NIGHT OF THE PEP SQUAD
The change started slowly at first. Few people noticed and fewer people cared. Two or three new girls every week donned burgundy and gold uniforms. Of course, these were usually girls who were already on the brink anyway, with a constant inane smile on their faces and an inability to carry on an intelligent conversation.
I could not condemn them. After all, I had once been involved in rallies and had yelled for the team at games. But soon all but a few of the uglier girls in the library and smoking grounds were pushing candy.
Most of the girls seemed almost possessed. They were incapable of remaining still for any length of time without breaking into a spasmodic rendition of one of the many routine routines.
I knew something had to be done. Finally I realized I could no longer be uninvolved. I walked slowly into the student activities office.
Inside was Mr. Andy Ed, the pep squad advisor, a man with a mad gleam in his eye as he rose to greet me.
“When will it all end, Ed,” I asked with more than a twinge of disgust in my voice.
“Never,” he replied in the pseudo-calm voice of a mad man from Poe. “They thought I was finished after the flag team and the tumblers. But then I made the card team, the baton twirling team, the paratroopers, the manure tossers, go-go and belly dancers. But I’m not done. Next week I’m starting a guys’ yell-leading team, guy tumblers, guy song leaders and cheer leaders, till not one person in the school sits in the bleachers during rallies except the thumb-twirling team.”
“Surely you can’t believe that, Ed,” I replied. “The way you talk, ever the football team will be waving pom-poms.”
“Don’t be mad,” replied Ed dryly. “They’re doing hula routines.”
“You’re insane. I know I won’t wear one of your silly skirts, and there are plenty of other people who won’t either.”
“We’ll see about that. In about a month, you too will be screaming:
We’re got a team that’s out of sight,
Get it on in the morning,
Get it on at night.
Uh-huh, Un-huh, Uh-huh
and other moronic vulgarities, usually found only in the lyrics of disco songs.”
Hearing these disturbing words, I hurriedly left the office in an unexplainable state of fear. The following week, I spent more than one sleepless night, thinking of the strange curse Ed had put on me. But soon I put it out of my mind. Perhaps I would be one the few to escape this odd mental aberration known as school spirit.
Now, exactly a month later, I sit in shame and disgust. For I am now wearing burgundy and gold and am the leader of the Writers-of –Stories-with-Idiotic-Endings Team.
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