"Who are you?" Coach Cameron asked the old man in the black hat and rain coat sitting at his desk. The man had curly white hair and eyeglasses with purple lenses.
"Didn't your predecessor tell you? Or perhaps," the man sniffed, "You're too ripe to remember," he sniffed again, "No, not you, but at least one of your jock boys is ready for the next phase. I knew one or more would be, and I imagine you're running low on jockification supplies." He smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Like I asked, who are you?"
"Ah, you can call me Andrei," the man said- he seemed to have an affectation in his voice, as if he was trying to sound posh or perhaps hide his real accent.
"Okay, Andy. Whatcha want?"
"Direct, I like that in a man," he sniffed again and raised a tissue to his nose. It was then that Coach Cameron notice Andy had a prosthetic hand. Andrei muttered, "18? 14? Hm?"
"Then be a man and be direct. What do you want?"
"I am not one of your neanderthal jocks who cannot understand polysyllabic words," snapped Andrei.
"Well, neither am I, Mr. Wizard, now what did you have to do with the former coach, and this jock-if-i-cation stuff. Is that even a word?"
"I coined it," the man said with a proud grin. "There really wasn't an adequate word before. Now, you may have noticed that the jock sweat of converted jocks contains the special something that helps convert normal and inferior males into superior jocks, but it's the question of the chicken and the egg. How did they get that element in their sweat? Sports drinks, deodorant, creams, gels, sprays? But shouldn't the only country be jocks too? If that was all?" He puts a small brown stoppered vial on the desk.
Then he continues, "Just a drop will do you. A drop in 10 gallons of water. I could have put it into the school's water tower, but the effects on the fairer sex are far less desirable, unless you're into hairy Valkyries."
"Okay, let's say you're doing this? Why?" the coach asked, "Sports betting?"
"Occasionally, but no the jocks are only a step into their final brute stage. Some, but not all will de-evolve into hulking brutish cavemen. They are totally unfit for modern society, but well, people will pay to watch them in private cage matches. And like your former coach, and his prize jock Mark, it appears that at least one of your boys is ripening into a brute. I will need your assistance in subduing and caging the beast, and then you can have this vial for your other jocks."
"Well, we've got the state championships coming up, I don't suppose you can wait?" Cameron said stalling. He didn't really trust this guy.
"Oh, I can wait, " he paused and sniffed the air, "Not sure if your brute will. If he caveman's out on the field, there may be undue questions and investigations, but the odds are 4-1 against you, and I do some sport betting. Add a couple more nerds to your team that should hurt your odds, and I'll let you give them some undiluted serum. That should jock them up big time. You do want to win the championship, don't you?"
Cameron's eyes lit up. He could make some money by betting on the game, and turn a couple worthless nerdlings into real jocks. He wondered whether Jeff, Simon or maybe one of the others was ripening? He shook the man's hand and followed him out into the locker room. He couldn't resist sniffing his own pit. Would he ripen into a neanderthal too? Is that what happened to the old coach? Why hadn't the principal objected when Cameron suddenly took over the coaching job? Who else was involved. He followed the man who was sniffing like a bloodhound hot on the trail. He turned past the lockers and headed toward the shower room and sauna....