Gordon Korman Bruno & Boots 05 The Zucchini Warriors

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Coach Flynn had stepped aside to let the master work, and were acting only as
assistants.
"You know," said Carson, standing on the sidelines during one of the many
heavy drills, "I've had eleven years in the pros, and I've never seen a coach
like that."
Pete Anderson looked on nervously. "What if he has to leave?"
Carson suppressed a shudder. "If he does, we can't hold it against him. The
man has a job, and a family to support."
***
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"You mean you don't know about Bruno Walton's lucky penny?" said Myron
Blankenship incredulously to the ball holder for kicking drill. "He rubs it
for luck, just like it was a rabbit's foot. And once it got into a rummage
sale by mistake, but he bought it back."
Bruno flew through the air and hit the tackling dummy like an express train.
"Nice hit, Walton," Klapper called. "That's putting your heart into it."
"I'm pretending it's the Blabbermouth!" muttered Bruno under his breath.
***
The message was short and to the point:
KLAPPER GET BACK HERE IMMEDIATELY OR ELSE. GREER
He had been staring at the telegram all day, mulling it over all evening. And
now, one-thirty in the morning, he had reached a decision. There was no
putting Greer off any longer no more notes and messages. It was time to be
honest. It was time for a meaningful gesture.
He reconnected his phone, and dialed the number of a twenty-four-hour florist
in Toronto. There he placed an order to have a potted fern and ivy plant
delivered to Mr. Greer's office at the Ministry. The card would read:
With deepest apologies, Kevin Klapper
That said it perfectly. Hewas sorry. But he was committed now. Win or lose,
he was staying with the Zucchini Warriors until the very end. And Greer would
have his apologies, and a very nice plant to brighten up his office.
Heedless of the hour, he rushed over to the guest cottage and pounded on
Henry Carson's door. After a long while, a bleary-eyed Carson appeared before
him, his bulky frame wrapped in a Mr. Zucchini bathrobe.
"Kevin! What are you doing here? It's two o'clock in the morning!"
"I'm staying!" Klapper announced joyfully.
Suddenly Carson was fully awake. "Staying? But what about your job?"
"I've taken care of that!"
"You mean you've squared it with your boss?"
"Well I sent him a plant."
Carson swung the door wide. "I promise you, Kevin you'll never regret this.
Come on in. Let's have some cocoa."
***
On Saturday, the bleachers were jam-packed with umbrellas. The rain had
started Friday evening, pouring all night, and had settled at dawn into a
dreary cold drizzle. This set the stage for game one of the Daw Cup play-offs.
Within five minutes of the opening kickoff, it was impossible to tell one
team from the other. Everyone was mud from head to toe. The game had to be
stopped several times so the officials could hose off the ball. More than one
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pass, for both sides, was thrown to an opposing player, because all the
jerseys were now the same color brown. Every tackle was a mud shower, every
fall a slide, every catch a miracle. By halftime, the field looked like the
Everglades.
"How is he?" asked Coach Flynn in the clubhouse.
A dazed and filthy Sidney Rampulsky sat propped up against his locker,
spitting mud in all directions.
"He'll be okay," reported Larry. "He swallowed a lot of turf, though."
"Great play!" approved Mr. Carson. "He slid all the way into the end zone on
his face!"
"It was worth it!" gurgled Sidney. "I got a touchdown!"
By the time the teams returned for the third quarter, the rain had stopped,
and a thick fog had rolled in. This was great news for Macdonald Hall, who had
the lead, 7-0. Offense was impossible for both teams, since no one could see
to catch or get a foothold to run. The clock did the rest.
"Mildred, I must be out of my mind!" exclaimed a totally drenched Mr.
Sturgeon as he and his wife navigated their way home through the mist. "Why
did I allow that mud bath to continue? It will be a miracle if no one comes
down with pneumonia!"
Mrs. Sturgeon wrung out her hat, laughing, "Oh, William, how can you think
about pneumonia? We won!"
***
Shortly after the end of the game, the first litter of Manchurian bush
hamster grandchildren was born. The second litter came the following morning,
and by Monday's practice, the north bleachers ofthe football stadium were home
to a community of one hundred and twenty-six.
Not twenty yards away from where grueling practices were going on all week,
blessed events were taking place in the world of a
no-longer-quite-so-endangered species. By the time a capacity crowd filled the
Macdonald Hall football stadium for Saturday's semifinal matchup, the grand
total of Manchurian bush hamsters was two hundred and seven. By the end of the
game, there were twenty-one more.
The newborns were a little nervous, because the noise coming from the stadium
was deafening. The game was a real barn-burner for the Warrior fans. They
cheered themselves hoarse as the home team opened up a commanding
fourteen-point lead in the first half, and then screamed in agony as the
visitors roared back and caught up in the second. With the score tied 24-24,
the Zucchini Warriors were going into overtime.
"Look," said Klapper, as players and coaches alike panicked around him. "The
Panthers are more experienced than we are, and they've been going like a
steamroller for the last thirty minutes of play. If this overtime goes long,
we have no chance."
"What do you want us to do, Mr. Klapper?" asked Bruno.
"Three plays," said Klapper evenly. "That's all we can afford. Jackson runs
back the kickoff, Drimsdale throws long, Blankenship kicks a field goal.
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That's all we need. First point wins."
Coach Flynn had been white as a sheet ever since the start of the second
half, when the lead had begun to slip. "How can it work?" he whispered
frantically as the teams took the field for the overtime kickoff. "These are
just kids! Sure, they've come a long way and they've won some games. But you
can't expect them to pull off a combination like that in an overtime of a
semifinal game!"
Then the coach watched goggle-eyed as everything happened exactly the way
Klapper had laid it out. Before he knew it, Myron Blankenship was jogging out
to attempt the field goal.
There was dead silence in the stadium. Watching mesmerized from the bench,
Bruno brought out his lucky penny and began rubbing it fervently. The snap was
made; the holder teed up the ball. But instead of kicking, Myron pointed to
the sidelines and announced, "Look! There it is! His lucky penny!"
A great gasp went up in the stadium from two thousand throats. On the field,
the Warriors' line struggled to keep the Panthers from breaking through. The
ball holder began to tremble, looking to the coaches for some kind of
instruction.
At that moment, Cathy Burton leaped up onto the bench and let out a
bloodcurdling shriek that was heard from one end of the campus to the other.
"KIIIIIIIIIIICK!!!"
Myron looked startled. "Oh yeah." He turned, ran up to the ball, and booted
it dead center between the goalposts.
Final score, 27-24. The Warriors were in the championship game.
***
"Okay, Larry," said Bruno. "Let's hear the scouting report." The weekend
celebrations were over, and Bruno, Boots, Larry, Wilbur, Sidney, Pete, Myron,
and Dave were packed into room 306.
From his pocket, Larry removed a small notebook and flipped it open. "The
Montrose Junior High Maulers," he began. "The best-ever team at our level in
Ontario. The 1985, '86, and '87 Daw Cup champions. In all that time, they only
lost one game, and that was by default, because of a chicken pox epidemic at [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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