The blue chip recruit looked around at the unathletic center. Its roof was partially caved in, with only partial electric lighting providing visibility. But no matter. Sunlight streamed through the holes. As did the occasional bird dung droplets.
“It’s rustic,” said the Seminoles coach. He tightened his cornrows and then folded his arms. “But it toughens us. Makes us men.”
The recruit stepped forward and heard a splash. Looking down, he saw a torrent of yellow and green water streaming from a nearby hallway. Indescribable filth floated down it..
“Oh, don’t mind that. The new water closet done broke down. The critters will done take care of that there cruddies.”
The recruit gazed in astonishment. What is this place, he thought silently. In the facility, players were shooting super soakers at each other. Throwing water balloons. Bench pressing. But instead of weights there were pillows attached the the bars. And clowns. Many, many clowns. Players were decorating each others faces. Putting red noses and giant shoes on.
“Excuse me, Coach, I think I need to head back -“
“Nonsense,” replied the coach. He blew a rusted, half functional whistle. “MEN!” He bellowed. “Gather round!”
After several minutes the players had put down the super soakers and the clown makeup and slowly gathered around him.
“You all know,” he said, voice impassioned. “LAst season wasn’t quite up to our standards. No. We need to do more. We need to do better.”
He snapped his fingers. A bored aid wheeled a table out. Something lay under a soiled sheet.
“I‘ve done gone into the seclusion. And out there, it hit me. I know what we need. What we always needed!”
The coach ripped off the sheet, revealing a 1980s boom box. He put in a cassette tape.
Nothing happened.
Annoyed, he pulled out the cassette, and with it yards of magnetic tape. He pulled another mix tape out of his pocket and put it in. The coach hit play. Instantly the sounds of Dee-Lite filled the wrecked facility.
“What we needed to be unconquered was simply this!”
“DANCE!”
The coach instantly pivoted, moonwalked, and did a spinarooni. The players responded, all dancing in robotic, Invasion of the Body Snatchers fashion. They had no will of their own anymore. All that mattered was dance.
The recruit ran, horrified towards the exit of the facility. Only to find it locked. He turned, and in terror saw the coach and his players slowly advancing towards him.
Dancing.
Thriller style.
