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An interview with Our Coach Harris
by Sports Man Horace Kvscheznowski

It is another day and it is another match of Foot-Ball at the stadium at Stanley Tucci High School. The bewildering game was another close fought match as one team scored more units than the other but I do not know which was which and if high was good or low was better. This are the things I must learn.

Many people from Chesterfield Ridge had happy expressions after the electric grammophone rang and the jailers fired their ceremonial pistols at us. So I think we win.

I went to local high school to speak with the team’s Foot-Ball coach, a man called Harris, about his team and the strange game they play on local fields throughout the state. Will he win or lose and how does this condition come about? I set out to find it out.

HORACE KVSCHEZNOWSKI: One day when I was watching your team, I saw your teammate kick the ball towards the other men who were wearing red and give the ball to them. Why is that?

COACH HARRIS: Uh—are you referring to a punt?

HK: Such actions, I think, could be viewed as traitorous by some people, to simply hand power over to the other squad like that. Was the young man tortured after the game?

CH: God, no. What are you talking about?

HK: I notice there were many jailers on the field when you play against another team who have whistles.

CH: The referees you mean?

HK: Are they permitted to deprive your misbehaving players food? They are tormentors in costume, are they not?

CH:
No, that’s awful. What are you suggesting?

HK: What do your men wear on their feet?

CH: Shoes? What the--is this a joke?

HK: When you were battling the forces of the red team, over what were your grievances?

CH:
What?

HK:
What is the importance of the large yellow statue in the goal zone? Is it to signify a dancing man?

CH:
What?

HK:
Would it not be more efficient to throw the ball behind invaders and then grab ball to the open goal zone?

CH:
What?

I then wanted to ask Coach Harris more questions and thank him for his time, but behind me outside of his office one of his men turned on what looked like a strange wheel coming out of the wall that shot streams of scalding liquid out at it. It reminded me of the many torture devices I faced as Soviet prisoner and I huddle into a ball and begin shaking. When I regained my composure, I was outside in a ditch and I had besoiled my trousers.

Next time, maybe I will go to a Volleying Ball game.


Next week, Horace dons a plaid skirt and faces off against STH's field hockey team!

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