Fans attending the Pine Oak High football game were enjoying bright, clear mid-autumn weather. They relaxed in sunlight that sparkled on the players’ uniforms: the purple and gold colors were sharp against the green field; the silver helmets looked polished, flashing light.      

     
While the athletes warmed up, the fans listened to the wobbling music of Pine Oak’s marching band. Wearing big-buttoned outfits that made them look like doormen, the musicians stood along the 50-yard line. Nearby, cheerleaders in short purple skirts waved pom-poms of spray-painted gold.  

In the bleachers, the fans stirred and chattered.

 
Mr. Russell sat in the third row. He was in his early 40s, chubby, and balding. He wore a baseball cap and a checkered hunting jacket.  He had thick wet lips and he was smirking, his mouth stretched like a hooked fish.

         
Mr. Russell drew breath, anticipating a deep, comfortable sigh. The imbibed air mingled with the warm contentment that soothed his belly. When he released the sigh, it was as gratifying as a long piss. There was nothing in the world, he reflected, as wonderful as a Pine Oak High football game.

 
We’ve got a fine team of apple-cheeked American boys, Mr. Russell was thinking, nearly all of them white. There was no better advertisement for our way of life.  These boys are the future of our community; they have gorilla balls and God-given male aggression. They raise Holy Hell and kick ass. Just like me 20 years ago, Mr. Russell thought, what a rowdy son of a bitch I was.  

“Hey Steve!” Someone yelled in Mr. Russell’s ear. “We gonna show em somethin’ today?”  

Mr. Russell was caught off-guard. He flinched, turned and almost got poked in the eye by the Pine Oak pennant that Ben Sheets was waving.

     
Sheets stood in the aisle, trim, spruce and short. His salt and pepper hair was sticky with gel. He wore a flashy leather coat. Sheets was a successful businessman; he owned a Toyota dealership. But Mr. Russell thought: fuck him, his kid rode the bench.  

“Whoa, Ben, watch that thing, you’ll blind someone.”

“Sorry. I get a little carried away. So, whaddya think about this here game?”

  
Mr. Russell said, “Todd had a hungry look in his eye this morning. I take that as a good sign.”

“You nervous?” Sheets said.

“Nah. Game’s in the bag.” 

“Your boy’s a general,” Sheets said. “Like Patton in those tanks.”

Pride flushed through Mr. Russell. “Nice of you to say, Ben. Don’t know where he gets it. I was an ox. Played tackle. Did whatever the hell they told me to do.”

 
Sheets laughed.

   
Mr. Russell’s son, Todd, was a junior, but he was Pine Oak’s starting quarterback, a local celebrity. Mr. Russell enjoyed the idea of all that testosterone in his house.

   
The men smiled at each other. Mr. Russell was facing upwards uncomfortably, and his neck began to throb. It was a familiar ache. He held his smile and blinked.

        
Sheets said, “Good to see you, Judy.” He nodded at Mrs. Russell beside her husband.

   
“Nice to see you, Ben.” Mrs. Russell wore a purple vinyl jacket, and her hair was in a ponytail.

 
At her feet was a plastic cooler. Filled with her husband’s favorites—chocolate cake, soda, a few beers.

 
Sheets said, “Maybe we’ll catch you at Dew Drops tonight. Celebrating.”  

“God willing,” Mr. Russell said.

The band was leaving the field; in a moment the game would start.

     
Mr. Russell turned to his wife, winked and patted her thigh. She had the prettiest eyes he ever saw; they excited him, every time.

     
But now the excitement caught in his throat. He was too weak to hold her gaze.  Mr. Russell felt helpless for a moment, and his eyes dropped down and away.

                                                                                                   ---

   

The importance of the contest had drawn enough fans to overflow the bleachers.  Nearly a thousand people were here. A victory would put Pine Oak in first place.

 
Binder, a Pine Oak junior, sat two rows behind Mr. Russell. Binder had a mess of black curly hair that hid half his face. He was stoned. He hoped that Pine Oak’s opponent, Liberty, would kick the shit out of his school’s team.

 
Binder had played with most of the Pine Oak guys two years ago, on the jayvee squad. Every day he’d suffered a pummeling, like a dummy thrown around by Neanderthals. He’d learned his lesson: stay the fuck away.

     
Today, the difference in size between Binder and the football players was even scarier. These guys might be the same age as he was, but they also were like grown men. They had huge heads and concrete muscles. Binder was still a bony runt. If he’d gone out for football this year, the bastards would’ve killed him.  

     
Pine Oak was a small town, so watching the football team was about the only thing to do on weekends other than jerking off in your bedroom. Since Binder could jerk off only so much, he’d dragged himself to many games. Each time he’d sit sulking as fans cheered worshipfully for the bullying pricks. Adding insult to injury, Pine Oak usually won.    

 
This morning, Binder had toked up with Gaudio in the woods near the school. Good weed helped. Binder still rooted against Pine Oak, but the games seemed less important, felt a little less painful.      
   
“I don’t masturbate,” Gaudio said, as if reading Binder’s mind. “I don’t have to.”

The teams were set for the kickoff. The band played “From the Halls of Montezuma,” prompting fans to pump their fists and yell. Many were on their feet.    

         
“What’re you talking about?” Binder looked at Gaudio’s pale gray eyes and mustache of zits.

Gaudio said, “Watch those cheerleaders shaking their tits. Nice, hey?”  For emphasis, Gaudio smacked Binder’s chest. “Every guy here wants to fuck them. But they can’t, so they go home and whack off. Not me. I don’t have to. I get the real thing.”

“Gaudio, you are full of shit,” Binder said.

“Ritchie was over at my house yesterday,” Gaudio said. “He started screwing around. Ripped the covers off my bed. Looking for stains. Can you believe that? I chased him out with a baseball bat. The scumbag.”

Binder guessed that a hyper guy like Gaudio probably whacked off a half dozen times a day. Gaudio was about the same size as Binder, but Gaudio had an intense metabolism; his muscles quivered constantly.    

    
“You don’t whack off?” Binder said.  

The crowd issued a collective “hooo” as Liberty’s kicker approached the ball, booted it downfield. The ball lifted upward and appeared to freeze for a moment in the bright sky. Then it dropped. Pine Oak’s deep back caught the ball and returned it to his 35-yard line.  

Gaudio shook his head. “Nope.”  

“Everybody whacks off!”  

A lady turned around, looked at Binder.

“Not me,” Gaudio said. “How ‘bout you?” 

“’Course not,” Binder said. “Almost everybody.”

“I fuck Dottie Ramirez two, three times a day,” Gaudio said.  

Dottie Ramirez was Gaudio’s neighbor. She was in eighth grade. She was plump, had a sweet face and monster boobs. Binder looked at Gaudio, who didn’t blink. Maybe Gaudio did fuck her. Binder turned away, his face taking a sudden cool wind. The air carried a damp smell. Binder looked out past the field, at hills in the distance. The hills formed a rippling horizon that blended shades of green and orange. Binder wondered where exactly those hills might be, and thought that he should go there someday.  

 
The Pine Oak squad broke from its huddle. Each player clapped his hands and snorted “Huh!”  

     
Todd Russell took the snap, dropped back three steps. He bounced on the balls of his feet. His front line was smashing opponents to the ground. Russell held the ball behind his ear, and then slung it downfield.  

The ball spiraled for twenty yards.

 
It seemed headed for a Liberty defender.

 
But Pine Oak’s split end, a black guy named Garrett, dashed over. The ball hit Garrett in his gut and he cradled it. He galloped toward the end zone, gaining speed with each step. Nobody came close. The crowd roared. Touchdown! The band struck up a number and the cheerleaders frolicked.

   
Binder watched with disbelief. The first play of the game!  

He looked around. He saw screaming faces, skins so stretched with manic joy that you could see their skulls. Binder groaned and lowered his head into his hands.    

Gaudio tapped his shoulder. “What the hell do you care?” he yelled over the crowd. He held a brown bag. “Here. Try one of these.”

                                                                                                   ---

​

​

Excitement yanked Mr. Russell to his feet. He applauded. He hugged his wife.  

Garrett ran like a greyhound with a flame up its ass, Mr. Russell thought. A fine boy, too. Polite and all. One of the good ones.

Mr. Russell looked around, licking his lips and trying to be humble, as if he’d thrown the pass himself. He noticed a boy a couple rows back, a small kid by the name of Binder. He’d been to the house a few times. Binder’s face looked odd, as if the boy was uncomfortable. Mr. Russell threw him a salute. Binder broke into a smile and saluted back. Binder was with some squirrelly kid who had tangled red hair. The kid looked like bad news. Mr. Russell nodded at him; the kid returned a snaggletooth grin.

Mr. Russell sat. His wife was eating cake. Mr. Russell patted her back and grabbed a beer from the cooler. He was getting warm, hanging out in the sun, all stirred up.  

Pine Oak kicked off and then Liberty’s offense ran a couple of plays with little success. Game’s in the bag, Mr. Russell thought. He perused one of the cheerleaders, Leigh, who was Todd’s girlfriend. She was about five feet tall, with dark hair and a face like a doll’s.  

 
And a round, big-breasted body there ought to be a law against, a girl of 16, Jesus.  

He trusted his son was fucking the shit out of her.

Liberty punted. The Pine Oak offense took over at midfield. Todd and the others trotted out.    

His eyes lingering on Leigh, Mr. Russell couldn’t help but think of things he couldn’t do anymore, and he drank beer as if to drown his emerging feelings.    

                                                                                                  ---

​

A few years ago, Mr. Russell’s company had promoted him to an upper management sales job. At first he enjoyed being a big shot, but the job proved to be much more demanding than he’d expected. He worked long hours and missed his family.  Sometimes he’d have to sleep in the office. He was losing control, was scared he’d be fired.  

 
At the time, Todd had been a little boy; his brother, Jim, was a toddler. The pressure was crushing Mr. Russell. He couldn’t sleep, but he somehow dragged himself through his days.

                                                                                                  ---

​

He watched Pine Oak run a couple of plays. Looked like they were headed for another TD. The cheerleaders wriggled their God-forsaken butts.  

They chanted: “From the acorn grew the mighty oak! Victory! Victory! Go, Mighty Oak-men!” 

                                                                                                  ---

​

Mr. Russell had been depressed. His doctor prescribed a pill called Lexapro. It was the newest thing, it fucked with your serotonin, those things that send feelings around your brain. Or so his shrink said. Anyway, the medicine helped, took the edge off his despair. He made a go of the job. It still stretched him; he wasn’t happy. But he was providing for his family.  

 
The pills had side effects. Joint and muscle pain.  

And he couldn’t fuck anymore.

                                                                                                 ---

 

Todd took the snap, moved back to pass. He held the ball for a couple of seconds.  Liberty’s right end broke free and drilled Todd from behind. The ball bounced and spun on the grass. A Liberty linebacker grabbed the ball and then ran toward the end zone.  The only Pine Oak player that chased him was Garrett. The black kid started from about 30 yards behind, ran in a blur, managed to create some suspense. But the Liberty player beat him to the end zone by 10 yards. Touchdown. The crowd groaned, “uuunnnhhhhh….” then became quiet.  

So quiet, Mr. Russell could hear himself breathe. A hammer pounded on the base of his skull.      

                                                                                                 --- 

 

He was irritated at the team. That kind of carelessness can’t be tolerated. He opened the cooler, but there wasn’t any cake left. His wife had had both pieces. Mr. Russell gave her a mock angry look, slitting his eyes. He put his arms around his wife and squeezed.  He started to relax.  

He looked into his wife’s dreamy violet eyes. Her eyes were always full of light.  Mr. Russell thought of them as expressive eyes. He loved them, and he loved her. He felt very tenderly toward his wife.    

 
His limp dick made him ashamed. Judy’s patience was heroic. She deserved better.  He put his hands through her hair, kissed her. His heart quickened.  

At least the damn pills hadn’t killed that.    

                                                                                                 ---

​

Liberty kicked off. Pine Oak’s receiver caught the ball on his 10-yard line. At the 25, he tried to hurdle a pile of bodies. Someone smacked his feet, and he flipped over. The boy landed on his helmet, then the ball squirted loose. A Liberty player picked up the fumble and then scored the team’s second touchdown in 30 seconds.  

Liberty was ahead 14-7 after the extra point.

                                                                                                 ---

​

Binder was laughing. The assholes were fucking up. He munched the pot brownie Gaudio had given him.    

Binder loved pot brownies. They were like a merry go-round that kept going faster. You ate a piece, which fucked you up, and gave you the munchies. So you ate more brownies. That fucked you up more, and you got more munchies. You ate more brownies. And so on.  

The chocolate slid through Binder’s mouth and his taste buds ejaculated.  

Binder settled back and watched Leigh strut her stuff. She thrust out her chest and shook her golden pom-poms. Binder liked Leigh best of all the cheerleaders. She had a tight body that swelled where it should, and then some. Her tits were like globes. Her ass was round and fleshy. Her legs looked strong, cut with clear muscularity.  

Binder was trying to memorize what Leigh was doing, to capture her most exciting movements. He’d use the images later, at bedtime, to fashion an epic jerk-off session.

                                                                                                   ---

 

Pine Oak’s offense advanced the ball into Liberty’s territory. Todd Russell ran to his right, under-threw Garrett downfield. The Liberty safety intercepted. He would’ve scored a touchdown except that Garrett caught him from behind at the Pine Oak five-yard line. But Liberty scored on the next play. They led 21-7 just as the first quarter ended.

Mrs. Russell was showing her nerves. She squeezed her husband’s arm. Hard.  “It’s all right, Pumpkin,” he said.  “We’ll get it back.”  

He wasn’t sure about that; he was exasperated. Sloppiness shows a lack of character, he thought, a lack of discipline. Afterward, he’d talk to Todd and go over what the boy had done wrong. With kids, you sometimes had to be forceful, make them focus.

Judy didn’t care that much whether Pine Oak won; her concern was with her son’s feelings. Judy loved her boys, was a great mom. Mr. Russell was grateful. He wondered if she really understood how much he adored her. He watched Liberty kick off, and damned if the ball didn’t bounce off of a Pine Oak player. Liberty recovered the fumble, then soon led 28-7.

 
A goddamn morgue would be livelier than the crowd right now, Mr. Russell thought. Faces were downcast. Even the cheerleaders’ shoulders were slumped. The band played a few notes, and then seemed to give up. Judy had a wide-eyed, pleading look.  

With a forefinger Mr. Russell probed the knot of pain in his neck. It was hard as a bone. He raised his chin and heard a crack. As the father of the team’s most prominent player, he felt awkward. He didn’t know how to behave. Nobody was used to this kind of embarrassment.  

He licked his lips. He acted without thinking, jumped to his feet. He inhaled deeply and then fired off a scream from his balls.    

“Yeeeee-haaaa! C’mon, Pine Oak! C’mon, mighty Oak-men!”

He clapped his hands and whooped, expecting folks to join him.    

But except for Mr. Russell it remained quiet. His voice trailed off. Spectators had sickly, strained grins. People cleared their throats. A couple of them offered half-assed grumbles of “Yeah” or “C’mon.”

“You tell ‘em, Steve,” someone said.

Mr. Russell felt dizzy. He and his wife looked at each other. Mr. Russell silently mouthed more cheers, eyes wide, exaggerating the movement of his lips. Judy laughed.  Mr. Russell winked and shrugged.  

He noted that the sky had changed. Clouds looking like dark gray ash had formed over the horizon, and were sailing toward the sun. Mr. Russell sat. He grabbed a beer.    

                                                                                             ---
   
“From-the-acorn-ha-ha-grew-the-hoho-mighty oak-HAW HAW!”

 
Binder and Gaudio were having a hell of a time. Had Leigh been sucking Binder’s cock, he couldn’t have felt giddier. The boys hooted, called out cheers. Tears of joy rolled down Binder’s cheeks.    

He saw Todd Russell’s dad looking back at them. Mr. Russell’s brows were furrowed. His wet lips frowned.  

Mr. Russell was probably pissed off, especially since he’d just been standing and cheering by himself. Binder couldn’t stop giggling, but he tried. Mr. Russell was making him feel immature and stupid. He kind of liked Mr. Russell.

Mr. Russell had a hotshot son but he was friendly to all the boys that came to his house. Laughing, joking around, always with a drink, which made him like a regular guy. He even was nice to Garrett, the black kid. A lot of the town was suspicious of Garrett; people were waiting for him to run amok.  

          
Finally, Binder managed to calm down. But Gaudio continued to cackle, so Binder punched Gaudio’s shoulder to make him shut up. Gaudio elbowed Binder in return.      

  
Thunder rumbled; it sounded like it came from the hills. Binder looked up and saw a milky sky with black patches. Suddenly, you could hardly see any blue. He felt another cool gust of wind.

On the field, Liberty kicked off.

 
Mr. Russell spoke. “Hey fellas,” he said. “Can you spare a piece of cake?”

                                                                                        ---
   
Binder was baffled. A piece of cake?     

A few people were looking on, smiling. What could be nicer than that?   

“Why, sure!” Gaudio said.

Binder moved his hand behind Gaudio, got a grip of backside and then squeezed Gaudio’s flesh. Had to hurt the son of a bitch. Binder was angry, could feel Gaudio’s bones.  

“Ahhhh!”  Gaudio screamed.  

Binder said to Mr. Russell, “The cake tastes funny. I think bugs fell into it. Right, Gaudio?”  

“Haw!”  Gaudio hooted.

“Come on, guys,” Mr. Russell said. “Give an old man a break.”

As Binder watched dumbstruck, Gaudio offered a piece. “Here you go, sir,” he said. “Some game, huh?”

Mr. Russell took the piece of brownie. Binder found himself drawn to the man’s eyes. They were deep slits; you could barely see the whites.    

“Thank you,” Mr. Russell said, smiling. “We’ll get ‘em next time.” 

                                                                                                 ---

​

He felt the first cool raindrop a couple of minutes after finishing the brownie.  He knew he was a pig. But, he just had to have it. Like he had to have another beer. Like he used to need another cigarette, back in the day. By the time Mr. Russell had drained another beer the score was 35-7 and the bleachers were half empty.    

 
It was 42-7 at halftime, and there was a hard rain. The band was doing its best to perform. The musicians hauled their instruments around the mud. Mr. Russell heard a man yelling. He leaned forward to get a look. Some guy was in front of a referee, screaming. The ref was backing off. The guy was waving his arms, pointing, shouting, plodding forward through puddles. The guy was short, came up to the ref’s neck.  

   
The guy was Ben Sheets, his hair matted down, his leather jacket soaked. Mr. Russell laughed. He was in an exceptionally good mood. He took his wife’s hand and pressed his flesh into hers. “I think Ben’s gone off his rocker.”

Judy had put a scarf over her hair. The rain made her face glow. Her eyes sparkled; her skin was smooth with tiny freckles.    
“You better be nice to Todd when he gets home,” she said. “He’ll need our support.”

“Of course!” Mr. Russell cried.  “What do you take me for? C’mon. Let’s take a walk.”

Holding hands, they went down the steps to the track that surrounded the field.  Mr. Russell looked up, opened his mouth and let the rain fall in. He saw a golden fork of lightning hit the horizon. He waited for thunder. Two seconds later it came, like a boulder crashing down a hillside. It shot a bolt of excitement down Mr. Russell’s spine. He and Judy flashed smiles at each other.  

The band stayed on the field, cranking away, doing its job.

  
And, Ben Sheets was still unloading on the ref. “You can’t let that cheating go!”  His voice rose to a scream. “They’re holding on every damn play!”

Mr. Russell thought everything was marvelous. He lifted an arm, and asked Judy,  “May I have this dance?”

                                                                                                    ---

          

Binder and Gaudio were leaving. They walked down the steps. It was raining like a son of a bitch, the bleachers were empty, the score was 42-7, and even Binder couldn’t get more enjoyment. He stopped and watched the band, their legs marching in place, pumping out waterlogged stuff you couldn’t call music anymore.

“You gotta love those bastards,” Binder said. “Still out there, and all.”

“C’mon,” Gaudio said. “We’ll hit the mall.”

Binder’s clothes and shoes were drenched. Raindrops pelted his eyes, ears, nose.  His hair had turned straight, glued to his skin. Everything was misty and wavy.  

He saw a small man chasing a referee.

  
And, he saw a couple on the track.    

They held each other in a waltz-like position. Each had an arm around the other’s back, with opposite hands joined above the shoulders. Their postures were erect. They moved in a small circle. Their steps were short and careful.  Then, they picked it up. They took wider steps and expanded their circle.  

They looked smooth and strong as their steps covered more ground. Binder could swear that a white, misty circle of light stayed above them, followed them as they moved.  The couple looked like they wouldn’t get tired, like time couldn’t stop them.  

 
Music played in Binder’s head. Not from the band, but orchestra music from an old movie he’d seen on TV. The music was soaring and lovely; it had roused an onscreen couple to come together and begin waltzing. They wore elegant, shiny outfits: a tux on the man, a gown on the woman. Her gown billowed, and the man’s tails swept along the glittering floor.

​

The couple whirled together, dizzyingly.  

A bolt of lightning cut through the sky. Rain pounded the ground. Thunder crashed. The dancers looked oblivious. The couple was locked together, lifting its legs, gliding and gathering momentum.   

​

                                                                                                 THE END

​