Once Strong Bad got back to Free Country, he noticed that there was a lot of commotion going on in the area.

"Guys, what's the deal?"

"Oh, nothing major," Strong Sad whined. "Everyone's just so excited about how Homestar's on the cover of Sports Illustrated. I don't see what the big deal is, but"-

"You don't see what the big deal is? Strong Sad, how can you be so consistently stupid? I mean, even Homestar has his flashes of insight."

"Hey, no one cared when I got on the cover of Pictionary Quarterly."

Strong Sad then showed the cover of the magazine with his picture on it. He is holding a drawing of what appears to be a scribble. The caption reads: "Strong Sad properly draws 'abstract' and the Greystones win U.S. Regionals."

"That's completely different! That's just some sort of nerdular board game magazine. This is Sports Illustrated we're talking about here."

"Well, Homestar's over at his house if you want to talk to him."

Strong Bad decided to take that offer and walked over to Homestar's house. Once he opened the door, he saw Homestar wearing the orange bowl on his head and wielding the wooden spoon Strong Bad was familiar with, much to his disgust.

"Not this again…" Strong Bad grumbled.

"You! Why are you not in your quarters?"

"Homestar, what are you talking about?"

"Don't disrespect your coll-o-nell like that, maggot!"

"Maggot? No, I mean, why are in your Homestarmy quote-unquote 'uniform' ".

"Don't you know anything, maggot? I saw the schedule for this week. We're playing Army. There is no way the Homestarmy is going to stand idle while an army ravages my football squadron!"

"Homestar, it's not an actual army, it's just a football"-

"That's Coll-o-nell Homestar, maggot! But I'll let you off this time 'cause I have a job for you. Round up all the other members of the Dumple Infantry. We need to discuss tactics."

"'Dumple Infantry'?"

"On the double, maggot!"

Strong Bad wanted to object, but was afraid Homestar could leave the team behind in his current quasi-insane state unless he complied. So, Strong Bad got everyone together for a team meeting."

"Okay, everyone," Homestar said to the team. "You know why we're all here, so let's get to work."

"Um, Homestar?" asked Coach Z. "Shouldn't I be leading this? I mean, I am the coach."

"Oh, you're the coach, huh? Well, coach, where are you from?"

"I'm…um…I'm from a foreign land."

"A foreign land? A foreign land? Only steers and bad hip-hop artists come from a foreign land, and I don't see any horns growing out of your head!"

"Homestar, what is your problem?" asked Bubs angrily.

"My problem? Tell me Bubs, how tall are you?"

"Oh, I guess I'm about 5-foot-11."

"Really! I didn't know they stacked crap that high!"

Upon hearing this, The Poopsmith quickly scribbled a note, which Homestar picked up.

"What's this? 'We don't. The stacks can only be five feet high. Union regulations'?"

Homestar crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it down.

"Okay, maggots. Here's the plan. Intelligence shows that this army is going to try to take one piece of Free Country before any other. The Arenarium! Sadly, our forces around the stadium are like Swiss cheese. Unruly civilians they can handle, but a trained military brigade will bull its way right through. Therefore, we must prepare knowing they will make it inside. Once there, intelligence has reported that they will defend one of the two end zones. We're not sure which one yet, but that shall be known in due time. It should also be noted that the army may periodically abandon one end zone in order to defend the other, which would confuse us indefinitely. I say 'would', of course, since we know about it and can prepare."

"As for the battle itself," Homestar continued, "you're going to have to trust your coll-o-nell on this one, but I've seen a number of these battles in my time. There are many, many shifts of momentum; the best advice I can give you is to strike, strike, strike, right into the throat of the enemy. March relatively straight, as apparently it is considered dishonorable to them to run too far to one side or the other. No matter what, the goal remains clear: Push them back, and don't stop pushing them back until we have liberated whichever end zone they have chosen to defend. Do that enough, and the Arenarium will be reclaimed, although I fear the goalposts may become friendly fire."

Everyone just sat there.

"Is that clear enough?"

"Um, yes, sir?" Strong Sad squeaked out.

"Alright then! Company…go home!"

Once at the game, Coll-o-nell Homestar marched to midfield for the coin toss. Immediately, the referee objected to the additions to his uniform.

"Mr. Runner, you can't have that spoon with you on the field. Also, that bowl is not a proper helmet."

The referee took the items from Homestar. Homestar simply walked normally over to the bench and got his helmet.

"Um…Homestar? Coll-o-nell? Are you okay?" said Strong Bad, who was curious at Homestar's sudden change in posture.

"'Coll-o-nell'? Strong Bad, have you been drinking soy sauce again?"

"You…don't…what?"

"Strong Bad, I know you like Szechwan cooking, but this is getting out of hand. Maybe we need an interinvention."

The Dumples won the game easily, 45-7. After the game, Strong Bad wondered why Homestar suddenly lost his military persona.

"Okay, Homestar. Can you hold this spoon and put on this…um… 'hat' for me?"

"Oh, sure. That's easy." Homestar did what was requested.

"Well…do you feel any different?"

"Um...not really."

"Crap! That's not it, I guess," Strong Bad thought. "Okay, Homestar, you can take it off now."

"No…I'll keep it on. I like it."

"Fine, whatever."

"Okay, everyone!" announced Coach Z. "Our final game is an away game against Louisville. This one is for the Conference USA Championship. Let's go all the way, guys; 11-2 just won't cut it anymore."

"Oh? Well, I don't know what an eleven-and-two is, but I bet it would cut you, maggot!" said Homestar, clearly back in military form.

"What the cra- would someone get that wooden spoon away from this guy already?"