Coach Hyatt Is a Riot! (4 page)

We all trudged into the locker room like zombies. We were tired. Sore. Dirty. Depressed. It looked more like a hospital than a locker room. Wyatt Hyatt was lying on the floor picking his nose.

“I think I'm gonna die,” I announced as I plopped down on a bench.

“Can we go home now?” asked Neil the nude kid.

Coach Hyatt blew her whistle.

“Okay,” she barked. “Listen up! All you ragamuffins gather around and take a knee.”

“Take a knee?” I asked. “Why should I take a knee?”

“Where do I get a knee to take?” asked Ryan. “And where should I take it?”

“What if somebody is using their knee and can't loan it to me?” asked Michael.

“I can't take my own knee,” said Neil. “I need it. Whose knee should I take?”

“Just kneel down, boys,” said Coach Hyatt.

“Oh.”

“We're only behind by seventy-seven points,” the coach told us. “There's still a lot of football to be played. Plenty of time to catch up.”

Everybody groaned

“Can't we just forfeit the game, Coach?” I asked.

“Forfeit?” Coach Hyatt barked. “When I was your age and my team was behind by seventy-seven points, do you know what I would do?”

“What?” we all asked.

“I'd build a log cabin with my bare hands.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Ryan.

But Coach Hyatt wasn't listening. She picked up a clipboard and paced back and forth across the locker room. I could tell she was going to give us a pep talk. Coaches always pace back and forth and give you a pep talk when your team is losing. It's the first rule of being a coach.

“I want to ask you ragamuffins a question,” Coach Hyatt said. “What's a ten-letter word that means ‘first president'?”

“Washington!” we all shouted.

“Right!”

The coach wrote something on her clipboard.

“What does that have to do with football?” I asked.

“Nothing,” the coach replied. “I'm working on a crossword puzzle.”

She started pacing back and forth again.

“How many states are there?” she asked.

“Fifty!” we all shouted.

“Right! And how many cents are in two quarters?” asked Coach Hyatt.

“Fifty!” we all shouted.

“Right! And what's half of a hundred?” asked Coach Hyatt.

“Fifty!” we all shouted.

“What does that have to do with football?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Fifty is my favorite
number. The point is, this game is half over. That's fifty percent. So we've got fifty percent left. The Sharks had their half. Now it's time for
our
half.”

“But we're getting
killed
out there, Coach!” Michael said.

“Don't worry,” Coach Hyatt told us. “I have a plan.”

A plan? What plan could she possibly have? We were behind by seventy-seven points!

“It's time to bring out our secret weapon,” Coach Hyatt said.

She went over to the locker room door.

She put her hand on the doorknob.

And you'll never believe in a million
hundred years who walked into the door at that moment.

Nobody, because if you walked into a door it would hurt. But you'll never believe who walked into the door
way
.

I'm not gonna tell you.

Okay, okay, I'll tell you. But you have to read the next chapter. So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you.

It was Andrea Young!!!

Little Miss Perfect I-Know-Everything-and-You-Don't walked into our locker room. And she was wearing a football uniform!

“There's a girl in the locker room!” shouted Neil the nude kid. “Run for your lives!”

“Coach Hyatt is a girl, too, dumbhead,” I told Neil.

“Oh, right.”

“Hi, Arlo!” Andrea said.

“What are
you
doing here?” I asked her.

“Coach Hyatt asked me to join the team because you boys are so lame,” she told me. “I wasn't allowed to wear my jewelry, so I accessorized my helmet with stickers. Do you like it?”

“No,” I told her, “and girls don't play football.”

“I've been watching Andrea on the sideline,” Coach Hyatt told us. “I think she can help us. She's fast. She's strong. She's smart.”

“She's annoying,” I added.

“Do you want to win, A.J.?” Coach Hyatt asked. “Or do you just want to complain?”

“Can I do both?” I asked.

Coach Hyatt paced the locker room again.

“Do you ragamuffins know what I used to have when I was your age?” asked the coach.

“A log cabin?” I guessed.

“No, a hamster,” Coach Hyatt said. “His name was Chip. I loved that hamster. And one day Chip got run over by a bulldozer. Poor little fella. He didn't have a chance. Chip was flattened; and after the bulldozer ran over him, he was about the size of a living-room rug.”

Everybody started sniffling because we were imagining in our heads a hamster getting run over by a bulldozer.

“When you kids go out on the field for the second half,” the coach continued, “don't think about winning this game for me. Don't think about winning this game for your parents. Think about Chip, that
poor little hamster. Let's go out there and win this one…for the Chipper!”

I wasn't sure why we should play any better just because Coach Hyatt's hamster got run over by a bulldozer. But it almost didn't matter what she said, because we all started jumping up and down and chanting
“Chipper! Chipper! Chipper!”
as we ran out of the locker room to start the second half of the game.

We ran out onto the field and got ready to receive the kickoff. One of the Sharks walked by me.

“You guys are toast.” He sneered.

That guy totally made no sense at all. Toast is bread that was in a toaster. I'm a person, and I've never been in a toaster.
How could a person fit inside a toaster, anyway? He'd have to be really small. I'd rather be one of those muffins made of rags.

We lined up, and the Sharks kicked off to start the second half. Andrea picked up the bouncing ball.

She faked left, and some Shark went flying by her.

She faked right, and another Shark missed the tackle.

Andrea was faking left and right, and the Sharks were falling all over themselves trying to tackle her! Everybody started screaming with excitement.

Andrea was running downfield, dancing and leaping past the Sharks. She pirouetted and Irish stepped and hip-hopped around the Sharks. They couldn't lay a hand on her! Finally, Andrea clog danced into the end zone.

Touchdown!

We actually scored! Everybody was going crazy. Football is a lot like dancing, I guess, except that you get to knock guys
on their butts.

Suddenly, I didn't feel tired or sore anymore.

Andrea is a really good soccer player, so Coach Hyatt said she could kick the extra point.

Sharks 77, Moose 7.

After we all calmed down, Andrea kicked off. We ran down the field and gang tackled the Shark with the ball. He fumbled it. Andrea scooped the ball up and ran it all the way into the end zone!

Sharks 77, Moose 14.

Coach Hyatt called time-out and gathered us all around her.

“Okay, A.J.,” she said, “from now on, I
want you to be our wide receiver.”

“But I'm the quarterback!” I protested. “That's my position.”

“We're going to try something new,” the coach told me. “From now on, Andrea is the quarterback.”

“WHAT?! That's not fair!”

“Do you want to win?” Coach Hyatt asked me. “Or do you want to complain?”

“Can't I do both?”

“We're a team!” Coach Hyatt barked. “You ragamuffins picked up my car as a team, and you play as a team! Now go out there and win this one for the Chipper!”

“Who's the Chipper again?” I asked. I had forgotten who the Chipper was.

“My hamster!” Coach Hyatt barked. “He got run over by a bulldozer, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I didn't feel good about being replaced as quarterback, but I ran out on to the field anyway.

Well, I'm glad I did. Because after that, the Moose just went nuts! With Andrea at quarterback and me at wide receiver, we were unstoppable. Every pass she threw went right into my hands. When the Sharks had the ball, Andrea would intercept their passes and run the ball all the way down the field to score.

We made touchdown after touchdown. Field goal after field goal. Andrea was leaping and diving and spinning and clogging and hip-hopping. The Sharks were totally dazed and confused. It was amazing! Everybody in the bleachers was going crazy.

Sharks 77, Moose 44.

Sharks 77, Moose 51.

Sharks 77, Moose 58.

Sharks 77, Moose 65.

Sharks 77, Moose 72.

After Andrea scored that last touchdown, one of the Sharks went over to her and said, “Hey, kid! Where'd you learn
how to play like that?”

“At the Ballet des Jeunes School of Dance,” Andrea replied.

Thanks to Andrea, in the second half we were totally kicking the Sharks' butts! The only problem was that we were running out of time.

The score was 77–72. We were still behind by five points. Coach Hyatt blew her whistle and called time-out to stop the clock.

I looked up at the scoreboard. There were eleven seconds left in the game.