewers to want to keep watching me. All the while, you miss the quiet, unassuming asshole pulling a Glock from his waistband with a deeply-seated itch to pull the trigger while pointing it at you. You’ll never see me live-streaming any of that shit from my real life.”

Christian was dumbfounded by the real-life gangster with whom he was on the phone. YungBalla69 lived the majority of his life online, surrounded by underlings protecting him from real confrontations and pulling his ass out of predicament after predicament.

“Cool, cool. Anyway, dude, JohnnyBengali got in trouble a few weeks back in L.A. and lost a couple of weeks of footage for his streams. So, he needs to upload new footage as quickly as he can, or he’ll lose his audience. So a trip down to that city down there will do him good. I even told him about a nice place to get some steak,” YungBalla69 was extremely proud of his joke, taking a few seconds to laugh openly.

“Just make sure this asshole knows not to fuckin’ film me in any way,” Tommy ordered.

“Yeah, man. I told him not to even think about messing with you. He fell in love with the idea of getting this goody-two-shoes football hero to throw a punch at him on video. He’ll look like a badass if he can successfully make him look foolish on film without getting into any trouble himself,” Christian illustrated. “He’s just looking for someone to mess with and make him look good. But ... you know, now that I think about it, you might want to remind him in a succinct way to not film you or your associates. Scare him, and he’ll listen.

“He’ll call you either later tonight or sometime tomorrow, and together you can plan out what to do and utilize his impressive gift of being an absolute asshole. Trust me, I know something about being an asshole, and this guy can give Ted Talks on the subject. I can’t fucking wait to see what the two of you can come up with.” The phone instantly disconnected, and Tommy was still smiling at Christian’s supposed “Alpha Male” move of hanging up first without giving the other caller a chance to do so.

Tommy quickly texted Terry a thumbs-up emoji, and a few seconds later, the two bodyguards opened the doors and retook their seats around the table to continue lunch. “Either one of you ever heard of a guy by the name of JohnnyBengali?”

They both thought for a moment.

“Sounds familiar. Where have I heard that name befo ... oh wait! Ain’t he one of those dudes on TikTok who throws pranks on supposedly unsuspecting people and films their reactions? They either walk away confused and embarrassed or they gets their asses kicked,” Terry explained while lightly slapping his brother’s arm.

“Oh, that dude you showed me who’s always getting into shoving matches with other little internet bitches who think they are badasses. And then he goes and hides behind his security,” Jerry remembered.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Those security guys are bitches. If shit ever really went down, the only security that would work for that cock pimple would be to run as fast as possible,” Jerry pointed out.

The two brothers began laughing at the description, and Tommy joined them.

“Well, how do I not know about this guy?” Tommy asked.

“Like you said, you ain’t all on social media and whatnot. He’s a cuck, through and through,” Terry explained.

“Well, apparently, our rainbow-haired friend is sending him our way to antagonize our football hero into something embarrassing while live-streaming, I guess. Lemme see some of him in action. I’ll get an idea of what to do with him,” the boss implored.

Jerry pulled out a tablet from the ever-present black leather bag one of the two bodyguards was always carrying and found a video another internet troll put together of a few of JohnnyBengali’s confrontations over the years.

“Tommy,” Terry objected. “If this guy wants to start fuckin’ with Mayhem, why are you letting him? I mean, I thought we was cool with him and whatnot.” Tommy took a few moments before answering.