"You know the rules, Doyle, you have to wear a jockstrap or you get counted absent," scolded the coach, "Now check the bin for a jock that fits."
"Oh, come on, Coach, don't make me wear some other guy's jock!" Doyle pleaded as he started to rummage through the clothing bin. Maybe his lost jock would be in here? He hoped as he rummaged through the shorts, jocks, t-shirts, socks and Speedos. He felt glass. "Heh, found the coach's booze stash?" He pulls your bottle out of the hamper. He looks around, and then unstoppers the cork. He raises the bottle to his lips as you come out.
Coughing, he sputters, "What the fuck?"
"I am the genie of the bottle, what is your wish, O Great Master Doyle?" you ask bowing at your smoking waist.
"Damn, you look just like one of my teammates. No matter. First off, I wish that no one wore any clothing, so coach couldn't require me to wear a jockstrap if there was no such thing as jockstraps."
"That is your first wish, Master?"
"It is, you got a problem with that?"
"No, Master, it just takes a great deal of magic and there will be ramifications," you say nervously. The spell has already started erasing clothing from history. Humans are getting hairier, as survival of the fittest guaranteed the ones who served the cold winters would reproduce. Architecture changes. Heated tunnels connect all the homes, schools and businesses. At least there still are blankets. Oh, damn, Jeremy!
Boomer's jockstrap vanished along with the other clothing. A naked stinking Jeremy found himself trapped in Boomer's locker. He had to get his genie and- wait, someone else has his genie. He hears Doyle and the genie talking.
"Oh, this is perfect genie, I can walk out on the field naked, and the coach cannot bitch about it," Doyle said.
"Doyle, what are you doing? Get your ass out on the field!" shouted the coach.
Doyle looked over his shoulder. There was coach with his whistle around his neck and nothing else not even a tan line. Doyle snickered.