Harry had a snout sticking out from under his helmet, and there were tusks sticking out the corners of his mouth. You turn back to focus on running. Your eyes dropped to your clenched fists. You don't usually clench your fists when you run. You try to unclench your blue glove clad hands. They aren't clenched. They're hooves, you realize. You let out a squeal of terror, but you continue to follow the runners in front of you.
You can see the changes are happening to them too. Their feet are most noticeable. You thought the new football shoes seemed a might flimsy, more like rubbers than shoes. The players running in front of you, clearly now have hooved feet. You suspect yours are too, but you resist looking.
There's the sound of elastic snapping. Then another, and another, and another. You feel a burst of cool air as your own football shorts snap backward. You feel an odd sensation like you have a tail. The player's butt in front of twitches, and his elastic waistband snaps back as a long hairy pig tail emerges from his shorts as he runs.
You're running in silence with the other players out of shear terror. You're sure the entire team is changing into pigs, but you think if you ignore it, it can't be really happening. You hear the roar of a big truck with wooden slats as it pulls on to the field near the tackle dummies. Only five more laps to go. You and the other players seem to be moving closer to one another. Perhaps for mutual protection, or out a sense of camraderie or maybe just in the hopes that no one will notice that each of you is now a pig-man.
"Move it you, lazy pork bellies!" Coach Zeb shouts as you run by him.
The next time he shouts, "Move it, you swine!"
Each lap brings more changes. Your torso is now barrel shaped, as are your team mates. It's amazing how stretchy your new uniforms are, they still fit perfectly. Well nearly perfectly. The space of pink hairy spotted flesh is clearly visible where the jerseys and shirts are pulling away from each other.
The final lap has the herd of blue hogs running on all fours the way God intended pigs to run. The sounds of human voices have been replaced by pig grunts, but strangely each grunt has as much meaning to you as a human word used to have. Zeb is over by the truck's tail gate next to a ramp leading into the truck.
"Sooey!" he shouts as your herd runs over to tackle dummies, "Git along lil piggies, everyone up the ramp and squeeze in tight."
You trot up the ramp with Harry's snout jammed under your tail as your team mates all push madly to get aboard. School will be starting soon, and none of the Varsity senior footballers want to be seen as pigs by their human classmates. The last player pig is crammed into the truck, the ramp is removed, and the tail gate padlocked shut.
Zeb grins. He climbs over the wooden fences that makes up the sides of the truck. He's wearing rubber waders like a fisherman. He's got a bucket and there's a long blade of grass or hay sticking out of his clenched teeth. He begins to slop the pigs. There's corn cobs, oats, and other animal feed in the slop. The former football players fight one another to gobble up the nutrious slop as if they're starving. Zeb works his way through the swarming herd of pigs. Somebody outside the truck exchanges full pails for Zeb's empty ones. Zeb is on his third pail by the time he reaches your part of the truck.
"Aha!" he says when sees your jersey. He lifts your snout and feeds you a corn cob. He empties his bucket contents mostly away from you, then tosses the pail over the fencing. He stoops down still holding your head. He undoes the chin strap and peels off the deformed rubber helmet. Cool air feels good on your scalp. You snort thanks and rub your snout against his thigh. He laughs.
"That's a good piggy," he tells you as he efficiently removes your rubber uniform, gloves, shoes and padding. You are now naked except for your rubber jockstrap which has your tail sticking out the back of it.
Zeb laughs, and helps you to your hind feet. You rest your forehooves on his shoulders, and he laughs as he looks you up and down. "You're all pig now, boy. Ahem, ha, but when did you have time to write that?" he asks snapping the front of your jockstrap. He reads, "Property of-" He shakes his head, "I don't think so." He pulls out a black marker from his front pocket.
Then with you leaning across his back Zeb bends over and writes something on your rubber jockstrap. He stands back up and helps you maintain your bipedal balance. You glance down, and see that he's crossed out your name, and the jockstrap now reads "Property of XXXXX ZEB".
Zeb takes the marker and writes on your chest the number from your jersey "23" in foot high digits. He puts his body next to yours with your right foreleg over his right shoulder and his left arm wrapped around you. You lean against his clothed side. He shouts, "Zack, get over here with the camera!"
Zach, the towel boy, appears over the side of the truck holding a camera.
"Now smile for the camera, piggy!" Zeb orders you. Then he orders Zach, "Now take our picture!"
The camera clicks and whirrs.
Zeb laughs, as he helps you back to all fours. His marking pen is out again. He marks each side of your rump with "23" and then he writes it on your back. "Can't have you getting lost at the hog farm, boyo, I got special plans for you!"
He climbs out of the truck, and few minutes later the truck lurches forward and drives off the field and away from the school. For the first time you pause to reflect on your situation. You mentally kick yourself for continuing to run laps after the changes began, and then for boarding that truck. Why did you obey Zeb? Why did you feel grateful to him. He was the one responsible for you being a pig, or is he? Too many questions, and no answers yet. The truck pulls off the highway and rumbles along a dirt road. The other players are all snorting nervously. They also seem to have a bad feeling about this.
You suddenly raise your piggy head above the sea of blue rubber clad pigs as you recall last year's year book photo. You had been in your jersey and jockstrap in the locker room standing next to Zeb (whose locker used to be next to yours). That was the cover photo for the Athletics Section of the Yearbook. Zeb had just recreated that photo with you as a pig.
"But why?" you squeal loudly.