LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 7

Thursday, July 30 to Saturday, November 7, 1987

DO NOT BE DRUNK WITH WINE, IN WHICH IS DISSIPATION; BUT BE FILLED WITH THE SPIRIT. (Ephesians 5:18)

            My heart began to pound as half of the Whitney football team crowded around my locker. One of the football managers had just shown me to it, and immediately scrambled away from me when an offensive lineman slammed me hard into the neighboring locker. His two hammy fists clutched my t-shirt just under my shoulders.

            You might remember earlier in the story when six courageous young men harassed Cat, Kyle, Mona, and me after a concert. They had been angry at us for minding our own business. However, they had also recognized Cat and Mona as waitresses at the local Hooter’s restaurant. Anyway, the gentleman who now had me pinned, was the first one that came at me the night of the concert. I had helped him fall face first onto a gravel parking lot. I supposed his bruises and abrasions had healed nicely, but it was hard to tell because he didn’t have the best complexion to begin with.

            What was happening to me at this particular moment was one of the main reasons I had never previously taken my skills at punting a football to an actual team. Having grown up in a sports family with four older brothers, I was well aware of hazing. To the extent of which my own siblings participated, either as predators or victims, I did not know.

            “Alright, punk!” his stale breath was only inches from my face, making me cringe. He grinned wolfishly. “That’s right, you’re about to get hurt. I’m sober now, so you have no advantage.”

            “Oh, actually I doubt that,” I said matter of fact. “I’m cringing because you have bad breath.”

            “Why you,” he replied with clinched teeth. He pulled me forward and re-slammed me into the locker. But it didn’t hurt much.

            “Hey, you want to see something neat!” I said with wide eyed cheerfulness. Then I waggled my eyebrows up and down.

            This comment threw him off. He was expecting fear, despite the fact that only a few months ago, I had disabled him and his three friends, causing the other three chums to restrain themselves from taking a turn themselves.

            “You see, the thing is,” I continued as I slowly, imperceptibly lifted my left hand over the top of his arms, distracting him by my words. “We’re teammates now, and I appreciate you welcoming me to the team and all, but I don’t even know your name.”

            “I ain’t welcoming you. I’m about to…”

            With sudden quickness, my left hand gripped his thick left wrist. I rocked to the right, then pendulum swung hard to the left, yanking him of balance. His face was moving quite fast as my right elbow smashed hard into the side of his head. He dropped like a two hundred and eighty pound sack of potatoes. If there was such a thing.

            There were ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the dozen or so men that witnessed it. Then they became excited, and all kinds of chatter erupted. I heard things like ‘did you see that?’ and ‘who is this guy?’

            “What’s going on in here?” the head coach’s voice boomed into the room. Then his eyes went to the groaning heap of man on the ground. “What happened to Jenkins?”

            “He tried to start a fight with the new punter,” a chuckling voice offered. It turned out to be the starting quarterback that spoke. “And the altercation lasted all of thirty seconds with Jenkins flat on his back.”

            “What do you have to say for yourself Boyle?” the coach asked, looking sternly at me, but I detected amusement on his countenance.

            “It’s Burl, Sir. Loyd Burl.”

            “Jenkins slammed him into the locker, then they exchanged a few words, and the next thing we knew, Jenkins was out cold,” the quarterback explained. He was clearly the leader of the team, and I liked the feeling that he had my back.

            “Once again Barns, what do you have to say for yourself?” the coach asked.

            “It’s Burl, Sir, I…”

            “No fighting in my locker room, period,” the coach barked. “So once again, what do you have to say for yourself, Burns?”

            “You’re getting closer, Sir, but my name’s Burl. I guess I don’t like to be touched, Sir,” I replied with shrug. “At least not aggressively. It seems instinct takes over, and people get hurt.”

            “He’s got that right.” It was one of the daring half dozen from the concert night. But he was one of the three that hadn’t tried to accost me. He told the crowd what happened that night, but saved face by declaring he told his friends to leave us alone. He and I did become friends besides teammates, and he later confessed to me that he only thought they should leave us alone but didn’t vocalize it. He felt ashamed and I assured him that I would keep it to myself.

            Although in the moment I had been uncomfortable at being accosted after barely joining the team, it turned out to be a blessing. Jenkins ramming his head into my elbow made me a hero of sorts. Jenkins had been a polarizing teammate, and not a very good player. He had relied on his brawn, and was otherwise, shall we say, clumsy. His attempted pummeling of me was the last straw for the coach, and he was cut from the team.

            My biggest challenge in learning to punt with a team in a game situation was the receiving of the ball in my hands in the first place. The football seemed like a cannon ball being shot from under the center’s rump at first.

            The second challenge was kicking the ball as a two hundred and something pound defensive lineman came rushing at me. But although not passionate about sports like the rest of my family, I had played a fair share of ball games growing up. Plus I had a decade plus of practicing martial arts. I am also very coordinated, so I adjusted pretty quickly.

            The highlight of my new extracurricular activity had to do with my girlfriend. At our first game, which was also the home opener, Catalina Clutterbuck was in the stands with Kyle and Mona, cheering us on. Not only that, she was wearing my away jersey. I was so pleased to see that beautiful young woman wearing my number thirteen jersey with the name Burl above it on the back.

            My first couple of punts were nothing to write home about. As a matter of fact, speaking of home, I had told no one, not even my mother that I was on the football team. Like I said, I adjusted to game punting rather quickly, and since our offense was less than stellar, I punted often.

            Our third game into the season was against another team with an inept offense. Believe it or not, it turned into a punting duel, of which I ended up the victor. In the second quarter, I boomed one way over the receiver’s head. He muffed it while running backwards, and we retrieved it on our own four yard line. A couple of sacks later, and backed up to our own sixteen, we were still in field goal range.

            In the third quarter, a shotgun snap went over our quarterback’s head on our own forty yard line. In an attempt to pick it up on the run, he accidentally kicked it driving the ball twenty yards further back. Then when he tried to pounce on it, it squirted from beneath him going another five yards before the other team recovered it. They ended up tying the game with a chip shot field goal.

            With twenty-two seconds left in the fourth quarter, I had aimed the football toward one of the pylons. It couldn’t have turned out better. We had them pinned on our one yard line. The next play, our defense got us a safety. The final score was more like a baseball score at 5 to 3, us.

            I was carried off of the field on the shoulders of my teammates. A photo of this was taken and made the front page of the sports page of our local newspaper in the Sunday Gazette. I had actually just arrived at my parent’s home to take my mother to church. One of my brothers was there, and I was just in time to witness him spit coffee all over the image of me being carried off of the football field.

            My father was quite pleased. However, I was mildly chastised for not telling them that I was on the team. My parents didn’t miss a single game the rest of the season, home or away. My entire family was even present at the final game when three different NFL scouts were in attendance just to witness me punting a football. My father was as proud as if I had been a Super Bowl MVP.

            As for Catalina and me, our relationship progressed nicely. But I’m speaking optimistically. Cat was periodically moody. There were even a couple of times during the course of the rest of 1987, when she didn’t get out of bed for a couple of days due to depression.

            On that last day of the football season, she was in a volatile mood. Our team had finished four and eight, obviously less than stellar, but I had had a great season! I had played well enough, as a punter on a junior college team, that NFL scouts had been sent to watch and speak with me.

            Cat had been truly happy for me. She had plied me with a passionate kiss after the game. During the season, I had refrained from all alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana. Cat, during the football season, had only seemed to increase using all three. This only intensified her mood swings.

            It is strange how you can come to know somebody so well, and yet have them remain a mystery. Cat’s Biblical knowledge had astounded me, yet she had frequently referred to herself as backslidden. She had expressed a desire to remain chaste yet had occasionally opened the door for us to misbehave. But trying to be a proper gentleman, I didn’t walk through.

            The first instance of this was on her birthday, when she had tried to place my hand on her breast. Since then there were at least a half dozen times when she was breaking down my resolve. Whether on purpose or just being naturally sexy, I didn’t know. It was part of the mystery.

            That evening after our last game, Cat and I went out partying with several of my teammates and our girlfriends. Kyle and Mona were there too. Mona was a bit of a wild child, and she had even dabbled for a time with exotic dancing. So when we stumbled upon a wet t-shirt contest, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Mona said she was gonna sign up. I was stunned when Cat declared that she was too.

            I grabbed her hand and scolded. “Cat, what do you think you’re doing? Sit down.”

            “Let go of me,” she barked, causing people in the crowded night club to briefly turn their gaze on us. I let go and she stumbled into a table.

            I had never seen Cat drunk before, but she seemed so now. Not pass out intoxicated, but with an occasional slur and slight loss of coordination. Then something hit my naïve brain. Both Cat and Mona had worn white ribbed tank top t-shirts underneath fifties style, buttoned cardigan sweaters. We didn’t just happen upon this contest for chesty women, they had this planned.

            “Kyle!” I barked. “We have got to stop them!”

            “Are you kidding?” he said with a drunken, demonic grin. “We’re gonna get a fantastic show, plus one of our girls is gonna come away with the fifty dollar first place prize.”

            I put my thumb in the hollow of his collar bone and pressed harder than I had intended. “Ow, ow, ow!” Kyle bellowed.

            I released the hold. “Sorry.”

            “Look dude, I don’t know what you expect me to do. Quit being so uptight, it’s just boobs. Women in the jungle walk around topless all the time.”

            “Well, we’re supposed to be civilized here.”

            “Look, just go talk to her then,” he said angrily.

            “What are you so mad about?” I frowned

            “Wha’d ya think, I want see Cat’s…” He stopped speaking as my hand went back to his collar bone. He put up his hands in a stop gesture. I took his advice and approached Cat.

            I gently took her by the crook of the arm after she signed up. “Cat, let’s get out of here.”

            She yanked her arm free. “Let go of me.”

            “Why are you doing this?”

            “I want fifty bucks.”

            “How do you know Mona won’t win it?”

            “She promised to keep her shirt on, and we’re the hottest babes here?”

            “I don’t get it.”

            A mischievous grin appeared on her face as she removed her sweater. “Skin to win, baby.”

            “You’re not wearing a bra.”

            Just like that a switch was flipped. Her eyes became dark and mean while her teeth clenched. “How would you know? You never look there.”

            “Cat, you’re drunk, now stop it!”

            “Or what, daddy, you gonna spank me?” she let out a goulash cackle.

            “I don’t know you. I’m leaving.” I turned and walked toward the exit. I was bluffing. I intended to go outside, and if she didn’t show up in about five minutes, I would go back in and at least guard her from the ogling young men.

            Thirty seven seconds later, Cat came running or stumbling out of the night club. I breathed a sigh of relief, but then braced myself for more verbal combat. She carried her small purse, which told me she was prepared to leave. But she didn’t have her sweater which told me she wasn’t.

            “I have an ultimatum for you, Burl,” she said as she approached me. Then her teeth chattered in the crisp November night.

            “Where’s your sweater? It’s forty degrees out here.”

            “Mona’s got it since it’s hers anyway. Besides, I’ll be back in after a minute, after you refuse my demand.”

            “And that is?”

            “One of two things is gonna happen for me tonight. I’m either gonna go back in there and win fifty bucks or go back to your place and make love. Your choice.”

            “It sounds like blackmail, not a choice.”

            “No, it sounds like a woman who’s tired of having her advances rejected and ignored. I’m sick of the yins and yangs in life! He loves me, he loves me not. He wants me, he wants me not.”

            My brain was numb, I just stared at her for several seconds. Then her teeth chattered some more. She said, “Answer me now, or I go back inside.”

            I forced a smile. “As you wish.”

            We had just seen the movie ‘The Princess Bride’ the night before last for the second time. Cat loved it and declared it the best movie she had ever seen. ‘As you wish’ was something Westley had consistently told his love, Buttercup, before he became the Dread Pirate Roberts.

            A look of awe came onto Cat’s face. Then it crumpled in anguish as she covered it with her hands, went to her knees, and sobbing, began to recite, “I’m no good, I’m no good.”

            This reminded me of Barney Fife in one of the times he was drunk. But in that moment, I didn’t laugh. We both would laugh later.

            I helped her to her feet, put my jacket on her, and we walked five blocks to my apartment. This time my teeth chattered.