Chapter Text
A Korat stood at the goal line. He was decked out in a University of Ivyshire Green Falcons away uniform. It was all-white, except for green stripes on the shoulder and calf. The stylized neon green “UI” was plastered on both sides of the helmet, which his furry ears stuck out of.
The roar of the crowd was ferocious, like no sound he had ever heard before, and it was making his sensitive ears twitch.
Looking up the scoreboard he saw it and read:
“HOME: #2 OHIO STATE: 0
AWAY: IVYSHIRE: 0
Q1
15:00
KICKOFF”
Looking down on the field, he saw both teams ready, waiting on the referee's signal.
“Hopefully he kicks it into the end zone,” Mike, the Korat, thought. Coach Jackson had told him that if the ball was kicked into the end zone he could take a knee, which considering his small frame was significantly preferable to getting tackled.
You know it was insane that he was in this position in the first place, after all he had never played a down of football in his life and came to Ivyshire on a track scholarship. But now thanks to a stupid bet over video games he was about to play college football on national television. “Just my luck,” Mike thought somewhat bitterly. Really this was just another chapter in the bad luck that had plagued him his entire life.
Then in the middle of Mike's thought, the referee blew the whistle and less than a second later the ball was kicked.
Mike's eyes snapped up to track the brown ball. Unfortunately for him the ball came down right in the middle of the five yard line.
The ball bounced off his gloves slightly before he secured it, and by the time he did, most of his blockers had already been brushed aside. Mike counted four separate men in red uniforms coming down on him.
The fight or flight response kicked in and Mike took off at full speed towards the left side, where his blockers still hadn’t collapsed.
This didn’t last however, and by the time Michael had reached the eighteen, they had given way as well. Thinking quickly, the Korat made a hard right turn towards a gap he saw in the middle.
From this, he was able to give his team ten more yards before his luck ran out and a large linebacker came from the side and slammed him into the turf at the thirty one yard line.
The pain was unlike anything Michael had ever experienced. He had dealt with plenty of emotional pain, and gotten into one or two fights before, not to mention the soreness from track practice but this was something else entirely. The pain went all the way to his bones without penetrating his skin, and his brain rattled around in his skull. “Ow…” Mike moaned.
Another Ivyshire player, a white dog with black ears jogged up to Mike, looked down at him and asked, “You good Green Eyes?”
It was the strong safety Jacob Tubb.
“Yeah,” Mike replied as he lifted his top half off the ground. He moved to rub the back of his head, only to find the helmet.
Jacob wordlessly extended his hand and Michael took it, helping the Korat get up.
As they made their way to the bench together, Mike muttered under his breath, “Damn you Paulo, damn you.”
3 Weeks Earlier…
The setting sun sent its rays through the bedroom window of an apartment on the outskirts of Ivyshire. Inside this bedroom, Mike sat on the edge of his bed, controller in his hands, playing the newly released Street Fighters 5 on his console.
It was the Friday before college started, and Mike had just moved into his new apartment near the University of Ivyshire. He was living alone, and didn’t have many friends left, alienating most after years of high school drama. Those he did have left had scattered. Daisy had left this morning for her dream college in Europe. Abbey and Stacy were off to Stanford. The only friends he had here were Felix and Finn, and they were in the dorms. There was also Paulo.
Paulo was the only one of Mike's classmates who hadn’t gone to college, instead joining his father in the blue-collar workforce as a construction worker. Mike had complicated thoughts on Paulo. They had constantly tried to undermine each other, but he still considered him a friend.
Just then, Mike heard a knock on the door.
Mike smiled slightly, then paused the game, and got up.
He made his way to the front door, and opened it revealing a white and orange furred cat who was significantly taller compared to him, and carrying a plastic bag with two bags of chips inside.
“Hey Paulo,” Mike said.
“Sup Mike, how have you been?” Paulo asked.
“Good, come on in,” Mike replied, motioning for Paulo to enter.
Paulo did so, and after Mike closed the door behind him, they walked together to the bedroom.
“How can your parents afford this place?” Paulo asked.
“Oh, they’re not paying for it, Sandy is,” Mike replied, referring to his long distance girlfriend.
“Ah, that makes sense.”
They entered the bedroom and Mike hopped back onto his bed, before grabbing his controller and using it to end the current game. Meanwhile, Paulo grabbed the other controller off the table the TV was on.
“Hey Mike I got a bet,” Paulo said, a hint of mischief in his voice.
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“If I win the best out of three games, you must try out for the college football team. And I mean the AMERICAN football team, no trying out for the soccer team,” Paulo said. Then he added, “And if you do make the team, you must stay on for the entire season. Deal?”
“Deal,” Mike replied, not taking it seriously.
As it turned out he should have taken it seriously, as for the first time in two years Paulo beat in a best of three. In fact they didn’t even need to play the third game, as Paulo had swept the first two.
Paulo just grinned at Mike victoriously, as the Korat grouched and mumbled, “Fine.”
The Next Morning…
“Wait, so you're actually going to try out?” Sandy asked Mike over the phone as the Korat stepped off the bus.
“Yeah, or else Paulo is going to get pissy about it,” Mike replied. “I probably won’t make the team anyway.”
Mike was pretty confident about this assertion. Sure he was fast, after all you don’t get a division one track scholarship or get silver at state in the 100 yard dash without being fast, but he was tiny, standing at 5’6 141 pounds, not exactly what you would call football material. Not to mention he had no experience outside the occasional throw and catch with his friends, and he was always mediocre at that.
“Still, Good luck!” Sandy replied, before adding more nervously, “and don’t get injured, please!”
“Thanks,” Mike replied.
It was at this point Mike saw the field where the tryout was to be held, and said into the phone, “Uh, Sandy, I’m here, got to go, bye.”
“Okay, bye Maishul!”
“Bye,” then Mike hung up.
The Korat walked through the gate and onto the field, his blue scarf blowing in the wind. The field itself was a standard football field, with the Ivyshire athletic logo in the middle and those yellow things at each end. Behind that was a white warehouse type structure, which Mike assumed was some sort of indoor practice facility. To the side were two metal benches, where ten cats and nine dogs were sitting or standing, presumably waiting for the tryout.
Mike checked his smartphone for the time which was currently 7:50 AM. “So ten more minutes,” Mike thought.
Sure enough, right on cue ten minutes later, Mike spotted three men walking out of the indoor practice facility.
A minute later, they appeared in front of the group, standing together. From left to right there was: A rather grizzled looking German shepherd, a visibly aging British shorthair, decked out in a jacket and holding a football, and a young black cat with blonde hair.
Mike noticed the other kids were excited. Not just in the “I can’t wait to try out” way, though that was also fully present as well, but also in the “I just met my favorite singer” type of way.
The British shorthair began to speak in a gruff voice, “Gentleman welcome to the University of Ivyshire Green Falcons football tryouts. I am Coach Troy Jackson, and this is my defensive coordinator Karl Schmidt,” he said, pointing to the German shepherd before pointing to the black cat and saying, “and this is my offensive coordinator Jack Anderson. As you should know this is our first year here.”
“Before we begin, let me explain how this is going to work,” He resumed. “We will first do a 40 yard dash and bench presses to assess fundamentals before moving onto position drills. If you perform well enough, you will be interviewed Sunday morning, after which we will decide whether you are on the team or not. I must note we only have seven open positions, mostly secondary.”
Mike noted some of the larger guys seemed discouraged by this.
“If you make the team, you are expected to be on your best behavior both on and off the field, and of course keep your GPA up. Failure to meet this standard means suspension from the team. Practices are twice a day, 8 AM to 10 AM and then 6 PM to 8 PM. On Sunday we will only have one practice from 8 to 10 AM. Once the season starts we will probably drop it to one a day, but for now if you have classes that overlap with these hours, I recommend you change them. Any questions?”
“Good thing there’s not a shot I make the team,” Mike thought.
Seeing no questions, the coach said, “Great, let’s get started.”
The three coaches led the group of twenty across the field and into the indoor practice facility.
Inside Mike was amazed. There was a full sized football field, it even had those tall yellow things, and then to the side and on top were presumably offices and other training centers.
The coaches had them line up on the goal line. Then an assistant came running and handed Coach Jackson a clipboard. The coach looked at it and then said, “Write down your name, your year, your student ID, student email, and major.”
Then Jackson handed the board to a large black and white cat.
“Looks like Matt,” Mike thought. He knew full well it wasn’t him though, as Matt attended cross-town rival Roseville University.
Eventually the board reached him, and he wrote down all the relevant information, finishing with his major, which was Business. Then he handed it to Coach Jackson.
Coach Jackson quickly reviewed it, before announcing, “Let’s go.”
The twenty were led across the facility, passing by countless offices and conference rooms before entering the largest weight room that Mike had ever seen. It seemed to stretch on for a mile.
The coaches directed them to line up behind a stretch of rubber track that had been placed to the side of the room. Then Coach Jackson ordered, “First up, forty yard dash.”
The running quickly began. Most of the larger guys were slow, averaging between five and seven seconds. The smaller guys were faster, being between 4.50 and 5.10. The fastest was a tall black and red cat who ran a 4.48. As he waited, Mike discarded his green jacket and blue scarf, revealing his old Roseville High School Hornets track uniform.
The line reached Mike, and as soon as Coach shouted, “Go!” He took off. Not at full speed though, only at around seventy percent. Still he reached the finish line quickly.
Looking at the coaches, they all looked a mix of shocked and impressed. “4.34,” Coach Jackson announced, causing gasps from the others.
“Aw shit,” Mike thought, fearing he had just secured his spot on the team.
Jackson then looked at Mike and asked, “You play track, son?”
“Yes, full ride sir,” Mike replied.
Coach Jackson then said, half-jokingly, “I think we might need to tell Coach Hubb that we’re stealing one of his boys.”
Mike felt his heart sink.
That evening…
The rest of the tryout went okay for Michael. He had bombed the bench press, scoring the lowest at ninety five pounds. For the position drills, they skipped him for that drill where they push a dummy on a sled, but he did great at the running drill, discovered his arm was underpowered in the passing drills, and in the catching drills, the coaches had to explain what the routes were to him, and he only caught one pass. This caused one of the students to call him, “Butterfingers,” which Mike assumed was some sort of football insult.
Currently however, Mike was on his laptop, sitting at his desk as a familiar feeling of soreness hit his body, this time it was his arms and not his legs as it usually was. He was busy going over a syllabus that a teacher had just sent via email.
Mike finished and exited out, only to see he had received another email. The sender was Coach Jackson.
He quickly clicked on it, and speed read it. The contents were expected, saying that he had gotten an interview scheduled for 8:30 AM tomorrow at the head coach's office.
Mike let out a sigh and slouched in his chair.
The next morning…
Mike reached the door of the head coaches at 8:34 AM. He had no idea where the office actually was, and had gotten lost, before one of the janitors pointed him in the right direction.
He knocked on the door and immediately heard, “Come in!”
Slowly opening the door, Mike found the British Shorthair sitting at his desk. He wordlessly motioned for Mike to take a seat.
Mike did so, making himself comfortable. Once he did so, Coach Jackson asked, “Michael Scott, am I correct?”
“Yes, that would be correct, sir,” Mike replied.
“Good.”
Coach Jackson then asked, “So, Michael, why did you try out?”
Mike thought about what to say for a moment, before deciding honesty was the best policy. “I made a bet with a friend, and due to me losing the bet, I had to try out for the team.”
“Interesting… Do you plan to stay on the team?”
“For the entire season, sir.”
The coach didn’t reply to that. Instead he looked at his computer, briefly, before asking, “Michael, I checked your high school records, and it said you weren’t on the football team. Have you ever played football before?”
Mike shook his head and replied, “No, sir.”
“What do you know about football?”
Mike racked his mind for any information about the sport he barely knew. “Uh… I know the ball is a brown oval with those white laces on top… I know the name of one of the scores is touchdown…”
“And how many points is a touchdown?”
“Uh… oh! Seven!” Mike replied, thinking he had the correct answer.
Coach Jackson snorted in a manner that indicated that he was wrong, before asking, “Anything else?”
“Isn’t there someone called a quarterback?” Mike asked.
“Yes, and what does the quarterback do?”
“Uh… uh… I don’t know,” Mike admitted.
“Any teams you know about?”
“Well I know Ivyshire has the Green Falcons and Roseville has the tigers,” Mike replied. Knowing this was a given considering he grew up in the Maraschino-Roseville Metropolitan Area, and this was the rivalry in this region.
“Any others?”
“Well I know the NFL exists… and I think New York's team is called the Giants… or is it the Jets?”
“Both are correct,” The coach replied before looking back at his computer. “I also noticed you didn't join the Track and Field team until junior year, why is that?”
Mike said, “Well, I was never really a sports guy, I have always been more focused on academics.”
“Okay, then why did you join?”
Mike sighed and began with, “At the start of junior year my friend group was in a state of turmoil, and to get away from it, I ended up becoming friends with the track captain and he recruited me for the team, and I eventually fell in love with the sport.”
Mike intentionally left out what that turmoil was, and the variety of social hiccups that happened in the track team courtesy of Augustus, David, and James.
“Noted,” Coach said, before typing something on the computer. Then he asked, “Do you think you can develop the same love for football that you developed for track?”
“I don’t see why not,” Mike replied. He didn’t consider it likely, but more implausible things had happened in his life.
The coach didn’t respond to that. Instead he said, “And I have to ask this, have you ever consumed alcohol or drugs?”
“No, sir.” This was a lie. Mike had consumed alcohol twice, first when he was twelve and ate some alcoholic chocolates, and again during his sophomore year during a party. Still he tried to stay away from that stuff, considering he had a very low tolerance for it.
The coach typed something, then said, “Alright, Michael you are dismissed. I will let you know in a few hours if you made the team or not. First practice is tomorrow, you already know what time.”
“Got it, have a good day Coach Jackson,” Mike said getting up from the chair.
“You too.”
Later that evening…
As it turned out, Mike forgot to check his email and was already sound asleep in his bed, before his phone, which was charging on his nightstand, began to ring.
The sound awoke the Korat, who rolled his legs out of bed, and grabbed the phone.
Looking at the phone, Mike saw two things, first that it was 10:01 PM, and second that it was Paulo who was calling. Accepting the call, Mike asked in a tired voice, “Paulo, it’s 10 PM, why are you calling me?”
“Oh I just wanted to congratulate you on making the team,” Paulo blurted out on the other end.
“I did?” Mike asked, too tired to be surprised.
“Yeah, according to ESPN.com, you're the second string free safety!” Paulo exclaimed.
Mike had no idea what Free Safety was or meant, and simply sputtered out, “Oh that’s great…”
“But yeah congratulations! And sorry for calling you in the middle of the night.”
“It’s okay,” Mike replied as he rubbed his forehead.
“Good night, Mike.”
“Good night, Paulo.”
Then they hung up.
Mike set the phone down, sighed, and then rolled back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. “So much for sleeping in tomorrow…” He thought.
Then his left eyebrow involuntarily raised, “Also what’s ESPN?”