Figuring he had a couple of days before he'd turn into Roscoe, Tommy headed to football practice at the high school field. He was among the last to arrive and was greeted with cheers and butt slaps from his teammates.
"Hey, whatcha got there?" his buddy Rodney asked, spying the drawing Tommy still had clutched in his hand.
"Huh? Oh, nothing," Tommy said, stuffing it quickly into his back pocket. None of his football teammates knew about his Dungeons and Dragons obsession. If they did, he was sure they'd make fun of him and exile him from the team. He had an image to maintain here, and he wasn't about to ruin it. Once he became Roscoe, they'd understand--that muscled little dude was impressive, and he'd make all of his football friends see what was so great about roleplaying. He could hardly wait for the virus to take effect.
As it turned out, the goblin strain that the scientist had injected Roscoe with was especially virulent, so he didn't have to wait long. He started to feel strange just changing into his pads and jersey; his breathing was labored and everything felt heavy. "Man. Not enough jogging lately," he thought as he headed out to the field where the coach paired them off and just told them to toss the football back and forth. "Practice catching terrible passes," he said as they began.
Tommy's first throw was fine, but he fumbled the catch on the return. The ball seemed too large for his hands somehow. When he threw it back to his partner, it didn't go nearly far enough. "Ahahahaha!" Rodney laughed, seeing him from down the field. "You throwin' like a girl today, Tommy!"
"Shut up, Rodney," Tommy said, but he was definitely not feeling good and missed the next catch. When he tried to pick up the ball he tripped on some pieces of his uniform padding that had fallen off his frame. The coach came running.
"Yo, Tommy, what's up?" he said. "You forget to fasten the---ohohohoo." He stood back and waved the air in front of his face with both hands. "You're lookin' a little green there, champ. You feeling all right?"
Tommy was looking green, literally. His skin was blotched with mottled green patches that were rough and thick to the touch. "I'm . . . not feeling great, coach," Tommy said as his jersey bunched around his knees, leaving him stark naked on the football field. At least the padding and uniform fabric was piled around him in a way that covered him from the waist down, though he was definitely not wearing anything anymore--his frame had shrunk rapidly as the coach watched, leaving him about two feet tall with absolutely no muscle definition anywhere: a string bean.
"Looks like you've got the Monster Flu," the coach said, backing up and shaking his head. "Pretty bad strain, too, from the looks of it. Usually doesn't go this fast. Hey team!" he called. "Practice is cancelled. Go home, get chicken soup, orange juice, sleep. Pray you don't catch what poor Tommy's got, all right?"
Tommy looked down at himself, watching as the skin on his belly changed to the thick green hide of a goblin. His belly then jutted out--a little pot belly. "Huh?" he thought, vaguely alarmed. Roscoe was really fit. He shouldn't have a pot belly if he was becoming Roscoe. What was happening?