Beetleball
by
Owlcroft

"Don't know why I let you talk me into this; I don't know anything about soccer, or kids, or coaching; could've been working on that beer formula; families in this world have no sense of responsibility; it's going to be a fiasco, or boring, or both . . ."

Beetlejuice had been muttering since before they'd arrived at the soccer field but Lydia had grown used to it by now. She waved cheerfully at the group of nine-year-olds waiting for their 'guest coaches' and guided her husband to a bench on the sidelines.

"Hello, I'm glad to see you all here," she told the kids. "I'm Mrs. Juice and this is my husband, Mr. Juice. We're going to have some fun right along with you all today, but first let's divide up into two teams, okay?"

It was a nice afternoon for a friendly soccer game and Lydia was actually enjoying this foray into uncharted territory. She'd been asked by a friend of Prudence's to 'fill in' for an afternoon and thought it would be something new and different to try. After all, when they eventually had children of their own, they might want to coach them, so why not get some experience first?

Her husband had disagreed. Strenuously. And at length. Reluctantly, after making several objections, he had gone along with the arrangement, providing them both with black-and-white striped shirts. Lydia also got black shorts, but his shorts were striped to match his shirt. So were his socks. His shoes, however, were purple.

"Beej, we look like football referees," had been Lydia's objection. "Well, I do, at least."

"Oh, fine," he'd muttered. "Here." He'd changed her shirt for a red pullover with 'Coach' stitched over the pocket. "All this was your idea, so I get to pick the clothes. And I get to do some of the coaching, okay? That's the deal, take it or leave it."

Lydia had felt some misgivings at that but had eventually agreed. Later, she realized she should have known better, especially after she noticed the he had 'Head Coach' over his pocket.

Now Beetlejuice stepped in front of her and addressed the kids. "So, there are two teams – I'm calling them the Vampires and the Werewolves. Who wants to be a Vampire? Stand over there." More than half the kids went to that side, so Beetlejuice approached a few at the edge of the newly-christened Vampires and whispered, "The Werewolves get dog biscuits after the game," and they quickly headed over to the other team, making the numbers even.

"Now," the blond guest coach clapped his hands together, "in this game, there are different rules. First, each team only has the ball for thirty seconds at a time. Then you switch over." He talked right over the murmuring of the kids. "Next, you don't aim the ball at the net. You have to hit it over the top of the net, or to one of the sides. Which side depends which arm I'm holding up." The murmuring got louder but he went right on as Lydia started handing out two different colors of practice vests, giving the Head Coach a look of deep disapproval. "Third, every five minutes, all players have to stop what they're doing and do a round of the hokey-pokey." That silenced everyone and Lydia shot him another look that said volumes. "And, this is the best part, every time a goal is scored, we all do the chicken dance."

The players stood mutely, looking at each other.

"Okay, any questions, didn't think so, get on out there and we'll get this hootenanny started!" Beetlejuice produced a whistle from his jacket pocket and blew it loudly. It turned out to be a duck call, but he seemed pleased with it.

Lydia surrendered, sighing, and threw the ball onto the field. "Okay, Vampires, you get the ball first."

Play started slowly, but picked up when their coach promised ice cream after the game if the combined score was high enough. When it was time to give the ball to the Werewolves, Beetlejuice himself took the ball and entertained the teams by turning it into a bowling ball, then into a watermelon, then back into a soccer ball. "Okay, 'Wolves, let's see what you can do with this."

What they could do is kick it down the field, look closely to see which arm was in the air, and manage to score a goal by kicking the ball three yards to the left side of the net. A loud sound of cheering was heard from the empty stands and then the music started and Beetlejuice led the players in the chicken dance. Lydia joined in half-heartedly.

"I swear I will get you for this," she hissed as the players resumed their positions on the field.

"Promises, promises," he waved her threat away. "Okay, the Vamps have the ball now!" and blew his duck call again.

This time, the Vampires managed to score just before the first five-minute mark of the game. So, once every one had done the chicken dance again, they all did the hokey-pokey as well. At this point of the game, the coach called a time-out for refreshments and everyone had an drink of fluorescent green lemonade from cups with curly straws in them.

After the next hokey-pokey,and several more chicken dances, the refreshments were small skull-shaped ice pops. The teams were already enjoying this new form of soccer and were eager to get back to the game.

Lydia resigned herself to simply participating and taking pride in the fact that the kids were having a good time. And so was her husband.

The next innovation he introduced was the Select-A-Player move. Each team got to pick one opponent to stand still without smiling for thirty seconds. The other players were not allowed to touch them, but they could make faces at them, tell jokes, anything to get them to smile. Both players broke down in mere seconds at the other team's antics and both teams were then penalized by having to lie on the ground and sing the chorus of "Yellow Submarine".

One of the most popular new twists was the Goal Roll. During the final five minutes of play, any player who could manage to roll sideways, somersault, or crabwalk the length of the field was credited with half a goal. Some of them managed to make 1½ goals for their team and ended up slightly dizzy, but all were laughing gleefully.

The final score, as adjudicated by the Head Coach, was 147-146½ (although he refused to say which team had won) and small ice cream cones appeared in the players' hands. Yells of delight were heard, and a few more chicken dances were done impromptu. The Werewolves also got dog biscuits and were seen nudging each other and grinning. There were even a few high-pitched howls of solidarity.

As parents started arriving to pick up their kids, several of the players hugged both their guest coaches, thanking them for the good time and waving cheerful good-byes.

Once the last nine-year-old had been picked up, Lydia turned to her husband, smiling at him. "You know they're going to want us to coach again, don't you?" She cocked her head and raised one brow in a question.

He shrugged casually. "I wouldn't mind. It was fun, wasn't it? Besides," he put his arm around her shoulders and grinned, "I've got lots more ideas."