Downtown Owl : A Novel Paperback - 2009

AUGUST 15, 1983
(Mitch)

When Mitch Hrlicka heard that his high school football coach had gotten another teenage girl pregnant, he was forty bushels beyond bamboozled. He could not understand what so many females saw in Mr. Laidlaw. He was inhumane, and also sarcastic. Whenever Mitch made the slightest mental error, Laidlaw would rhetorically scream, âÈêVanna? Vanna? Are you drowsy, Vanna? Wake up! You can sleep when you are dead, Vanna!âÈë Mr. Laidlaw seemed unnaturally proud that he had nicknamed Mitch âÈêVanna WhiteâÈë last winter, solely based on one semifunny joke about how the surname âÈêHrlickaâÈë needed more vowels. Mitch did not mind when other kids called him Vanna, because almost everyone he knew had a nickname; as far as he could tell, there was nothing remotely humiliating about being called âÈêVanna,âÈë assuming everyone understood that the name had been assigned arbitrarily. It symbolized nothing. But Mitch hated when John Laidlaw called him âÈêVanna,âÈë because Laidlaw assumed it was humiliating. And that, clearly, was his goal.

Christ, it was humid. When Mitch and his teenage associates had practiced that morning at 7:30 a.m., it was almost cool; the ground had been wet with dew and the clouds hovered fourteen feet off the ground. But nowâÈ'eleven hours laterâÈ'the sun was burning and falling like the Hindenburg. The air was damp wool. Mitch limped toward the practice field for the eveningâÈçs upcoming death session; he could already feel sweat forming on his back and above his nose and under his crotch. His quadriceps stored enough lactic acid to turn a triceratops into limestone. âÈêGod damn,âÈë he thought. âÈêWhy do I want this?âÈë In two days the team would begin practicing in full pads. It would feel like being wrapped in cellophane while hauling bricks in a backpack. âÈêGod damn,âÈë he thought again. âÈêThis must be what itâÈçs like to live in Africa.âÈë Football was not designed for the summer, even if Herschel Walker believed otherwise.

When Mitch made it to the field, the other two Owl quarterbacks were already there, facing each other twelve yards apart, each standing next to a freshman. They were playing catch, but not directly; one QB would rifle the ball to the opposite freshman, who would (in theory) catch it and immediately flip it over to the second QB who was waiting at his side. The other quarterback would then throw the ball back to the other freshman, and the process would continue. This was how NFL quarterbacks warmed up on NFL sidelines. The process would have looked impressive to most objective onlookers, except for the fact that both freshman receivers dropped 30 percent of the passes that struck them in the hands. This detracted from the fake professionalism.

Mitch had no one to throw to, so he served as the holder while the kickers practiced field goals. This duty required him to crouch on one knee and remain motionless, which (of course) is not an ideal way to get oneâÈçs throwing arm loose and relaxed. Which (of course) did not really matter, since Coach Laidlaw did not view MitchâÈçs attempts at quarterbacking with any degree of seriousness. Mitch was not clutch. Nobody said this, but everybody knew. It was the biggest problem in his life.

At 7:01, John Laidlaw blew into a steel whistle and instructed everyone to bring it in. They did so posthaste.

âÈêOkay,âÈë Laidlaw began. âÈêThis is the situation. The situation is this: We will not waste any light tonight, because we have a beautiful evening with not many mosquitoes and a first-class opportunity to start implementing some of the offense. I realize this is only the fourth practice, but weâÈçre already way behind on everything. ItâÈçs obvious that most of you didnâÈçt put five goddamn minutes into thinking about football all goddamn summer, so now weâÈçre all behind. And I donâÈçt like being behind. IâÈçve never been a follower. IâÈçm not that kind of person. Maybe you are, but I am not.

âÈêClasses start in two weeks. Our first game is in three weeks. We need to have the entire offense ready by the day we begin classes, and we need to have all of the defensive sets memorized before we begin classes. And right now, I must be honest: I donâÈçt even know who the hell is going to play for us. So this is the situation. The situation is this: Right now, everybody here is equally useless. This is going to be an important, crucial, important, critical, important two weeks for everyone here, and itâÈçs going to be a real kick in the face to any of you who still want to be home watching The Price Is Right. And I know thereâÈçs going to be a lot of people in this town talking about a lot of bull crap that doesnâÈçt have anything to do with football, and youâÈçre going to hear about certain things that happened or didnâÈçt happen or that supposedly happened or that supposedly allegedly didnâÈçt happen to somebody that probably doesnâÈçt even exist. These are what we call distractions. These distractions will come from all the people who donâÈçt want you to think about Owl Lobo football. So if I hear anyone on this team perpetuating those kinds of bullshit stories, everyone is going to pay for those distractions. Everyone. Because we are here to think about Owl Lobo football. And if you are not thinking exclusivelyâÈ'exclusivelyâÈ'about Owl Lobo football, go home and turn on The Price Is Right. Try to win yourself a washing machine.âÈë

It remains unclear why John Laidlaw carried such a specific, all-encompassing hatred for viewers of The Price Is Right. No one will ever know why this was. Almost as confusing was the explanation as to why Owl High School was nicknamed the Lobos, particularly since they had been the Owl Owls up until 1964. During the summer of âÈç64, the citizens of Owl suddenly concluded that being called the Owl Owls was somewhat embarrassing, urging the school board to change the nickname to something âÈêless repetitive.âÈë This proposal was deeply polarizing to much of the community. The motion didnâÈçt pass until the third vote. And because most of the existing Owl High School athletic gear still featured its long-standing logo of a feathered wing, it was decided that the new nickname should remain ornithological. As such, the program was known as the Owl Eagles for all of the 1964âÈ'1965 school year. Contrary to community hopes, this change dramatically increased the degree to which its sports teams were mocked by opposing schools. During the especially oppressive summer of 1969, they decided to change the nickname again, this time becoming the Owl High Screaming Satans. (New uniforms were immediately purchased.) Two games into the âÈç69 football season, the local Lutheran and Methodist churches jointly petitioned the school board, arguing that the nickname âÈêSatanâÈë glorified the occult and needed to be changed on religious grounds; oddly (or perhaps predictably), the local Catholic church responded by aggressively supporting the new moniker, thereby initiating a bitter feud among the various congregations. (This was punctuated by a now infamous street fight that involved the punching of a horse.) When the Lutheran minister ultimately decreed that all Protestant athletes would have to quit all extracurricular activities if the name âÈêSatanâÈë remained in place, the school was forced to change nicknames midseason. Nobody knew how to handle this unprecedented turn of events. Eventually, one of the cheerleaders noticed that the existing satanic logo actually resembled an angry humanoid wolf, a realization that seemed brilliant at the time. (The cheerleader, Janelle Fluto, is now a lesbian living in Thunder Bay, Ontario.) The Screaming Satans subsequently became the Screaming Lobos, a name that was edited down to Lobos upon the recognition that wolves do not scream. This nickname still causes mild confusion, as strangers sometimes assume the existence of a mythological creature called the âÈêOwl Lobo,âÈë which would (indeed) be a terrifying (and potentially winged) carnivore hailing from western Mexico. ButâÈ'nonetheless, and more importantlyâÈ'there has not been any major community controversy since the late sixties. Things have been perfect ever since, if by âÈêperfectâÈë you mean âÈêexactly the same.âÈë

Mitch and the rest of the Lobos clapped their hands simultaneously and started to jog one lap around the practice field, ostensibly preparing to perform a variety of calisthenics while thinking exclusively about Owl Lobo football and not fantasizing about The Price Is Right. But such a goal was always impossible. It was still summer. As Mitch loped along the sidelines, his mind drifted to other subjects, most notably a) Gordon Kahl, b) the Georgetown Hoyas, c) how John Laidlaw managed to seduce and impregnate Tina McAndrew, and d) how awful it must feel to be John LaidlawâÈçs wife.

Âû 2008 Chuck Klosterman

Chuck Klosterman is the bestselling author of many books of nonfiction (including The Nineties, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, I Wear the Black Hat, and But What If We're Wrong?) and fiction (Downtown Owl, The Visible Man, and Raised in Captivity). He has written for The New York Times, The Washington Post, GQ, Esquire, Spin, The Guardian, The Believer, Billboard, The A.V. Club, and ESPN. Klosterman served as the Ethicist for The New York Times Magazine for three years, and was an original founder of the website Grantland with Bill Simmons.