You're excited to be returning to the football team. Last year your team came in last, but you've got a good feeling about this season. There are new players on the team, you've heard you've got a new coaching team, and that weird guy Zebediah who was on your team last year graduated, so he won't be there this year.
You enter the locker room and head to the cage, you're surprised to see Zebediah inside the cage distributing gear.
"Here's your practice uniform and gear. Be sure to wear only what's here. No lucky socks or jocks or anything not here. That means when you put this gear on, you've got to be totally naked. Got it!" snapped Zeb handing you a sealed plastic bag of gear with your name written in marker on the outside.
"Got it, cage boy," you snap back.
"Not cage boy," growled Zebediah, "That's Coach Zeb."
"You're the new coach?"
Zebediah pauses, "Well, Assistant Coach, but call me Coach Zeb, okay!"
"Okay, Coach Zeb," you say taking your stuff and shaking your head.
Coach Zeb's black eyes stare at you as if he has x-ray vision. That guy has always given you the creeps. At least he isn't THE COACH.
You open the bag, and roll your eyes. All your gear is shiny, and rubbery. You feel kind of embarrassed as you strip down to put it on. Still it's kind of sexy too. It's probably super safe, since it's all rubber coated, and conforms to every muscle on your body.
Soon you and your team mates are suited from head to toe in shiny royal blue latex football gear.
"All right, you animals, let's get going!" Zeb shouted from the doorway to the field, "Coach wants you animals to do 20 laps around the field - counter clockwise - to warm up. Then meet by the tackle dummies. Go, go go!"
You follow the other shiny blue rubbery bodies out of the locker room.
Zeb shouts, "No! Counterclockwise is right, not left, you moron!"
The leader of the pack of players changes directions. Temporarily the locker room doorway is jammed with players pressed chest to back, while the leaders of the run shift direction. You can't help but think that somebody should've realized the leader was going the wrong way. Guess it's what they call herd mentality.
You crinkle your nose. There is a strong musky stench. Your team mates haven't even broken a sweat yet, and they already seem to reek like a stable.
As you finally take the field, you are amazed at how easily your uniform and gear move with you. It's practically like being naked. You should be pacing yourself, after all 20 laps isn't a run in the park. At least it didn't use to be. For some reason you go all out, and you seem to be running faster than you ever did before. As the bleachers whirr by, you note that it feels more like you're racing on your ten speed than running. The sweat trickles down your body unhampered by your gear. Or perhaps it's trickled through the uniform and the material is somehow conveying the flow of the sweat down the outside of the tight fabric. You breathe deeply your chest swells impossibly. You watch the blue butts and helmets bobbing up and down in front of you. It's odd as you complete the fifth lap, you notice that the body shapes in front of you seem to be changing. The muscles seem to be getting bigger as you watch. This is incredible.
You still haven't seen the new coach or any other staff. Only your team mates and Coach Zeb are on the field this early in the morning. Zeb is standing on a bench holding a stop watch. You think it's a bit odd that Zeb is dressed entirely in black, even wearing black gloves, except for his blue team baseball cap. He is staring intently as you and your team mates race by him. You shiver. He still gives you the creeps. You turn your head to comment to Harry who has been running behind you on your left. Your jaw drops, you almost break stride, but catch yourself. It has to be your imagination.
"You feeling okay, Harry?" you ask cautiously without looking again.
"Yeah, feeling great! This is the best, the strongest, I've ever felt. Man, it's got to be these uniforms. I feel like I could run 100 miles!" Harry shouts back.
You try to clear your head, and force yourself to glance back at your team mate Harry. His face couldn't have looked like - you shake your head. You'll wait until the next turn on the field to steal a glance. You chuckle to yourself as you think, maybe Harry is just trying to grow a beard. Hairy Harry would be a good nickname, wouldn't it? But you saw himm in the locker room before changing, his face had been as smooth a baby's butt. Maybe you hadn't looked at him that closely. You're coming up on the turn. Time to have another look....