WHOOSH! the original douji ball game.

for anyone who wants the full rewrite of WHOOSH; here is the full version of the story. credit for editing goes to patricia unger pernicano. (PSYCHOLOGIST OF THE YEAR!!)

 

 

By: Sam Pernicano

11-17-10

 

WHOOSH!

 

Sixteen-year-old Joseph Grelo was walking towards the Giants’ Stadium front gate.  He had no idea what he was in for, and was still dressed in his purple soccer jersey from the previous day’s championship game.  Joseph was five and a half feet tall and had a very athletic build due to his training in seven different styles of martial arts.  As he walked up to the field, Fredrik Pead walked up and opened the gate to let Josh in.

Fredrik Pead was one of the wealthiest senators in the country.  He had his fiscal hand in much of  New York City, including the police and fire department, and had control over many types of funds. 

He spoke to Joseph as they walked across the field.

“I see you came,” said Mr. Pead happily, his accent a Russian-German mix, like Hitler with a head cold.  “Let me show you around.”

As Mr. Pead walked Joseph over to a large group of people, six full-grown men and six young teens all, questions came.

 “Who’s the little runt?” asked one of the teenage boys.

“He’s our new thrasher,” answered Mr. Pead.

“I thought that I was your thrasher!” shouted the boy, his face turning red with anger.

“Not anymore Brent, your quick temper has brought us too many losses,” said Mr. Pead.

“That little runt doesn’t even look like he could pick up a ball, let alone throw it!” retorted Brent.

“Actually I haven’t made my-” Joseph never finished his sentence.

“If you think he’s so good, let’s see him block a spinner!” shouted Brent in rage, as he picked up a ball and threw it at Joseph.

The ball flew at Joseph, a red blur.

It was spinning like a top as Joseph pulled his right leg into the air and slammed it down on top of the ball.  The ball soared into the air swirling like a top, and slowly came back down as Joseph caught it in his right hand.

“So what, he can defend, he’s no thrasher!” said Brent in frustration.

 “Try stopping two balls!” shouted Brent, as he kicked two balls at Joseph as hard as he could.

Joseph was sick and tired of being interrupted.  He began to count down from five in his head, and with each number he performed a different move. “Five!” Joseph jumped and did a frontal flip, slamming the balls into the ground.  “Four!” Joseph kicked the ball on the left back at Brent.  “Three!” Joseph spun and kicked the ball on his right.  “Two!” Joseph took the ball in his hand and threw it at Brent.  “One!” the three balls flew into Brent’s body one after the other.

The first ball hit Brent in the legs, knocking him to the ground.  The second ball slammed into Brent’s stomach with such force that he keeled over.  The third ball connected with so much power that it sent him toppling backwards seven feet into the front of the bleachers.

“ENOUGH!” shouted red-faced Mr. Pead.  “Stop this nonsensical fighting at once!”

“I don’t think that you need to yell sir,” said one of the younger players.  “Brent’s out cold, off to Antarctica.”  The rest of the youth chuckled at this comment.

“Joseph, I brought you here to ask you if you wanted to play for my team.”

 “I’m still not sure about joining the team,” Joseph said, fidgeting his feet around as he spoke.

“You have excellent skills,” said Mr. Pead confidently.  “Why wouldn’t you want to join the team?”

“You never told me what team you wanted me to join,” said Joseph, forming a perplexed look on his face.

“Have you ever heard of the Douji Dodge Ball Tournament?” asked Mr. Pead.

“Of course,” answered Joseph.  “It’s the single greatest sport in the world. Every year America faces off against Russia in the ultimate sport that combines both soccer and dodge ball to find the champion.”

“You know about the team’s alignment right?” asked Mr. Pead.

Joseph nodded and started to name the alignment: “Two captains running separate divisions of kicking and throwing, a defender that blocks the goal, and two thrashers, the strongest members on the team, that get to throw, kick, and defend.”

“Correct,” said Mr. Pead.  “I want you to be my lead thrasher.”

 “But what about Brent?” Joseph asked.

“Brent had his turn, and now it’s yours,” said Mr. Pead firmly.

Mr. Pead put his hand lightly on Joseph’s shoulder and spoke firmly, “Joseph, as you know, I am very wealthy, but not corrupt like so many others. I use my money for good ventures, and I need you on the American team as our thrasher.”

“Why do you need me?” asked Joseph inquisitively.

“My team has failed nearly every year to defeat the Russians,” said Mr. Pead calmly.  “Mostly it’s been due to Brent’s carelessness, but the Russians cheat in every game.”

“Why would the Russians cheat in such an amazing sport?” asked Joseph.

“The only way to win is to cheat, Joseph,” said Mr. Pead firmly.

“Cheating in sports is illegal and immoral,” said Joseph with a frown.

“Sometimes you need to bend the rules for the sake of the bet,” said Mr. Pead.  “This year a wager pool has been set up for the US and Russia big game.”

“What did you bet?” asked Joseph.

“Our country’s government has been dipping into the tax surplus and using it to fund illegal torture,” said Mr. Pead.  “Somehow the Russians found out and are threatening to expose the people that did it.”

“Did you make some kind of deal with the President or something?” asked Joseph.

“Well actually, yes, I did,” answered Mr. Pead.  “We made a deal with the Russians that if we win, they don’t say a word.”

 “That is the craziest deal I’ve ever heard,” said Joseph.  “I’m not playing if it means concealing a conspiracy.”

“If you don’t help us win, a lot of important people could lose their jobs and possibly their families or livelihood,” said Mr. Pead with deep discontent.

“What do family, jobs, and livelihood, have to do with illegal torture?” asked Joseph in confusion.

“I don’t need to get into all that right now,” said Mr. Pead defensively.  “What’s important is I NEED you on my team.”

“Playing on this team was always one of my life’s dreams, so I guess I’m willing to join,” said Joseph. “But I won’t cheat to help the team win. If you want me so bad then let me play honestly.”

“That’s fine,” said Mr. Pead happily.

Mr. Pead called the team over and began to introduce them to Joseph.

“This is the captain of the team runners,” said Mr. Pead, pointing out a tall young man wearing a blue sleeveless shirt.  The young man’s blond hair reflected the light of the sun and his blue eyes caught your attention like a neon sign in the night.

“That boy over there is the captain of the team’s passers,” said Mr. Pead, gesturing towards a young bronze-skinned boy who seemed to be no older than Joseph.

Joseph was momentarily distracted by two boys standing in the back of the group.  One of them was seven feet tall and built like a young professional wrestler.  Next to him was a much younger and scrawny looking boy who looked like he couldn’t lift five pounds.

“I see that you’re noticing my son, Rodrik, and our defender, Henry,” said Mr. Pead.  “The larger boy is my son; he is not quite twenty, so he is technically a teen and an adult.  He is on the team as an emergency thrasher and the assistant coach.”

“Then that young thin boy is Henry, the defender?” asked Joseph.

“His small size is deceiving,” said Mr. Pead.  “He is actually quite fast and stronger than he looks.”

“Then who is your team’s second thrasher?” Joseph asked in confusion.

“That would be me,” said a young girl as she stepped out from behind the team.

The team separated into two rows so that the young girl could walk through to the front.  She had red hair that glowed like fire and green eyes that shined like cats’ eyes on a dark night.  She was wearing a black short sleeve shirt and sky blue shorts that stopped just above her knees.  She had a firm, muscled body.

“She’s your thrasher?” said Joseph in surprise.

“Do you have a problem working with a girl?” asked Mr. Pead.

Joseph stared intently at the girl.  He recognized her from somewhere in his past, but he couldn’t place where or when he had known her.

“Hello Joseph,” said the girl, smiling as she spoke.  “Long time no see.”

“Keircy Felio!” shouted Joseph in surprise.  “It’s been forever!”

 “You know each other?” asked Mr. Pead.

“Yes,” answered Joseph.  “We go all the way back to preschool.”

“We were best friends up until I moved out of DC to New York City,” added Keircy.

“Hey boss,” interrupted the captain of the throwers.  “Can you shut these two lovebirds up so we can start our practice?”

“We were not lovebirds!” shouted both Joseph and Keircy simultaneously.

Mr. Pead chuckled, and then spoke, “Keircy, you and Joseph need to practice working together.”

“If Joseph is still as athletic as he was when we pretended to play Douji Dodge Ball in elementary school, there won’t be any problems,” said Keircy confidently.

“You played a fake Douji Dodge Ball Tournament?” asked Rodrik.

“Joseph’s family actually live in Russia,” said Keircy.  “So we would pretend to be on opposite teams and compete for an imagined prize.”

“What was the prize?” asked Henry.

“Something we made up, usually something we both wanted,” Joseph answered.

“We once played an entire game just to see who would get to go to Chuck-E- Cheese for a birthday,” said Keircy.

 “Who won?” asked Fredrik.

“It ended with both of us getting grounded for tearing up my uncle’s yard,” answered Joseph. “No Chuck-E-Cheese.”

 “Don’t look now, but I think Brent is getting back up,” said Keircy, pointing.  Brent was picking up one of the balls that Joseph had kicked at him.

“He looks pissed,” said Joseph nervously.  “He’s going to be trouble. We need to find a way to get rid of him for good.” He thought a minute and said, “I have an idea - just follow my lead.”

Brent was hobbling toward the team with a ball in his right hand.

“That little runt,” muttered Brent.  “I’m going to clock him so hard he’ll sleep longer than Rip Van Winkle!”

Brent walked up to Joseph and prepared to throw the ball.

 “I wouldn’t throw that ball if I were you,” warned Joseph.

“Are you going to kick it at me and knock me out again?” sneered Brent.

“No,” said Joseph calmly.  He smiled and looked up into the air.  Brent followed Joseph’s gaze and watched a ball fly into the air from behind him.  “She will,” Keircy jumped into the air as Joseph put his hands out.  She landed on his palms as he boosted her up.  She contorted her body, to  add force to her kick, then slugged the ball into Brent’s chest, flipping him and launching him nine and a half feet back. He ended up flat on his face.

“Brent,” said Mr. Pead. “Take a hike and cool off!”

Bruised and battered, Brent hobbled to his feet and began to limp off the field.

“You’ll pay for this,” groaned Brent.  “You’ll all pay.”

Six weeks later the American team was standing on the edge of the Giants’ Stadium.  The National Anthem had just finished and the game was about to start.  Joseph had never seen so many people in one place at one time.  There were a surprisingly large number of Russians in the stands, cheering in solidarity.

Mr. Pead walked to the center of the field to shake the hand of the Russian coach.

The Russian coach’s accent made his pronunciation of the “I” sound more like an inverted “E”, “Ees your team ready to play Fredreek?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be Gonzap,” answered Mr. Pead.

“Ey theenk that we may see the feynal downfall of the meyghteey Fredreek Pead today,” said the Russian coach.

“Only time will tell,” said Mr. Pead, a little uncomfortable as the Russian coach stared him down.

“We will see Fredreek,” added the Russian coach.

The two men shook hands, left the field and returned to their teams so the game could start.

Two quarters went by and both teams were tied nine up.  The Russian team’s coach signaled to one of the players with his hands, slamming his left palm into his right clenched fist.  The player nodded, and then began to run toward Joseph. 

The Russians kicked the ball full force into the air in Keircy's direction.  “How stupid can you get?” thought Joseph “It's going right toward her!”

Keircy began to run towards the ball to catch it and throw it in Joseph’s direction.  As she was about to catch the ball, a second ball flew onto the field and struck her in the left leg.  She tripped and twisted her right leg, and with a resounding crack, fell to the ground screaming.

The horn announced the end of the first half as Mr. Pead ran over to talk to the referee.  He walked up to the referee and began to yell, his face livid with rage,

“Why didn’t you blow your whistle? You let someone kick a second ball onto the field?! I paid you good money to referee this game!”

“So did the Russians,” remarked the referee calmly.  “I think I’ll stick with the winning team.”

Mr. Pead sulked back over to Keircy’s twisted body, now surrounded by paramedics and the team members.

 “That’s it,” said Mr. Pead angrily. The damn referee is cheating for the Russians instead of us.  It’s time for us Americans to do whatever we need to do to win this game.”

Mr. Pead turned to see Joseph walking off the field,

 “Where the hell are you going?” yelled Mr. Pead.

“I told you that I wasn’t going to cheat,” said Joseph.  “I’m leaving this game before someone else gets hurt.”

Joseph walked across the field, glancing over at the Russian team only to see a young girl arguing with the coach about something. 

 “Dera Aleen Aneed, you are goeeng to leesten to me!” shouted the Russian coach.

“I ahm the teams only thrasher,” said Dera angrily, her accent dragging the pronunciation of her “A”.  “You can’t take me out of the game!”

“You were the team’s only thrasher,” sneered a boy from behind the coach.

The coach stepped to the side to let Brent step forward.

“You?” Dera's eyes bulged in shock.  “You play for the Ahmericans!”

“Not anymore,” said Brent, his voice simultaneously soothing and frightening.

“Eets teyme for you to leave, Dera,” said the coach calmly.

“You cahn't do this!” shouted Dera in frustration.

“I can and I did,” sneered Brent tauntingly.

Joseph was on his way out the gate when he noticed a young Russian girl sitting against the wall, sobbing.  She had a jersey on with letters spelling D. Anid on the back.

“You’re Dera Anid aren’t you?” asked Joseph.  “The captain of the Russian team?”

“I wahs the captain,” said Dera, trying to stifle her tears.  “Till your ex-teammate replaced me.”

“Why are you so upset about getting kicked off the team?” asked Joseph.

“I’ve been the team cahptain for six years,” sobbed Dera.  “Since I wahs eleven years old!”

“Why would they replace someone so experienced?” asked Joseph, looking over at the Russian team on the side of the field. 

Dera replied, “I refused to cheat, and my coach replaced me.”

“Me too,” said Joseph, who then noticed that one of the Russian players looked familiar.  It suddenly dawned on him what was going on.

“Brent’s going to destroy my team!” shouted Joseph in shock.

“Maybe not,” said Dera.

“Could you get rid of him?” asked Joseph.

“If we worked together we could put ahn end to ahll this nonsense,” said Dera calmly.

“Cheating the cheaters?” pondered Joseph.  “I like it.”

“I’ll tahke cahre of the referee, you deal with Brent,” said Dera calmly.

“Why are you helping me, Dera?” asked Joseph.

“Becahuse I hahte that ahsshole just ahs much ahs you do. And if we can’t win honestly, I don’t want to win.”

After halftime ended, the game was about to restart, but the referee was nowhere in sight.  Mr. Pead turned to Joseph. “Where the hell is the referee?”

“He’s tied up at the moment Mr. Pead,” said Joseph, smiling slyly.  “I found a replacement referee for us.”

A tall bulky teen boy walked from field over to Mr. Pead.

“Sir, is your team ready to play?” asked the teen, trying to fake a Russian accent.

“Rodrik is that you?” asked Mr. Pead in confusion.

“Don’t blow my cover dad!” whispered Rodrik.  “I’m the new referee.”

“Well we can’t play without a second thrasher,” said Mr. Pead firmly.

“I solved that problem, too” said Joseph, gesturing Dera to come forwards.  “This is Dera Anid, and she’s our new thrasher.”

“She’s a Russian!” shouted Mr. Pead. “What the hell is going on?!”

“I think it best that you don’t know,” said Joseph calmly.

“I have the right to know what’s going on with my team!” Mr. Pead's face was red and sweat was running down his neck.

Joseph looked Mr. Pead in the eye and calmly spoke, “You sacrificed your rights when you tried to pay off the referee and Keircy went to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Pead, calming down.  “I just wanted to win so badly.”  Mr. Pead weakly continued, “I can’t lose this game Joseph, I just can’t.”

“I know, the country’s fate rests on it,” said Joseph.

“No Joseph,” said Mr. Pead shakily.  “That was a lie.”

“What?!” shouted Joseph, his eyes narrowing to the size of pins.

“Joseph,” Mr. Pead started weakly.  “Every year we play the Russians, and every year we make a bet.  I’ve been betting everything I own on this game for the past thirty-eight years.”

“You bet everything on this game and brought me to the team in hopes that you’d win it back didn’t you?” asked Joseph.

“I bet my own damn son on this stupid game!” shouted Mr. Pead as his eyes began to water.

“How could you bet your own son?!” asked Joseph in shock.

“I had nothing left and I bet him to get it all back!” roared Mr. Pead through his tears.

Joseph knew that he had to win the game, for Mr. Pead's sake.  Nobody had ever seen Mr. Pead care about anything; in fact he was the least caring man Joseph had ever known. Now, his tears poured out onto the ground.

“We will win,” mumbled Joseph.

“What?” asked Mr. Pead, not quite hearing Joseph.

“We will win” said Joseph again.  “The Russians are NOT going to take anything else from us ever again.”

“How is that?” asked Mr. Pead, sounding slightly less shaky.

“Because we’re going to cheat the cheaters by using the element of surprise,” answered Joseph.  “So, calm down, stop crying, and FOR ONCE START ACTING LIKE A DAMN COACH!”

“OK,” said Mr. Pead, feeling much calmer.  “I’ll put my faith in you, Joseph. We’re going to win this game!”

Mr. Pead called the team over for a quick pep talk.  They all came over and circled around him as he spoke,

“Ok guys, it’s time to show these cheating Russians how you really win a game.  Joseph, you and that girl from the Russian team take out everyone you can.  As for the rest of you, you’ve all been promoted to thrasher position.”

“You can’t have an entire team of thrashers!” shouted the throwing captain.

“I can if MY son is the referee,” said Mr. Pead, flashing a smile to the referee in the middle of the field.  The team looked over and immediately recognized Mr. Pead’s son in the referee outfit.

“You can do anything the game allows to win, but we must win,” said Mr. Pead confidently.

“Even if your son is the referee, we still can’t have thirteen thrashers running all over the field sir,” said the kicking captain.

“Then we’ll just switch the thrasher position among all of us,” said Joseph.

“Is everybody ready?” asked Mr. Pead.  The team nodded and Mr. Pead sent them out to the field to play, flashing the Russian coach a sinister smile as they left.

Joseph was the first onto the field.  He positioned himself in front of Brent, who looked very different than he did six weeks ago when he left the team.  He was very muscular, like someoe on steroids.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Joseph

“The Russians made me stronger than the Americans ever could,” answered Brent.  “You can’t beat me on your own you little runt.  You’re the only thrasher left on your team.”

“I’m not the thrasher yet lunk-head,” said Joseph.  “Wait till I get the ball in my hands.”

Brent looked over at one of Josephs teammates.  He was flexing his muscles and getting ready to play.

“Oh crap,” muttered Brent.

“Get ready for the fight of your life,” sneered Joseph.

Rodrik blew his whistle and the third quarter began.  The first person to get the ball was the captain of the throwers.  He took the ball and began to run across the field.  The Russian coach looked at his teammates in complete confusion.  The American throwing captain was halfway across the field when the four Russian throwers stepped came up and surrounded him.

“What are you going to do now?” asked one of the throwers.  “You can’t throw to anyone with us surrounding you.”

The American throwing captain smiled and spoke, “I don’t have to throw to anyone, and I don’t see myself surrounded at all.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked another Russian thrower in confusion.  “You’re surrounded by our teams-,” the Russian team member never finished his sentence.  The American thrower threw the ball into his face so hard he fell down unconscious.  Then he roundhouse kicked the ball into the second Russian’s chest, knocking him back three feet to the ground.  The ball came back a third and fourth time as the American thrower repelled it to take out the remaining two Russians with his arms.

Rodrik blew the whistle and the four Russians were dragged off the field.  Brent called the rest of his team over to the sidelines for a time out.  As they were talking, the Russian coach walked up and started yelling.

“What the hell ees goeeng on here?!” asked the Russian coach.

“Brent called an emergency time out,” answered one of the teammates.

“He ees not the coach!” shouted the coach in rage.  “Only ey, the coach can call a teyme out!”

There was a loud thud and the coach’s eyes went blank as he fell to the ground.  Brent walked out from behind the coach and picked up the ball.

“No more sissy coaching techniques,” said Brent, his voice shallow and disturbing.  “Our coach appears to have had an accident; so I am the coach now, and anybody who disobeys me will end up like him! You guys understand?!”

The Russian team nodded shakily in fear.  They stared at their coach on the ground, wondering who would be next.

The two teams were back on the field and the game continued on.  One of the Russian kickers was open for a pass and Brent had the ball.  Instead of passing the ball, he slugged it into his teammate and knocked him into the three Americans behind him.  Brent ran up to the open ball and kicked it into another group of players.  He continued to pulverize the players on the American team, even taking out his own team members in the process.  He had no care for people anymore.  All he wanted was to win at any cost.

Near the end of the final quarter, all the teammates on both the Russian and American teams were out of the game.  The only Americans left in were Dana and Joseph, and only Brent remained on the Russian team. 

“Dad, what do we do now?” asked Rodrik.  “There’s only three people left in the game and there’s less than twenty seconds of time left!”

Suddenly there was a horrific scream and a loud crack from behind Rodrik.  The team turned around to see Dana crippled on the ground with a ball practically lodged in her chest.  She looked like she had been run over by a truck.

“What the hell happened?!” shouted Mr. Pead.

“It was Brent,” said Joseph blankly.  “He tried to take out Rodrik with an assassin’s kick, and Dana sacrificed herself to stop it.”  Joseph’s voice had absolutely no emotion in it.  His face was as blank as the Antarctic landscape.  All he could do was stare at Danas mangled and beaten body.

“Joseph, you need to do a penalty kick into the Russian team’s goal,” said Rodrik.

“Why?” asked Joseph.

“Hitting a teammate off the field is against the rules and it gets the injured team a penalty kick,” answered Rodrik.

“Joseph, you know what’s at stake,” said Mr. Pead calmly.  “You need to win this game.”

Joseph walked out onto the field to prepare for the kick.  He felt like he was dreaming; like he was going to wake up any second in his bed at his uncle’s house and everything would be fine.  He just couldn’t believe the amount of damage Brent’s wanting to win had done.  As he took his position to kick, Brent stood hulking in front of the goalpost, smiling deviously.

Joseph knew he couldn’t outmatch Brent.  Not now; not after all that buffing up.  No, Brent was too strong for him to beat him alone.  Joseph prepared to take his kick.  As he began to launch the ball into the air, he began to count down in his head.  Five! Joseph threw the ball up.  Four! Joseph leapt into the air.  Three! Joseph contorted and began to spin as fast as he could.  Two! Joseph kicked the ball as hard as he could.  One! The ball flew through the air toward Brent.

Brent ran up as fast as he could and kicked the ball.  The ball rebounded back at Joseph faster than Joseph had kicked it.  Before Joseph knew what was going on, the ball hit Joseph in the face and took him out.  The crowd gasped in horror as Joseph slumped to the ground.  The clock was ticking down, and Brent was headed for the ball. 

He walked over and leaned down and whispered in Joseph’s ear, “Taking out your little girlfriend was my plan.  You’ll never beat me, because I’m stronger than you.”

Brent began to run toward the American goal, obviously unguarded.  As he was about to kick the ball in, he felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around to see Joseph standing with his arms crossed.

“That’s impossible!” shouted Brent.  “You were knocked out cold!”

“There’s a reason I know so many different styles of martial arts Brent,” said Joseph.  “Did you know that there’s a way to slow your heart to near death and make yourself black out, but still be conscious?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Brent in confused anger.

“Nothing that matters to you,” said Joseph as he swung in his right fist and slugged Brent, knocking him back half a foot.

“Hey you can’t hit someone in this game!” shouted Brent.

“This game has always combined martial arts with soccer and dodge ball,” said Joseph, as he swung his left arm and slugged Brent again, this time in the stomach.  Brent began to back away from Joseph as Joseph edged himself closer and closer to him.

There are some important differences between you and me Brent,” said Joseph calmly.  “Unlike you, I know how to control my emotions.  You may be stronger than me, but I’m smarter than you will ever be.  You’re past your prime - like a grizzly bear going through menopause.”

“You’ll pay for that!” shouted Brent as he swung his right fist as hard as he could at Joseph.  Joseph dodged the punch and swung his left arm down in a karate chop on Brent’s right wrist.  Crack! Brent howled in pain as he pulled back from Joseph.

“You know, Brent,” started Joseph, “If you want to score a goal so badly, I can help you.”  Before Brent could blink, Joseph spun around as hard as he could and heel kicked Brent in the chest.  Brent flew back five feet, right through the middle of the goal posts, and slammed into the back of the goal, out for good.  Joseph picked up the rubber game ball and drop kicked it across the field and into the Russian goal, scoring the winning point for the American team.

The crowd roared; both the Russians and the Americans in the crowd were hugging and embracing.  Everyone was happy to finally see someone take out Brent.  Mr. Pead ran up and hugged Joseph tight, then dropped him to the ground when he realized that Rodrik was watching.

“Great job Joseph!” shouted Mr. Pead.

“What about everyone we lost?” Joseph asked sadly.

“They’ll be taken care of at the hospital, but for now I think I should get you home,” answered Mr. Pead.

The next morning, Joseph awoke to a knock on the front door of his Uncle’s house.  He got out of bed, careful to not knock anything over as he walked out of the room.  Blades, staffs, chains, and kunai littered his room, so he didn’t want to hurt himself.  When he opened the door, Rodrik Pead was standing on the front porch.

“Joseph, my dad wants you to see something.” Rodrik said calmly.

“What is it?” asked Joseph, looking around, but seeing nothing but the green grass surrounding the house.

“Just please come with me,” said Rodrik firmly.

Joseph didn’t want to bother asking questions, so he just walked with Rodrik to a large blue Prius with tinted windows.  Rodrik and Joseph got in the car and drove off.

Ten minutes later the car pulled up to a large hospital.  Rodrik parked and he and Joseph walked inside where they met Mr. Pead.

“Hello Joseph, I hope you’re doing well.” Mr. Pead said.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” asked Joseph.

Before Joseph could get an answer, he heard a familiar voice from down the hallway.

“Hey Joseph!” shouted Keircy.  “I heard you won the game fair and square and took out Brent in the process!”

Joseph ran up to Keircy with a smile. H carefully hugged her, since she was in a wheelchair with a broken leg.

“What about everyone else?” asked Joseph.  “Are they OK?”

“The coach of the Russian team and his daughter Dana are in intensive care with serious injuries,” said Keircy.  “But they will recover. Everyone else on both teams is really banged up.  The doctors said that all but one of us will make a full recovery.”

“Who’s the one person who won’t make it?” asked Joseph in concern.

“It’s Brent” answered Keircy sadly.  “He had a heart attack from an overdose of steroids and died before he got to the hospital.

“He wanted to beat me so bad that he sacrificed everything, including his own life,” said Joseph.

“That’s what wanting to win at any cost will do to you,” said Mr. Pead from behind Joseph.

Joseph turned around to look at Mr. Pead. He hadn’t really looked at him closely when he entered the hospital.  Now that he saw Mr. Pead, he was shocked.  Mr. Pead was dressed in a long-sleeve black shirt and was wearing black dress pants.  Joseph had never seen Mr. Pead in anything but a suit.

“I guess you notice the change in my outfit,” said Mr. Pead.  “Well after that game I realized that I didn’t own my possessions, they all owned me.  I was willing to sacrifice everything, just to win a stupid game that my family invented.”

“Your family invented the Douji Dodge Ball Tournament?!” asked Joseph, completely shocked.

Mr. Pead explained, “My great, great, great, grandfather came from Russia to America many years ago.  He was partners with a Soviet Union Consulate that invented the game with him.  He came to America to introduce the game, and my family has been the owner of the American team for three generations.”

“What was the Consulate’s name?” asked Joseph.

“Her name was Kritana Firagio,” answered Mr. Pead.

“I don’t believe this,” said Joseph in surprise.  “She was my great, great, great, great grandmother!”

“Well isn’t this a small world?” said Mr. Pead.  “It's no wonder you’re so good at the game!”

“I guess we all learned something from playing that game,” said Joseph happily.

“The Russian coach is retiring after what happened at the game,” said Mr. Pead calmly.  “By legal right of inheritance, your family now owns the Russian team and all its assets.  Just come with me to sign the paperwork and it’s all yours.”

“I guess we can look forward to an interesting game next year,” said Joseph, smiling broadly.

“Yes we can,” said Mr. Pead, smiling as well.

“Next time no cheating, and try to have fun instead of needing to win,” said Joseph happily.

The two shook hands as Mr. Pead smiled and said in agreement, “No cheating, you have my word.” He winked and added, “I’ll still try to win, you know, that’s part of the fun of the game.”