“Who are they?” Freck Foley whispered to Grinder Meade.
“I think Ingersoll played secondary for the old Chicago Bears,” the tackle replied. “I never heard of Murray.”
“RAH-RAH-RAH! SIS-BOOM-BAH!” Coach Newtrokni led the cheers. “HERESY! HERESY! RAH-RAH-RAH!”
“YAY!” the team responded. “YAY! YAY! YAY!” and they trotted back onto the field for the second half, mudsliding the last ten yards into position to receive.
Defensive weak safety Bubba Weaver plopped down on the bench beside me to watch the Whittier offense in what passed for action. “How’s it going, Bubba?” I asked him, angling my umbrella to share it with him.
“Did you know every man on the Pittsburgh offensive line can bench-press up to five hundred pounds?’
“That bad, huh?”
“You try playing ‘bump-and-run’ with Webster and Kolb. The way it works out is, I bumb, and they run all over me. It’s like charging into a steamroller head-on every time. Oh, well,” he sighed. “At least it keeps my mind off my problems.”
“What problems?” I recalled his enthusiastic heterosexual performance with Terry Niemath the night before. “I thought you solved your main problem.”
“And I thought you were supposed to be a sex expert!”
Time out was called on the field. The Whittier quarterback had attempted a sneak and been brought down behind the line of scrimmage by Number Seventy-five, Mean Joe Greene himself. Now they were digging him out of the mud where Mean Joe had planted him. It took a while.
Finally, they carried the quarterback’s unconscious body off the field and past us to the locker room. I expected Coach Newtrokni to put Terry Niemath in to replace him. But, evidently, things weren’t bad enough for that yet. He signaled the third string QB onto the field instead.
“I am a sex expert.” I responded to Bubba Weaver’s comment.
“Then why do you think balling a woman solved my problem?”
“It means you don’t have to be gay.”
“Being gay was not a problem for me, Mr. Victor. I was happy gay. I was well-adjusted. I cruised. I had variety. And, sometimes, I had satisfying relationships.”
“You didn’t exactly look like you were suffering last night with Terry,” I reminded him.
“I wasn’t suffering. I was tempted and I gave in. Just the way some straight guys are tempted into a gay act and give in. But one act doesn’t make them gay, and one act for me doesn’t make me straight.”
“Okay,” I granted. “I can appreciate that.”
“But it gave me problems. I mean, a little while ago, I caught myself looking at one of the cheerleaders with lust in my heart.”
“Like Jimmy Carter.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“I started noticing breasts and legs and asses. Women ’s breasts and legs and asses!” ‘
“Nice, huh?”
“It confuses me.”
“Maybe you’re bisexual,” I suggested.
“Everybody’s bisexual. I’m not talking about potential. I’m talking about preference. I’m talking about commitment to what makes me happiest.”
“Which is?”
“Guys. Women just mix up my head. I don’t need it. I want to be happy again. I want to stay gay!”
“Okay,” I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“I will. But I need help,” Bubba Weaver confided. “I need you to tell Coach I shouldn’t room with Terry Niemath any more. I can’t stand it. I mean, she walks around nude all the time. Tits flying. Ass wiggling. Pussy puckering. It’s more than I can stand. I’ve got to get away from her. Will you help me, Mr. Victor? Will you talk to Coach Newtrokni?”
“Relieve your mind, Bubba,” I told him. “It’s already done. You can room with Rhino and I’ll room with Terry myself.” I didn’t tell Bubba that the Coach had decided that before the game began. It couldn’t hurt for him to think I was doing him a favor. You never could tell when I might want one in return.
By now, the Whittier third-string QB had succeeded in reaching a fourth-and-twenty-seven situation on the Whittier eighteen. Our punter went in and kicked a long one. The mud fouled up the Steelers’ punt return, and their offense took over on their own thirty-eight yard line.
“Problem solved,” I reminded Bubba as the Whittier defense dragged back onto the field.
“Now get out there and play your heart out.”
Three plays later, he tried to stop Franco Harris and was helped off the field reciting a Gay Rights platform in a voice like Woody the Woodpecker’s. On the next play, Number Twelve lobbed a long one into the waiting hands of Number Eighty-eight, and the Bradshaw-Swann connection left Pittsburgh with a first-down-goal-to-go situation. On the second attempt, Franco Harris took the handoff straight up the center for the TD. Mike Bahr kicked the extra point.
In possession again, Whittier chewed up time without much to show for it. Although the luck of the mud was on their side and they managed to eke out three consecutive first downs, they still weren’t even within field goal-kicking distance of the Pittsburgh goal posts when they were forced to give back the ball.
Coach sent Bubba Weaver back into the game. Two plays later, Bradshaw lobbed a long one towards Stallworth. But dependable old Eighty-two slipped in the mud and the ball went over his head. Bubba, too far back to have covered, nevertheless turned in time to see the ball in the air and took a hopeless dive back towards it. He landed on his back and slid ten yards to where the ball fell into his upstretched hands.
It was ruled a valid interception. Once again, Whittier had possession. Miraculously, they still had it two plays later when the whistle blew ending the third quarter. The score was Pittsburgh twenty-one, Stonewalls zilch, which took care of the point spread.
With the start of the fourth quarter, Coach Newtrokni decided that the situation was severe enough to warrant putting in Terry Niemath at quarterback. On his instructions, the team slogged through the mud to the scrimmage line as a unit. Terry was in the center of them. Her helmet was on, and her loose jersey and certain strategic padding camouflaged her figure. Like Rhino, the Coach figured it was worth a shot at least to try to conceal her womanliness.
Pete Gorgonzola, the wide receiver I’d counseled about sustaining relationships, followed in their wake. As he passed me, I called out to him. “How’s it going, Pete?”
“The same.”
“This is your chance to change it.”
“Huh?”
“Score a touchdown, and I guarantee things will be better.”
“Fat chance.”
So much for team spirit. I sat back under my umbrella and watched the Whittier Stonewalls line up in the rain. It was third down with seventeen to go on their own twenty-two. Some situation for a quarterback to face in a first professional football appearance.
With the exception of Terry, the team was soaked to the skin and covered with mud. Mean Joe and the rest of the Pittsburgh defense didn’t miss that fact. It made this new undersized quarterback easy to watch. Translation: easy to sack.
The fans, drenched and disgusted, were already starting to drift out of Milhous Stadium as the teams lined up for the first play of the fourth quarter. The whistle blew, and center Mitch Marzipan snapped the ball to Terry. She faded back into the slot.
Pete Gorgonzola did his best to break loose and head deep for the left-hand comer. Pittsburgh safety Mike Wagner, however, was with him all the way. He did a bump-and-run number an Gorgonzola that had the wide receiver bouncing around like a basketball being dribbled by the Harlem Globetrotters. The result was that Pete was nowhere near in position when Terry was ready to throw.
Meanwhile, Terry’s blocking was dissolving around her. For once, Nuke Outlaw had made the right move and considerably slowed down his side of the line. Plowboy Palmer was also performing yeoman service at left guard, considering that he had to contend with Steve Furness. Nevertheless, the Whittier line, after giving Terry their all, was now being overrun.