My standard KP disclaimer:
I know Disney owns "Kim Possible"...lock, stock, and Rufus.
If they want to sue me, they have to get behind all my other creditors.
Since I am in south Florida, the line has formed to the right
…and goes all the way to Sacramento!
HOWEVER, 'Ms. (don't you dare call her 'Miss') Carlita Gold'
belongs to me...Thad Marster, The Samurai Crunchbird.
I will defend the rights to this character…with my heart, my honor, my agent (Matthew Shrader),
and The Sword of the Ancient Mystics® (also mine)...though not necessarily in that order!
""""""""""
'Pop Warner® Football' is the property of Pop Warner Little Scholars, Inc.
Please support this worthwhile organization.
It builds strong character in both boys and girls all around the world.
-- -- -- -- -- --
Opening notes:
1) Well, folks…this is the second story in the 'ch-RON-icles' series. These tales will feature Ron Stoppable in many of his everyday adventures before he began joining 'you know who' on her missions.
2) Do not look for any issues with 'timeline continuity' between stories or 'canon' knowledge from the series. While I may use some characters more than once, none of these tales will necessarily fit together with any other 'ch-RON-icles' in the series...or anywhere else, for that matter.
3) While I am a Christian, I usually do attempt to impose my faith upon others. Still, I want to take this time to wish everybody a happy and safe Easter.
Enjoy the show!
-- -- -- -- -- --
'ch-RON-icles: A Tale of Two Games'
""""""""""
…For Rachel Curtain…
""""""""""
The fragrant aroma of burnt pizza permeated J. P. Bearymore's Pizza Party-Torium. It was the weekly visit after Temple for one typical family…a fun-loving father, an over-protective mother, and one lucky eight-year-old boy…
…Ron Stoppable.
Since they were regular customers of the establishment, the cooks were careful to use kosher meats, cheeses, and sauce ingredients to top unleavened dough, out of respect for the family's Jewish faith. It cost them a little more to use these ingredients, but the restaurant more than made up for it in the vast influx of game-token purchases and a generous tip for the service.
While the Stoppables were waiting for their usual order, Ron noticed a sign on their table:
POP WARNER FOOTBALL & SPIRIT SQUAD
SUMMER PRACTICE SIGN-UP
BOYS AND GIRLS AGES 5-15
THIS SATURDAY
NOON TO 5PM
AT J. P. BEARYMORE'S
After a moment, Ron thought, 'Hey…today is Saturday. Maybe I can get the 'rents to let me play this year'.
Ron's eyes glazed as his daydream began…
…A sold-out crowd looked on with concern as the Denver player attempted to return the kickoff. He foolishly stepped out of the end zone—only to be is crushed by the dreaded rivals from Oakland at the seven-yard-line…
…The coach assessed the situation…Thirteen seconds left, one time-out remaining, and ninety-three yards away from scoring…
…He looked up and down the depth chart before he returned his gaze to the tally on the scoreboard…
Denver 24…Oakland 28
…He noticed the blonde boy at the end of the bench. The kid was admiring the pretty picture of the white horse on the side of his blue-and-orange helmet. The coach walked up to the boy as he finally made his decision…
"Stoppable", he shouted, "get in there! We need some speed at wide receiver."
Ron scurried onto the field as the crowd roared in approval. He heard the play from the quarterback, but it didn't matter. The signal-caller took his place in the 'shotgun' formation, standing at his own three-yard-line—only to fumble the long snap from the center.
By the time the quarterback fell on the ball, he was crushed by the Oakland defense at the two-yard-line. This debacle forced the coach to call Denver's final time-out as six seconds remained on the clock.
The quarterback finally rose from the pile, flicking his hands once or twice to get them working properly again. Only one play could save Denver's hopes of victory today…the improbable 'Hail Mary' pass.
The quarterback took his place in the 'shotgun' formation, this time standing three yards deep in the end zone.
Ron had a bad feeling about this, as he saw the quarterback wringing his hands once more before barking out the 'snap count'. His fear was realized as the snap completely missed the quarterback's hands, hitting him in the left leg before it landed on the turf near the back of the end zone.
Because the other receivers, and most of the Oakland defense, were already downfield awaiting the pass, Ron's hesitation placed him closest to where the ball landed. He ran back, scooped up the ball and sped out of the end zone…in the right direction, thank you!
The Oakland defense finally realized the situation and began to converge on the boy. He dodged one would-be tackler and stepped onto another diving Oakland player to jump over a third defender. The leap gave Ron a little bit of daylight…only to have two more defenders close in on him.
Ron noticed the point where they expected to meet him if he continued to run at full speed. He stopped just in time to watch them collide and fall to the turf.
He hurdled past the pile of humanity as he sprinted the last twenty yards for the touchdown.
Soon, a chant rang throughout the stadium…
"RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON! RON!..."
"Ron," his mother chimed as he returned to reality, "the pizza is here."
After a quick prayer of thanks, the family devoured the pizza. Ron was careful to save a slice for his long-time imaginary friend, Rufus. His parents usually took the slice home in a 'to-go' container and placed it in the refrigerator. It seems Rufus always enjoyed his slice after Ron fell asleep. It was a quirk in their son's life they gladly accepted in exchange for his youthful innocence.
While Ron was wiping the last of the pizza crumbs from is lips, he decided this would be the time to bring up the object of his daydream. He turned to his parents and chose his words carefully. Hecoined a phraseon the brochure left attheir tableas he said, "Mom…Dad…I know I only have one week left before summer vacation. This year, I want to enjoy some fresh air and learn the values of courage, honor, and teamwork."
Donald Stoppable looked at his son with a warm smile as he observed, "Those are definitely good values any growing boy should learn, Ronald. How do you propose to acquire these traits?"
Ron motioned to the nearby 'sign-up' table and replied, "By playing football, Dad! What do you say…could I sign up this year, pleeeeeeeeease?"
His father's mouth was beginning to form the word 'yes' as his mother's eyes grew wide.
"Ronnie," Jean Stoppable admonished, "you know how you keep running into things. Do you have any idea how many boys get injured each year playing football? I just can't sit by and watch my 'Little Ronnie' get cut, get bruised," she quickly gasped, "or break any bones."
Donald turned to his wife and tried to defend his son's logic. "Jeannie," he argued, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to play football. I played at his age—pretty darn well, I might add—and lived to tell the tale."
"Of course you did," she shot back as a large boy and his parents talked with the league representative, "but look at that behemoth signing up now. There's no way I'm going to let my Ronnie go up against the likes of him!"
Donald sighed as he tried a different tactic. "Fair enough," he posed, "but exercise is still good for the body."
Jean nodded, "I whole-heartedly agree, dear, but not such a violent game as football."
Donald followed up his point, asking, "Then just what kind of game do you think an eight-year-old should play?"
Jean replied, "How about jumping rope…or even tag!"
Ron and his father slapped their foreheads, shook their heads and sighed in unison.
""""""""""
Monday brought a high level of excitement to the student population of South Middleton Elementary School. In addition to the start of the last week of classes, two substitute teachers served as monitors for the mid-morning recess. Since they weren't briefed as to standing recess policies, the students knew it meant one thing…
…No more 'two-handed touch' and 'five-second wait for rushing the quarterback' stuff…
…It was time for some real football!
Sure, it was five on each side, with a junior-sized ball and a field only half the length and width of a normal field. That didn't lessen the fun at all. In fact, it freed up more space to run better plays.
Ron was having even more fun because he was teamed with his flame-haired best friend since pre-K. Her four interceptions combined with Ron's three sacks to maintain a shut-out. Unfortunately, her cousin, Larry, insisted on being the quarterback. After all, he did use his sources to find out about the substitute monitors…and he did bring the ball from his nearby home.
The great defense on Ron's team, combined with Larry's ineptitude as a quarterback, made for a scoreless tie with just a minute left before the bell would ring to end the recess.
"Time out!" Ron quickly yelled before huddling up with his friend, her cousin, and the rest of the team.
"Okay," his emerald-eyed friend told them, "We're near our own goal line and we have to go all the way down the field on one play. Any suggestions?"
"Just one comes to mind." Ron smirked, "I saw it on a 'Classic Sports' repeat of a Nebraska game…"
The team came out of the huddle with Ron's red-maned accomplice on left side as a wide receiver, the other two teammates as wide receivers on the right side, Ron as the center, and Larry ready to take the snap.
Larry barked the count, "Red…Eighty-Seven…This…Better-work-Ron! Hut! Hut!"
All five members of the opposition rushed the quarterback in a last-ditch effort to score a safety for a 2-0 win. They converged on their target, just inside the end zone, and created a huge 'dog-pile' of humanity on Larry.
The team began cheering loudly as they rose from the disheveled Larry, only to discover…
…he didn't have the ball!
By the time they all came to their senses, Ron was already half-way to the end zone. Apparently, Larry took the snap and placed the ball back on the ground as the five defenders landed on him. Ron simply reached back, grabbed the ball, and sprinted the entire length of the field.
He crossed the goal line, traded high-fives with his long-time best friend, and shouted, "BOO-YEAH! The 'Fumble-Rooski' ROCKS!"
As the students returned to class, Ron turned to the smiling girl with the auburn locks and remarked, "Great game, huh? And to think nobody got hurt, either."
"Yeah," Larry chirped behind them, "except their pride!"
While the three of them were laughing, they passed a certain set of jealous teal eyes. For some unknown reason, Bonnie Rockwaller just couldn't allow Ron and his friends to have fun for very long. She was quickly whispering the details of the impromptu football game into the ear of the assistant principal, a frumpy, middle-aged curmudgeon-in-training named Ms. (don't you dare call her 'Miss') Carlita Gold.
""""""""""
For the afternoon recess, Ms. Gold joined the earlier monitors. After a blast from her whistle, she screeched, "Okay, everybody. I heard about this morning's football incident."
She gave a stone-cold glare toward Ron while she ranted, "To make sure this doesn't happen again, we will play an all-grade game of 'Freeze Tag'."
She waited for the groans of disapproval to dissipate before she continued, "Here's how it's going to be done. The boys will be one team, and stand on one end of the playground. The girls will form the other team, and stand on the other end. When I blow the whistle, you will attempt to tag members of the opposing team. If you are tagged, you are 'frozen' until a member of your own team 'un-freezes' you by tagging you again…
"Because of the blatant disrespect for the rules earlier today, the stakes are a little higher than they normally would be. The last team with 'unfrozen' players will avoid detention today…
"The other team," she wickedly cackled, flashing her yellowed, crooked teeth, "will not be so lucky!"
Each team took their assigned positions. Ron was fortunate to have been lined up on the far left side of his line…his left. His resourceful best friend stood near the left end of her line…her left, Ron's right.
Ms. Gold blew her whistle and watched the melee begin. Both sides charged at one another, screaming war cries along the way. Despite their age, Ron and his fiery-headed, high-spirited amigo were among the fastest kids in school. Thus, they were leading the way for their respective teams when the forcescollided at the center of the playground.
Just before Ron met 'the enemy', he stumbled on a dip in the grass. He wildly sprawled in front of the advancing horde of girls. Sadly, the gender rivalry blinded both sides to this unfolding event. Ron was trampled first by the girls advancing toward him. His troubles were only compounded when the boys continued their charge and crushed him from behind.
Everybody seemed to be slapping tags on everybody else at the same time. Their fierce competition raged onward…until both sides heard a blood-curdling cry erupting from under their feet.
Upon hearing the scream of excruciating pain, everybody froze in place, whether they were 'tagged' or 'safe'. Both of the substitute teachers rushed toward the injured boy as he slipped from consciousness. Ms. Gold grudgingly pulled out her walkie-talkie and radioed the school nurse, instructing her to 'call for an ambulance whenever she got around to it'...
""""""""""
Ron's eyes fluttered for a brief moment before they slowly opened and adjusted to the bright lights of the hospital room. He looked at his surroundings and smiled as best he could, considering the injuries he sustained.
The final tally from his medical chart was astounding…seven cracked ribs, five teeth lost (thankfully, all 'baby teeth'), two black eyes, two sprained ankles, a broken collarbone, a broken nose, a busted lip, a separated shoulder, a hyper-extended knee, numerous cuts and bruises, and (as one nurse put it) 'the mother of all concussions'.
Thanks to the actions of Ms. Gold (or the delay thereof), several things came to pass…
…First, she was the subject of an investigation from the Middleton School Board. She had to call in every favor in her arsenal to get transferred to North Middleton Elementary instead of fired outright…
…Second, due to her negligence, the Middleton School District paid for Ron's medical expenses and advanced him to the next grade with the rest of his class, despite missing the last few days of school. This meant there was no extra homework brought to his hospital room, and no 'summer school' to foul up his recovery…
…Finally, he woke up from his 48-hour nap to find a room full of flowers, cards, balloons, and one giant banner which read, 'Thank You, Ron…Get Well Soon!' Apparently, he saved the whole school from detention, seeing as there were still 'un-frozen' members of each team when the game ended.
To his right sat his long-time friend, the whites of her worn, teary eyes nearly matching the red of her tresses. It seems she used a favor or two of her own (with her mother being 'on staff' and all) to stay by his side ever since he was first brought into the hospital.
To his left sat his mother, overjoyed at his coming out of the brief coma.
"Oh, Ronnie!" Jean wailed. "Thank God you're awake! I thought I'd never see you smile again." She gently embraced her son as best she could, given his litany of injuries.
She looked Ron in the eye as she sighed, "I just can't believe all this could happen with such a simple game of 'tag'."
Donald Stoppable returned to the room with refreshments for both his wife and Ron's loyal friend.
He turned to his wife and said, "You know, Jean, most of these injuries could have been prevented if he was wearing shoulder pads, knee pads, ankle tape, special shoes, a chest plate, and a helmet with a full face mask and mouthpiece attached."
Jean sharply retorted, "Really? And what kind of game offers all that prote—Oh…Yes…Of course!" A look of realization swept across her face as she turned her attention back to Ron.
She told him, "Ronnie, dear… I see now that people can get hurt doing anything if the right—or wrong—circumstances happen."
A few tears left her eyes as she concluded, "I know these injuries will keep you off the field this season; but I swear I will never keep you from trying out for a sport ever again. Football, hockey, lacrosse, wrestling…heck, you can even go off and save the world someday, if you want. You have my blessing!"
She heard Ron mumble something. It was hard to tell what he said, thanks to the lost teeth, dry throat, and swollen lip. With his good arm, he wrote on a pad, "From your mouth to God's ears!"
This brought laughter to all four of the people in the room. As it quieted, Jean refocused her attention on her son and said, "Just…be careful, okay? You may be on your way to becoming a man someday; but for now, you are still my 'Little Ronnie'…and I can't afford to lose you!"
Ron mumbled something else. Instead of writing it down this time, he pointed to his eye, crossed his arms (one gingerly, due to the shoulder issue) toward his heart, and pointed at his mother. From the days before she first taught him to speak, she knew what he meant.
"I love you, too, Ronnie!" Jean replied.
At that moment, the mother of Ron's best friend stopped by the room and told everybody, "Now that Ron is doing better, I suggest you all go home and get some rest…especially you, young lady. I may only offer medical advice to the Stoppables as a doctor, but you are still my daughter!"
The woman softened her tone as she added, "Don't worry, honey. We can bring you back up here first thing in the morning. He should be discharged then, and you can help us take him home so he can start his recovery…okay?"
"Thanks, Mom." The girl replied. "You rock!"
Because Donald and Jean Stoppable were closer to the door, they left the room first—but only after another squeeze of Ron's good hand and a smile from each of them.
The doctor gently escorted her daughter from the room. The girl may not have seen it, but her mother saw Ron once again point to his eye, cross his arms near his heart, and point...
...this time, to his best friend in the whole world…
-- -- -- -- -- --
Author's ending notes:
I hope you are enjoying these 'ch-RON-icles'. My goal is to submit more of these, once every two weeks. I know I have been posting every week during the last few months. However, my 'story buffer' is starting to get a little lean as I look for a second job.
Please watch for new 'ch-RON-icles' as they come down the line.
The production of this story, like that for any work of fiction, is solely dependent upon the constructive feedback of its readers. If you like it, I will gladly make more. If you think of ways to make it better, I am always open to suggestions. If you really think it's a piece of garbage, stop me before I strike again! Once again, Review me, e-mail me if you wanna reach me! If you want to 'PM' me, that's ok!
Your friend in writing,
The Samurai Crunchbird