Jason Ross - The Amazing Beef Squad: Never Say Die!

To look at Pratchett, you wouldnt think hes strong.

Legs like breadsticks. Arms like the rolled baloney his mom packs in his lunch every school day. His neck juts forward so when he runs through Birdwell Park he looks like a demented turkey. He does not appear to represent MVP material, is what Im saying. But for reasons none of the PE teachers at Lyndon B. Johnson Middle School can figure out, Pratchetts left arm is a Gettysburg cannon.

I mean, our friend throws heat.

Thats how Hogue ended up squirming on the grass late on a cloudy Monday afternoon in April, clutching his most sensitive parts.

Im sorry! Pratchett shouted, his own hands clamped down in the dark bramble of his hair. I didnt think it would work!

What wouldnt workthe ball? Hogue hissed, glaring at the softball at his side. He held on to his valuables as if someone were coming to steal them.

Stupidball games always ended badly.

Last time me and my three friends Hogue, Jared, and Pratchett played it, we took out a yellow baby stroller. Luckily the baby wasnt in it, because the stroller did a complete one-and-a-half somersault and landed upside-down, one wheel rolling in the air. The mom rushed to the scene in a few long steps, leaving her baby dangling in the swing.

What are you boys even doing? she shrieked. Why were you running backwards?

Because the scores tied, Pratchett had said, wiping stray blades of grass from his face. Pratchett loved to explain things, especially to grown-ups. See, if theres a tie at the six-minute mark we have a backwards sprint from the big tree to the trash can. Pratchett pointed out these important field markers as he spoke. And the loser has to do cartwheelsnot roundoffs

I dont care! the mom shouted, cutting him off.

Then whyd you ask? Hogue said.

The time before that, the Birdwell Park groundskeeper turned on the sprinklers right when Jared and I were starting the extra-point bicycle joust. A jet of water shot into my left eye and I veered into a pile of gravel that was sitting there for some reason.

You can add the groundskeeper to the list of people Im pretty sure dont like us.

This time it was Hogue and his unfortunate package.

You okay? I asked, putting a hand on Hogues shoulder. I hated seeing him this way. Hogues clowning skills were legendary. He could turn anything into a laugh. Mr. Easton, our science teacher, once called him the funniest kid Ive ever been this annoyed at.

Hogue pushed himself to his feet.

He shouted in an impossibly high falsetto: I feel great!

He chirped it out like a squeaky balloon, shoving a fist in the air for punctuation. Now Hogue was standing while the rest of Beef Squad (thats our nameIll explain later) writhed on the grass in laughter.

Stupidball never ended well, but whatever disaster it led to was usually hilarious.

Hogue wasnt done.

Im ready to take on the world! he peeped. Nothings gonna keep me down, ya hear? Im going straight to the top, buster! Next stop, the big time!

He held the goalkeepers tennis racquet up in triumph, like the gold guy on top of a trophy. My tears were soaking the grass with dangerous levels of saline when a much lower voice boomed from the parking lot.