“Good practice boys!” Anderson’s voice boomed from the bottom of the steps.
The football players headed toward the school entrance, passing Ransom and Mayor Barton one at time. Ransom glanced at each boy, looking for something in their walk or facial expressions that might lead him toward finding some answers. Ransom noticed Paul was watching him like a hawk, ready to intervene should he decide to speak to one of the boys. Barton’s expression didn’t even attempt to hide a burning frustration. I’ll be lucky if he puts me up for even the night. Ransom thought.
One of the players lagged behind the group and upon seeing Ransom, he slowed down even more. Ransom made his move, ignoring the strong grip Barton placed on his shoulder.
“Hey! Wait a second.”
“Donnie! Head up to the showers.” The mayor’s voice was stern, most certainly trumping Ransom’s meager request. Without a second thought, Donnie turned and made his way inside. Doc Mestes and Philpot had disappeared through the door with the team, while Ransom was observing the boys. Coach Anderson fumbled with his keys, which were entangled with his whistle at the bottom of the steps. Paul and Ransom were alone on the hillside.
Mayor Barton seized the window of silence. “Ransom, I want you to listen to me, and listen good. I'm not trying to get smart with ya, like I said, that's not my way, but you’d better think about packing up first thing tomorrow morning. You’re obviously not here to do a real story on our team. You’re looking for dirt, and I don’tlike it none.”
Ransom kicked at the gravel. He’d need to choose his next words carefully.
“Paul, Bethlehem seems like a great place. You and your family have been very kind to feed me and give me a place to stay, but honestly Paul,” Ransom paused for a long moment, “you’ve been in my business a lot more than I’ve been in yours.”
“That’s my job…”
“No Paul, it’s not your job.” Ransom interrupted. “You’ve taken control of every situation I’ve had here from the moment I got out of the car; you dictate the kinds of questions I can ask, and the types of people that I am allowed to talk with, and you all but answer their questions for them.”
“So I guess this the big newspaper man I've heard about?” Coach Anderson interrupted Ransom and formally introduced himself. “I hear you want a story on our victory streak. Well, to do that, you need to write about tradition. We have great traditions here a BHS and pride in those traditions is what helps us win. We have not lost in 37 years and these boys you just saw, well, they don't want to be remembered as the first team to lose since WW2.”
Coach's monotonous dialogue was enough to convince Ransom that he would get no story here. He began to count his options for making something up. The alien abduction angle was out; Bigfoot DNA in the town populace was a possibility, but maybe there was another avenue he could create tomorrow on his drive back to the Birmingham airport. As Ransom’s thoughts drifted around these ideas, he heard something very faint coming from the school. It drowned out Coach Anderson’s voice. Something seemed familiar about it. Then, it quickly became unmistakable. A chill ran up Ransom’s spine. It was the sound of Beethoven.
And just like that, Ransom found his story.
A novel, presented in chapters.
A small town high school football team has gone largely unrecognized after forty years of consecutive wins and a young, ambitious reporter uncovers a stunning secret—behind the small town values and string of impressive athletic victories hides a bizarre pre-game ritual: each player must rub the bulging tumor of their school janitor for good luck. As the janitor's health begins to fade, the town unites around the local body politic to push for the world's first ever tumor transplant in a crazed attempt to save their winning streak. The transplant fails, creating even more fevered desperation to win at least one more game. The town’s proposed solution is both as sickening as it is outrageous: players will consume the tumor during a special called Eucharist served up by the town minister, thereby demonstrating just how far a group will go to stay on top in the ‘dog eat dog’ world of high school athletics.
This book is in no way meant to make light of the terrible disease of cancer, which took my grandfather and many others I have loved. It's a metaphor for a different kind of illness.
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