Laggan Lard Butts (6 page)

“Where are they?” Tanner asked.

I shrugged. “Want me to go into their dressing room and check?”

“Aren't they going to warm up at all?” Taylor asked.

“Maybe they figure they don't need to warm up to beat us,” I suggested.

“I'd be insulted if we didn't resemble that remark.”

“We could surprise them,” Taylor said.

“For us to win we'd have to go beyond surprise, past shock and halfway to a miracle,” I said.

“So you
do
think we have a chance. Miracles
do
happen,” Taylor said.

“A win would be really good for our campaign. If we can keep winning then we could give the Lard Butt cheer more exposure,” Tanner said.

“You sure you want Butts exposed?” I asked.

“You know what I mean. Can you imagine how kids would vote if we won the championship?”

“I'm just trying to imagine how this crowd would react if we won today,” I said,
gesturing to the bleachers. There wasn't an empty seat. There had to be at least two hundred people here to watch the Tigers devour the Lairds.

“How come we never get crowds like that for our home games?” Tanner asked.

“First, we don't have that many kids in our whole school,” I said. “And second, since we're a bus school most of them are gone before our games even start.”

“That makes sense. But wouldn't it be great to have a big crowd cheering for us?”

“It would be great if we could do something that they'd want to cheer about. This crowd isn't here to see a basketball game.”

“They're not?”

“No. They're here to see a basketball victory. They came because they want to see their team win, or, even better, blow us out. They came to see their team destroy us.”

“Can you imagine how they'd react if we won?” Tanner asked.

“I can't imagine, but I'd love to see it.” I paused. “And, who knows, things happen.”

“Then you do believe it's possible!” Tanner exclaimed. “You do believe in miracles!”

“I'd believe in them more if we had a center. Why couldn't you two have been one really tall baby instead of twins?”

“Talk to our mother.”

Suddenly the crowd started to roar. Their team was finally coming out of the dressing room. The players went over to their bench, put down their gear and started a brief warm-up. The clock showed less than two minutes to the start of the game.

“We better warm up again as well,” I said.

I dribbled to the three-point line and put up a shot. It went straight in!

“Save a few of those for the game when we'll need them,” Tanner said.

“We'll need more than a few of those. We won't be scoring much from the inside against their big man.”

Mr. Davidson called us over to the bench, and we gathered around him.

“Usual starters,” he said.

That was about the only direction he ever gave us at the beginning of a game.

“What defense should we start with?” he asked.

“We have to stop their center. Everything goes through him,” I said. “Zone, pack it down low, try to keep him from getting easy looks.”

“He makes them all look easy,” Taylor said.

Their center was probably the best player in the whole league. He was definitely the tallest. He scored half of their points every game. I would have loved to see how they'd play without him.

“Cody can you make him pay for his points?” I asked. “In hockey what would you do if a forward kept coming into your crease when you're in net?”

Cody smiled. “I'd take my goalie stick and give him a good whack on the back of his legs, cut him down like firewood.”

“Okay,” I said, slowly shaking my head. I made a mental note to never go into the crease when he was playing net. “Maybe that
won't work here, but try to push him around a little anyway.”

“I'll do my best.”

“And don't forget that we're not going to get the tip. Forwards, you have to jump into the spots you think their center is going to direct the ball to. Guards, you drop back to defend. Okay, let's break and—”

“Before we do that I just want to say something,” Mr. Davidson said. “I know I don't know much about basketball, but I do know about kids. I have been so honored to be able to—”

“Hold on there, Coach,” Tanner said, cutting him off. “You can't give that speech until the last game of the season. Maybe this won't be our last game.”

“Possibly it is.”

“Possibly it isn't. Remember we haven't lost one single game since we started to use the new cheer. Some people believe in miracles,” he said, winking at me. “Other people believe in luck. Everybody put your hands in.”

We formed a pile.

“On three, Go, Lard Butts. One, two, three.”

We screamed our cheer and then five of us trotted toward center court and—what was going on here? Their center wasn't on the court. I looked over at their bench. He was sitting at the end, his head in his hands. On the bench beside him were the usual starting point guard and one of their forwards. They were starting their subs! They thought so little of us that they thought they could beat us with their second stringers!

I felt myself start to get red. I felt the anger building up inside and—no, I wasn't going to let it make me crazy.

“Wait!” I yelled out. “Everybody here!” The four other starters gathered around me.

“I want a full-court press with man to man defense. Cody, you go up for the tip. Smash the ball as hard as you can toward their basket. I'll go and get it. Now break.”

We tapped hands with each of their players. A little courtesy before the game was always nice, even when you didn't feel any.

Cody lined up beside their center. Cody was a shade taller and thicker. He wouldn't be able to jump as high as their center, but he might be able to overpower him. The ref tossed the ball up, and I turned and ran for their net. The ball soared over my head and past me! I raced after it, grabbing it before it bounced out of bounds. I turned around just in time to see Taylor streaking toward the net. I fired in a pass. He put it up and scored! We had the lead. It might be our only lead of the game but we'd scored first.

“Press! Press! Press!” I screamed.

Everybody locked on his man. The ball was passed in, bounced off the fingertips of one of their players and right to Tanner. He dribbled in, uncovered, and put up our second basket!

“Press!” I yelled.

The pass came in, and Taylor and Cody trapped the ball carrier in the corner. He made a wild pass. I grabbed it, stopped, turned and fired up an equally wild three-point shot. It dropped! We were up seven to nothing!

I looked over at their bench to give them a smirk. Their centre got to his feet. I thought that was the end of our winning streak; he was coming in. He walked over to the score table—no
past
the score table. He walked over to the far corner of the gym, bent over and threw up in the big plastic garbage can!

“Sam, do we keep on the press?” Taylor asked.

I was startled out of my thoughts. “Yeah, keep pressing, keep pressing!”

By the time the game was half over, it was really over. The players on their team, who weren't running to the washroom to throw up, were sitting on the bench too sick and too weak to play. Half the team—and most of the starters—had been hit with the flu bug! They must have felt awful, in more ways than one. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost. I thought about how much pity they'd shown us in the two blowout victories they'd had.

Go, Lard Butts, Go!

“Lard Butts?”

I looked up from my desk to see my father standing at my bedroom door.

“How did you hear?”

“I got a call from Mr. McGregor.”

“I can't believe he called you.”

“Why not? Our home phone number must be on his speed dial,” my father said.

“Not lately.”

“Come to think of it, it has been a
while,”my father agreed. “Does that mean you've been staying out of trouble, or you're not getting caught? Or has Mr. McGregor given up because you're leaving soon?”

I laughed. “Maybe a little of all of the above. So what did he say?”

“He told me about the contest to rename the teams. I always thought Lairds was a pretty stupid name. I think everybody always thought that. Finally one person was brave enough—or stupid enough—to suggest it.” He pointed at me.

“I fit one of those categories.”

“Sometimes you fit both. Couldn't you come up with a better name than Lard Butts?” he asked.

“There are lots of other names. Lizards, Dragons, Lynx, Leopards, Lions—”

“Leopards, now that's a name for a team. I wouldn't have minded being a Laggan Leopard when I played for the school.”

“That's my least favorite of all. I'd rather be a Lard Butt.”

“Wouldn't it be better to be a Lion or a Dragon instead of a Lard Butt?”

“Maybe. Probably. Yes.”

“Then why are you trying to change the name to Lard Butts?”

I shrugged. “It just sort of happened.”

“And now that it's just sort of happened, you don't know how to stop it, right?”

I shook my head. “But that's okay. It's not like it's going to actually win.”

“Mr. McGregor thinks it might.”

“He said that?” I asked in amazement.

“He didn't say that, but if he wasn't worried he wouldn't have called.”

I hadn't really thought of that. Why would he be wasting his time on a name that didn't have a chance? That thought made me happy and nervous at the same time.

“What exactly did he say?”

“He didn't say it in so many words, but I think he was hoping that I could convince you to rethink this.”

“And you said?”

“I said that it's rare enough that you
think
, so having you
re
think might be asking too much,” he said and started to laugh.

“No, seriously, what did you say?”

“Nothing. I just listened.”

I waited for my father to go on, but he didn't.

“Do you think we should rethink it?” I asked.

“I know that most of what gets you in trouble is that you're too stubborn to admit when you're wrong. In this case, you won't change your mind even though you know you're wrong.”

“I'm not necessarily wrong. It's just a name. They can always hold another election next year if they don't like the name that wins this year.”

“I guess you have a point,” he said. “But if you combed your hair—”

“A different way it wouldn't show,” I said, finishing his very bad, very old joke.

“Yeah. You know me, I'm not going to tell you what to do.”

“Especially about being too stubborn. No question which parent I get that from,” I said.

“Let's not say bad things about your mother. I'm just saying it would be okay if you changed your mind.”

“I know. So what did you think about the result of today's play-off game?”

“That's right, you had a game today. Who won?”

“Mr. McGregor didn't tell you that when he called?” I asked in amazement.

“No. What happened?”

“We won! We beat the first place team!”

“Way to go. So what happens now?” “The way the play-offs are scheduled the first place team, or the team that plays them and wins—like us, gets a spot in the finals. The other teams have to win their first game and then the winners have a second playoff game to get to the finals against us. The final is this Thursday, and it's a home game for us!”

“That is incredible. You must be so excited. You have a chance to win the whole thing in front of your home crowd.”

“Not much of a chance.”

“There are only going to be two teams there, so you have the same chance as them.”

“Not really. Out of six teams that made the play-offs we finished sixth.”

“Didn't you just tell me that you beat the first place team?” my father asked.

“They were short a player or two,” I said—although it was more like five or six.

“How did you do against the other teams during the regular season?”

“We lost both games.”

“Close losses?”

“If you consider twenty-five points close, then, some of them barely squeaked by us.”

My father laughed.

“All I know is that I'm going to be in the gym cheering your team on.” He paused. “I could even make a sign.”

“That's okay,” I said, thinking about what embarrassing thing he might put on a sign. “What are you going to put on the sign?”

“Something simple...maybe just three words...Go Lard Butts!”

“Are you nervous?” Tanner asked.

“A bit. You?”

“Nothing to be nervous about.”

I wasn't sure about that. We were sitting on stage along with two representatives from the five other nominated names. The whole school—every kid, every teacher, even the janitor—were in the gym. Each group had two minutes to speak about their name. Mr. McGregor was going speak about keeping
the name Laird. Nobody had campaigned for it, but, as he'd said in the beginning, people had the right to vote for it. I had to hand it to him. He really didn't want Lard Butts to be selected, but he kept his word.

After the speeches the gym would be converted into a polling station. Mr. Davidson had printed official ballots. We had ballot boxes, and the secretary was the polling officer. The janitor and two parents had agreed to count the votes. I was glad it wasn't Mr. McGregor. I knew he wouldn't cheat, but the fact that the thought even crossed my mind made me nervous.

There had been a draw to determine the order of the presentations. We'd drawn last place. Tanner said that was good because we got the final word. I thought it was bad because we got to stay nervous for the whole thing. Everybody else got to speak and then they could sit down and relax.