It was the night before our big game with Seaholm, and the varsity football team was dangerously low on karma, and we needed a cosmic edge. Me and Kevin went over to Brad's. His mom was all upset, because she seen some Sally Struthers show about “those awful people starving in the desert.” Bingo.

We drove for nearly an hour before we found some starving people. They all screamed and whooped and cried when we came pealing into their encampment. I don't think they'd ever seen a minivan before. And they didn't seem to understand that we were on a goodwill mission. Some of the men attacked us with spears made out of sand. But we weren’t about to turn back; we had a higher purpose. “Kill Seaholm!” Brad hollered as he honked the horn and did donuts at 50 mph.

I thought we should feed some of the kids, but Kevin wanted the chief. We didn’t know which one that was, so Brad and me just grabbed the guy with the biggest headdress. Chief put up a fight, but Brad had him pinned on the van floor in no time flat. “Ooga booga, big fella,” Brad said soothingly, “ooga booga.”

“Don't say that,” I told Brad. “You don't know what that means in his language.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “Ooga booga,” he persisted.

“OOGA BOOGA!!” Chief shrieked.

“See?” I said. “That doesn't help.”

“HELP!” screamed Chief. Brad put him in a sleeper hold, and Chief passed out like a little starving kitten.

We drove another twenty minutes before we came to the nearest Denny’s. “No shirt, no shoes — no service,” they said at the door; Chief was practically naked. I tried to slip the guy a five-spot to look the other way, but he had “too much pride” to take a bribe. He didn't have too much pride, however, to sell us his own shirt and shoes for another fifteen. Everyone was looking at us now. I guess Chief did look pretty funny — besides the loincloth and headthing, he was dressed like a Denny’s night manager.

I ordered the Superbird sandwich for Chief, which he ate with a fork.

On the way back, we drove for nearly forty minutes, but Chief’s tribe was nowhere to be found. It was way past midnight, so Kevin thought we should dump him off where we were. “I mean, hell,” said Kevin, “It’s all just desert out here, and no matter where we leave him, if we leave him with a six-pack, he’s better off than when we found him.”

But Chief would have none of it. Me and Kevin pushed with all our might, but Chief’s bony fingers clenched onto the sides of the open door like they were welded there. “Slow down!” I yelled, so Brad slammed on the brakes. With that, Kevin and I rolled backwards, and Chief shot out of the van like a starving bullet. At first, we couldn’t tell if he was thrown out or if he was running. Then we heard the thwip-thwip-thwip of his new loafers cutting a fast track through the sand. “You're welcome,” Brad sneered into the darkness.

We clobbered Seaholm: 49 - 12. Even on just four hours sleep, I played the best game of my life. But it was more than grit and determination that won it for us this time.... Wherever you are, Chief — we're even!

“Karma”
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