Here in Varmint County the local election is finally over. The summer heat wave appears to have ended as well, and there are no small number of locals who think this is not coincidental.
"Pears to me the weather's cooled off some, now that them politicians quit spreadin' all that hot air around," GummyAslinger observed to a chorus of nodding heads on the liar's bench in front of Smiley's Tobacco Mercantile.
Of course there could be a more natural explanation for the lower temperatures.A few nights, especially up on the higher elevations around Flatiron Peak, have exhibited a definite chill, and you might say that fall is in the air.
Other signs - the flocking of birds and the transition from summer vegetable gardens loaded with ripe tomatoes, crookneck squash and cucumbers to gardens loaded with pumpkins, butternut squash and red sweet peppers - all point to the imminent arrival of Autumn.
And this being Varmint County, one can also point to the varmints for a sign that seasons are changing. The four-legged varmints are busily gathering and hoarding acorns or seeking out dens for their winter hibernation while the two-legged varmints are preparing for that great American ritual of autumn, high school football.
Coach B. O. Snodgrass has been pushing his young charges hard down at Viper Stadium. He lost about two-thirds of his team to graduation last year.Well, most of them graduated; one or two just reached the maximum age limit of 21 for high school athletics and had to give up the sport. Boise Otis Snodgrass, you may recall, is the legendary head coach of the Varmint County Vipers - football, basketball and baseball. The school board would probably ask him to take the reins of other sports such as golf, tennis and track, but a)Varmint County does not have teams in golf, tennis and track and b) B.O. shuns all non-contact sports. (As far as Coach Snodgrass is concerned, baseball is a contact sport).
B.O. is legendary for his profanity, which would normally get a high school coach into trouble except nobody can quite figure out what the coach is saying or if it really is profanity or not.A typical B.O. Snodgrass tirade might go something like: "Ya dag-nabbit bucklekneed knubskillits! If ya don't start hustling out there I'm a'gonna tear off yer dad-blamed head and dump down yer neck! Drop and give me thirty!"
B.O. is also legendary for his witticisms and the nicknames he lays on his players. You might have noticed that nearly everyone inVarmint County has a nickname of sorts. You can thank Coach Snodgrass for most of them, including Pinky, Chinchilla, Dawg, Boar Hawg, Little Hair, Scratchy, Rooster, Milkweed, Gummy, Pothole and Carp.
Some of his nicknames are based on some unfortunate physical attribute, such as "Spots" Pennywell (bad case of acne), while others are based on a player's performance, or lack thereof, on the field. For example, of Barney "Mattressback" Madison, B. O. would say, "The boy carries a mattress around with him so he can goof off whenever I'm looking the other way." Of Petey "Sluggo" Perkins, B.O. would comment, "He's so slow you have to line him up with a telephone pole to tell if he's movin' or not."
The other reason B.O. Snodgrass is legendary is that he hates to lose, and instills in his players a hatred, some say a fear, of losing. They seldom do, and the Varmint County Vipers tend to run roughshod over most of their opponents, with their toughest game generally being against the archrival "city slickers" from neighboring Burr County.
The Vipers spent the last hot days of August preparing for their opening game against Burr County in typical B.O. fashion, running sprints and contact drills in full helmet and pads, despite the 90-plus degree heat. Two Varmint County Ambulance Service teams were on hand to treat the casualties of heatstroke and dehydration, while lawyer Philbert McSwine hung around all week just in case there was a fatality, so he could hand his business card to the grieving parents.
As usual, Philbert picked up no business. B.O., from his long years of experience, knows exactly how far he can push the human body and always stops just short of the point of no return. On the last day of practice, the coach gathered his exhausted, beaten-up team together and announced, "Boys, I've got bad news. We don't get to practice tomorrow afternoon. Our practice will be tomorrow night, against Burrville. It'll be all the way down in the 70s at game time so I hope ya'll don't catch a chill in that cool air."
After the chuckles died down, B.O. added, "On a serious note, they're comin' in here with a quarterback that the sportswriters say is the best in the state. I don't expect to see him out there again after the first quarter ends. Let's give all them college scouts that are here to see him play the night off and send them home early."
"This team is short on experience but as tough as any I've coached," B.O. said later that night in his interview on WVMT, your home for full sports coverage and gospel music. "My biggest worry is whether they got enough football smarts. Some of my boys, well, their elevators don't always go to the top floor. They have trouble telling their right from their left."
B.O. ended up being quite the prophet, as it turned out. On the night of the big game, Varmint County got the ball on the opening kick-off at their own 30-yard-line. B.O. called for swing-38, a simple running play in which the left tackle feints left, then cuts right, the center blocks straight ahead, the right tackle cuts hard right and the running back carries the ball to the right behind the two tackles.
Instead, the left tackle feinted left and kept going, tripping up three of his own teammates. The center, "Little Pie" Aslinger cut right, the right tackle, Barney "Mattress-back" Madison, cut left and the two players collided and knocked each other senseless. The running back, Jerry "Band-Aid" Murphy, was tackled by all eleven members of the Burr County defense and fumbled the ball into the hands of a linebacker, who with some urging from his teammates, lumbered into the Viper end zone.
B.O. was, to put it mildly, homicidal. He simply couldn't figure out which player he wanted to kill the most, which probably saved the lot of them. Instead of raving and cussing, which is what his players expected, their coach called a time-out and addressed them on the sidelines in a calm, measured voice, which terrorized them to the very depths of their souls.
"Gentlemen, do you see the score?" (Nods and grunts of agreement). "We're behind 7-0." (Silence). "Do we know what this means?" (More silence). "Do you really want to attend practice Monday afternoon with those seven points hanging over your heads?" (A few players mumbled "no" at this).
B.O. turned on one player, "What? Band-Aid, you say you don't want to attend my practice?"
"Uh, no coach, I mean yes, I don't know."
"Well, I'm not surprised, 'cause some of you obviously don't know your right from your left either. Pie, which side is your left side?"
"Uh, this one coach," Little Pie Aslinger tapped the correct arm. I'm sorry coach, it's all my fault." "No, it's not.You all gave up those points but the fault is mine. I've failed to motivate you," B.O. hung his head in mock shame.
"No! No, coach. We're motivated, we just messed up. We'll take it to 'em! Give us another shot at 'em, won'tcha?" Came the pleas from several boys at once.
At this point, B.O. Snodgrass really turned up the psychology: "Look boys, I know Burr County is ranked number two in the state and they got an all-state, maybe an All-American quarterback. They got 73 players dressed out. Lordy, that's more than we got on our team and our band combined. Everybody says you don't stand a prayer of even staying in the game with this bunch. I just want you to do your best, so you can hold your heads up. Now let's get out there and show our fans we've got some pride!"
To make a long story short, that seven points was all that Burr County got for the rest of the evening. Little Pie and Gopher Perkins high-lowed the Burr County quarterback on his first play from scrimmage. He survived that tackle but not the next one, when Silas "Extra-helping" Shoemaker, all 310 quivering pounds of him, fell on the hapless, doomed all-state quarterback.
This was Varmint County football at its finest. A time-out. Concerned faces. The stretcher and paramedics. A good round of applause from the crowd for the wounded warrior, who would sit out the next two games with four cracked ribs.
In the end, the Vipers managed to stumble and trip their way into the end zone a couple of times, while giving their rivals nothing but air and bruises. Final score: Vipers 13, Burr County 7.
"I'm humbled, I tell you. Simply humbled that our little school managed to play such inspired football against a state powerhouse. We sure got lucky too, when their quarterback had to leave the game. I didn't think my boys would be able to handle him," B.O. told a circle of visiting sportswriters after the game.
"Coach," one writer observed, "you're always the underdog in this game, but Varmint County has won five of the past six match-ups with Burr County. How do you explain this success?"
"Must be blind luck," B.O. replied. "Oh, and every time they go on the field I tell my boys they're still one touchdown behind. A lot of my boys ain't all that good at math, and they always believe what their Coach tells `em," B.O. concluded with a wink.
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