Football or no football, Elmer Drimsdale still had a lot of experiments to attend to.
Since the coming of “Drimsdale,” interest in the Warriors had begun to spread beyond the players and their coaches. During the practices, the bleachers were sprinkled with spectators, and most of the boys were looking forward to cheering the team on this season. Elmer, who had to lie low during practice so as not to be seen in two places at once, was becoming an object of admiration.
* * *
Kevin Klapper, meanwhile, was hard at work updating the Macdonald Hall file for the Ministry of Education. He had not actually visited the football stadium, but he had certainly heard about the Macdonald Hall Warriors in many student conversations. To a reformed football addict, all the danger signs were there. Macdonald Hall was about to succumb to footballmania. That riot at the girls’ school had been the first sign. It was no coincidence that eight of the ten culprits had been football players. Of course, Sturgeon assured him that no drop in grades would be tolerated, but this could not last. Sure, it all seemed innocent now. He remembered himself in the early days of his own footballmania. First Sunday afternoon games, then cable television — college, even high school ball. Then the plane trips, rare at first, but growing more and more frequent. His concentration began to go after that. He would sit in the office mulling over last night’s game in his mind, searching for holes in the defence and hatching strategies. And then … Klapper shook himself. No, there was no way even the top-rated boarding school in Ontario could hold up against the ravages of this destructive game. By midseason, they’d be lucky if anyone even
cared
about getting a passing grade.
And Kevin Klapper would be there to expose it all and prove that football would never get the better of him again.
* * *
“I’ll bet Wilbur’s come up with a great rec hall plan,” said Bruno as he and Boots entered Dormitory 2. “He’s a bit of a crab, but in the end, he’s a pretty smart guy.”
Boots stepped into the main hallway and stopped dead. There was a small crowd of boys standing around the open door of the room Wilbur shared with Larry Wilson. Laughter could be heard, and much heckling.
Bruno elbowed his way through the group and looked into the room. Wilbur stood in the centre of the floor, bellowing with outrage. Larry had him in a full nelson to keep him from hurling himself upon Elmer Drimsdale, who cowered before him, clutching his four bush hamsters to his heart.
“Two kilos of imported halvah!
Gone!
” Wilbur shouted in a foghorn voice that echoed throughout the dormitory.
“I’m sorry,” said Elmer meekly. “They got out of my room, and I couldn’t catch them. They’re not responsible. Don’t yell at them; yell at me.”
“I
am
yelling at you! My cookies! Half my chips! The mixed nuts are
decimated
! They even got into the — the
peanut butter
!” He broke free from Larry and yelled the last part into Elmer’s face. The bush hamsters scrambled and buried their heads in Elmer’s shirt.
Elmer drew himself up to his full height, which was a good twenty centimetres shorter than Wilbur. “Wilbur Hackenschleimer, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You’re scaring my Manchurian bush hamsters, an endangered species! How do you expect them to reproduce when they’re all distraught like this?”
“I don’t care if they
never
reproduce!” roared Wilbur. “I want my peanut butter!”
“Hold everything!” Bruno rushed in between them. “Break it up. We’re all friends here, remember? Wilbur, we’ll get you some new food. Elmer, take your rats and go home.”
Wilbur was not consoled. “Look what they ate!” He showed Bruno torn bags and gnawed boxes.
Even Bruno was impressed. “How long were they in here?”
“Only ten minutes,” said Larry in awe. “Wilbur himself couldn’t put away that much in ten minutes.”
Bruno
Since the coming of “Drimsdale,” interest in the Warriors had begun to spread beyond the players and their coaches. During the practices, the bleachers were sprinkled with spectators, and most of the boys were looking forward to cheering the team on this season. Elmer, who had to lie low during practice so as not to be seen in two places at once, was becoming an object of admiration.
* * *
Kevin Klapper, meanwhile, was hard at work updating the Macdonald Hall file for the Ministry of Education. He had not actually visited the football stadium, but he had certainly heard about the Macdonald Hall Warriors in many student conversations. To a reformed football addict, all the danger signs were there. Macdonald Hall was about to succumb to footballmania. That riot at the girls’ school had been the first sign. It was no coincidence that eight of the ten culprits had been football players. Of course, Sturgeon assured him that no drop in grades would be tolerated, but this could not last. Sure, it all seemed innocent now. He remembered himself in the early days of his own footballmania. First Sunday afternoon games, then cable television — college, even high school ball. Then the plane trips, rare at first, but growing more and more frequent. His concentration began to go after that. He would sit in the office mulling over last night’s game in his mind, searching for holes in the defence and hatching strategies. And then … Klapper shook himself. No, there was no way even the top-rated boarding school in Ontario could hold up against the ravages of this destructive game. By midseason, they’d be lucky if anyone even
cared
about getting a passing grade.
And Kevin Klapper would be there to expose it all and prove that football would never get the better of him again.
* * *
“I’ll bet Wilbur’s come up with a great rec hall plan,” said Bruno as he and Boots entered Dormitory 2. “He’s a bit of a crab, but in the end, he’s a pretty smart guy.”
Boots stepped into the main hallway and stopped dead. There was a small crowd of boys standing around the open door of the room Wilbur shared with Larry Wilson. Laughter could be heard, and much heckling.
Bruno elbowed his way through the group and looked into the room. Wilbur stood in the centre of the floor, bellowing with outrage. Larry had him in a full nelson to keep him from hurling himself upon Elmer Drimsdale, who cowered before him, clutching his four bush hamsters to his heart.
“Two kilos of imported halvah!
Gone!
” Wilbur shouted in a foghorn voice that echoed throughout the dormitory.
“I’m sorry,” said Elmer meekly. “They got out of my room, and I couldn’t catch them. They’re not responsible. Don’t yell at them; yell at me.”
“I
am
yelling at you! My cookies! Half my chips! The mixed nuts are
decimated
! They even got into the — the
peanut butter
!” He broke free from Larry and yelled the last part into Elmer’s face. The bush hamsters scrambled and buried their heads in Elmer’s shirt.
Elmer drew himself up to his full height, which was a good twenty centimetres shorter than Wilbur. “Wilbur Hackenschleimer, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You’re scaring my Manchurian bush hamsters, an endangered species! How do you expect them to reproduce when they’re all distraught like this?”
“I don’t care if they
never
reproduce!” roared Wilbur. “I want my peanut butter!”
“Hold everything!” Bruno rushed in between them. “Break it up. We’re all friends here, remember? Wilbur, we’ll get you some new food. Elmer, take your rats and go home.”
Wilbur was not consoled. “Look what they ate!” He showed Bruno torn bags and gnawed boxes.
Even Bruno was impressed. “How long were they in here?”
“Only ten minutes,” said Larry in awe. “Wilbur himself couldn’t put away that much in ten minutes.”
Bruno
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