Okay, I have to admit, I'm starting to get a little irked by the 'Rita is a jerk to force Lincoln to play football.' I also admit, it was probably only like one or two, but when I read those, I was like 'Really?'
Look, if I am to be frank, I don't think that Rita overreacted. In fact, I think she is just acting appropriately to Lincoln's overreacting. I mean, let's not forget that in the original episode and in this fanfic (do remember that this is first person so we are stuck in Lincoln's viewpoint and he might not get everything and/or refuse to get the point), Lincoln kept doing stuff that he shouldn't have.
Going for a run in the mall with Dad?
Goes into the arcade and makes his dad look for him for an indeterminate amount of time.
Living room exercise with Mom?
Tape a comic book to her butt.
Frankly, if he just did the work, do some exercise, then Mom and Dad would have eventually patted themselves on the back and just continued on, letting Lincoln be free. But no, instead he continues to be stubborn, and his parents eventually threw up their hand saying 'He ain't listening to us, so maybe he'll listen to a coach.' And here we are.
So to put it in a not-so-polite way, Lincoln screwed Lincoln. The story of his life, now if only he can stop copying and pasting it, or the writers stop doing that.
Still, I don't want this sound like I have a problem with your opinions. This is just how I see it with the experiences that I've had. Part of me admits that this story was slightly influenced during my high school years, when I used to do wrestling in my freshman and junior years.
Finally, me and my family will be on vacation for the next four days, so who knows if I get another chapter out by then. It also doesn't help that next chapter could be a bit bigger.
With that said, on with the new chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Loud House.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.
"COME ON, LINCOLN!"
Almost there! Right left right left right left!
"Okay, pack it in, people!"
Everyone but me immediately started to walk away, a few chuckling about how they managed catch their breath before I finished my laps. I resisted the urge to collapse to the ground, instead putting my hands on my knees as I hunched over, trying desperately to fill my lungs back up with air. When I felt like I wasn't going to collapse, I gritted my teeth as I became aware of the pain in my side.
"Ah! Stitch in my side!"
"Put some pressure on it, Lincoln! It helps." Patrick said, having not gone with the others yet and simply waiting for me. Following his advice, I put a hand on the painful part and pressed on it.
It was slight, but any kind of relief was a blessing.
"You're right, it does help."
Patrick grinned. "Good to know. Come on, Coach probably wants to say something now that Conditioning week is over."
As I followed Patrick to the rest of the group, I couldn't help but look at him.
Compared to me, Patrick took to Conditioning week like a duck to water. While I struggled for breath, he was already already to go with only a couple of deep breathes the only sign that he was even exercising. And he wasn't kidding about running being his talent.
During some test that Coach conducted called the 40 yard dash, where we had to run down 40 yards as fast as we could, Patrick did it in about 5.2 seconds. Without even knowing how good that number was on the scale, I knew that was fast considering what I saw. Patrick was practically a blur, running so fast that he flew past the Coach and moved another 10 yards before he stopped completely.
I considered that it was because of the way he ran. Over the week, I saw that Patrick's legs moved more differently than everyone else. While everyone else ran, Patrick sprinted, every motion of his legs practically explosive as they lifted off the ground only to come just as hard. It looked exhausting, yet Patrick did it like he did it all his life.
Part of me wanted to try to do the same thing, if only to make my 8.00 time slightly less pathetic. I mean, my time was slower than Ross, and he was a pretty chunky guy. In case you didn't know, that's Chandler's friend.
Either way, my point was that Patrick was clearly going to be something in the team. Already, I've heard whispers from the others about how the Coach was going to make Patick the new Running Back. Again, I don't know what that means, but it sounded important and if that position involved as much running as the title implied, then I really did believe that Patrick was a shoo-in for that one.
However, this doesn't explain why Patrick liked to hang out with me.
I mean, from what I've seen, Patrick usually liked to hang with me the most during practices, shooting the breeze about comics during those few breaks that we got in between workouts, and I just can't figure out why. Did it really mean that much to him when I talked to him in the locker room the first day?
It's not like I dislike Patrick, far from it. As far as I can see it, he's the only thing I say that I look forward to seeing every time I come. It's just that I'm bracing myself every day when he starts finding other friends that probably share more interests than just comic books, like maybe members of the football team here.
As Patrick kneeled, I realized that we made it to the edge of the huddle as I thought to myself. I kneeled down, thankful that I could put weight off one of my feet. Just as I did so, the coach began to talk.
"Okay, everyone, good work today. Let me congratulate you all for making it through Conditioning Week. You all did very well, and you should pat yourselves on the back. You came into this week and came out better. Whether improvement was small or big, you should be proud of that. With that said, we got a game in about two weeks. So get ready to work a bit more. Alright, ALL IN!"
At that, every one of us crowded into the middle, putting our hands forward. Patrick tried so hard to put his hand forward that he pushed a bit through the crowd in front of him, making them move a bit to the side. I didn't try as hard, simply just putting my hand forward, it not even reaching the middle by a large margin.
"READY!" Terrence, our team captain and Quarterback, called out. Everyone else answered back.
"READY!"
"WE ARE THE ROOSTERS! ROOSTERS! WE ARE THE ROOSTERS! ROOSTERS! IT'S WHAT WE COCK-DO-A-DO-A-DO!"
With that scream of that last syllable, everyone threw their hands up in the air, me barely following a half-second later. I allowed myself to savor the moment of freedom, the fact that I had the weekend, two blessed days, to relax before I had to return to more sore muscles and stitches in my side.
Then I remembered what was still waiting for me after practice.
As everyone started to head towards the lockers to change, I followed Patrick back.
"So, did you see Pantherman yet?" I asked, which Patrick grinned.
"Totally and you were right, man! Worth every single penny."
I grinned back.
"Yeah, you remember that fight scene in the warehouse?"
"TOTALLY! Creeping through the dark, picking off all the bad guys one by one, then challenging the main bad guy one on one! That had me on the edge of my seat."
"And you remember the twin boat scenes?!"
"Oh my god, that scene was incredible. Just the way that prisoner got that denonator and said to the prison guard, 'Let me show you what you should have done a long time ago.' And then threw it out the window! CHILLS, MAN!"
"AND DON'T FORGET THE SCENE WHEN THE MAIN BAD GUY TELLS PANTHERMAN 'YOU'RE JUST A BEAST!' AND PANTHERMAN SAYS-"
""I'M A MAN!"" Me and Patrick said as we punched the air at the same time. Then we both laughed our heads off.
"Hahahahaha…" Patrick wiped a tear from his eye. "Man, I seriously didn't expect Tris Hatt to be that good…"
I nodded to leave. "Join the club. Well, see you next week, Patrick."
Patrick waved back. "See you, man. Good luck with that sister of yours."
Yeah...I wonder if what would happen if Patrick did meet my sisters…
"COME ON, LINCOLN! PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT!" Lynn called out as she got ready to throw the ball again. I sighed as I got ready to try to catch Lynn's throw again.
Man, I really need to get these things washed.
"THROWING!"
Snapping back into the present, I saw the ball flying through the air. Tracing it to the end point, I immediately calculated that I wasn't going to reach it. Still, Lynn's gaze made me try.
Just as the ball reached a certain distance from the ground, I jumped forward, hands outstretched to catch the ball. My hands only managed to graze the leather before it slipped through my hands entirely and fell to the ground. I continued flying forward before impacting against the ground.
I laid on the ground, trying desperately to catch my breath, the feeling of grass bunched up in my face. Hearing the sounds of footsteps and crutches crushing the grass under them, I tried to stand up. Finding my motivation to do so completely spent, I merely rolled over to my back, looking up at Lynn.
"Lincoln…" She sighed sadly. "It's been a week since I started training. That was a textbook pass, bro. How are you missing it?"
Because I'm still tired from practice earlier? Because I don't really even want to get better at football? I mean, I still managed to graze it, that has to be better than like a week ago, when I couldn't even reach it. Yet that's not good enough for you, is it? You are really stuck on trying to make me the next Randy Quaid. Or was it Randy Moss?
I wanted to say any of those things. I looked at the cast around her leg. I put a lid on those things as I thought of something else to say.
"It's not your fault, Lynn. I guess I'm not just good at sports, period." I said as I sat up.
"Boy, you're going to have a rough time when they make you play…" Lynn tsk'ed. I stared at her incredulously.
"Wait. That's a thing?!" I shook my head. "I can't go out there! I stink! You seen me, Lynn. Heck, you tried to make me better!"
"Well, you did get better. You can now touch the ball." Lynn praised, though I could already hear the unspoken words she didn't want to say. 'So why can't you catch it?'
But nevermind that, I had to think of something to get me out of the coming game. Looking at Lynn, I suddenly got an idea. It wasn't going to solve the problem that I was going to have in about two weeks, but it was going to help with the rest of the season.
"Hey, Lynn. You know, I've been thinking…"
"Well, you do that better than sports, I'll admit…"
"When you get better and your leg heals alright, we could probably switch. Like you go to all the practices and games as me."
"...Don't you think that your teammates will notice something?"
I shook my head. "Nah, I've been flying under the radar for the most part, nobody's gonna to miss me."
Except that wasn't true, was it? Patrick was definitely going to notice something was up. Still, I suppose that if Lynn does accept this plan, I'll have to start distancing myself from Patrick. I was going to miss being able to talk comic books and comic book movies with him, but I figure that he could always find other friends to do that with.
"Well, I could use a new sport, and I definitely gonna have a lot of energy to burn when this leg of mine gets healed… SURE!"
"Alright, put it there." I said, extending my hand. Lynn took it and shook it.
"Clyde, you wouldn't happen to have an idea for me get out of playing for the next game, would you?" I asked Clyde as we talked on the walkie-talkie. I was currently sprawled on my bed, the soreness of my muscles reminding me why I had to get out of doing football every single minute.
"No offense, Lincoln, is it really that bad?" Clyde asked. I sat up in my bed incredulously. "I mean, you got past Conditioning week and that frankly sounds pretty rough, yet you managed to get through it just fine, from what I can hear."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME, CLYDE?! I'M HURTING HERE! I have aches and pains in places where I didn't know could ache! I'm starting to develop a phobia for tires and the word 'scramble.' Sure, I can survive, but I WANT TO LIVE!"
"...No offense, but if you really didn't want to play football, maybe you should have just stayed quiet and do the exercises. Believe me, my dads sometimes get on me for my unhealthy habits, after the few times I tried to resist them, I find that it's easier to just give them what they want and let them walk away, convinced that they done something."
I frowned. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now can you help me think of something?"
"Well...What do you got so far?"
I sighed. "Right now, the only idea I have is to not show up to the game."
I could practically see Clyde shake his head before he responded back. "That won't do, Lincoln. Pretty sure that whatever papers that your parents signed when they enrolled you, they also made the Coach your guardian for the few hours he has you. He'll probably have to report your disappearance to your parents if you go missing. Well… What is the Coach like?"
I sighed. "He's nice."
As much as I wanted to execute that plan, I didn't want to get the guy in trouble. Discounting my experiences, he did seem like a nice guy that gave breaks, impressed on us the importance of hydration, and seemed willing to help anyone that wanted some pointers. If only he was bit more of a jerk…
"Okay, putting a kibosh on that plan…" I sighed, immediately wiping any possibility of that plan from my head.
"Well, short of breaking your leg, I think the only thing you could do is mess up so badly that the coach wouldn't put you in any other games."
...That's it.
"THAT'S IT!" I said, excitement blooming on my face. "If I can screw up badly enough, then coach will have to put me out of the game and any other games in the future. He won't get on my case as much, and he won't look so closely when me and Lynn make the switch! You're a genius, Clyde. I gotta go now, I gotta think how to pull this off!"
Turning off the walkie-talkie, I tossed it onto my bed as I looked over my football equipment, looking for something that could help me pull this off…
Sure, I would still not have my comic books. But at this point, I would gladly go without Ace Savvy and Muscle Fish for six months as long as I didn't have to go practice.
Spotting, I smirked as I formulated my plan...
