Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [103]
“That King Kong is a subnormal,” I said. “How did he ever pass his entrance exam?”
“They don’t have them here.”
King Kong’s team lined up. Joe Stapen was the best guy on the other team. He wanted to be a shrink. He was tall, six foot two, lean, and he had guts. Joe Stapen and King Kong charged each other. Stapen did pretty good. He didn’t get dumped. The next play they charged each other again. This time Joe bounced off and gave a little ground.
“Shit,” said Baldy, “Joe’s giving up.”
The next time Kong hit Joe even harder, spinning him around, then running him 5 or 6 yards back up the field, his shoulder buried in Joe’s back.
“This is really disgusting! That guy’s nothing but a fucking sadist!” I said.
“Is he a sadist?” Baldy asked Ballard.
“He’s a fucking sadist,” said Ballard.
The next play Kong shifted back to the smallest guy. He just ran over him and piled on top of him, dropping him hard. The little guy didn’t move for a while. Then he sat up and held his head. It looked like he was finished. I stood up.
“Well, here I go,” I said.
“Get that son-of-a-bitch!” said Baldy.
“Sure,” I said.
I walked down to the field.
“Hey, fellas. Need a player?”
The little guy stood up, started to walk off the field. He stopped as he reached me.
“Don’t go in there. All that guy wants is to kill somebody.”
“It’s just touch football,” I said.
It was our ball. I got into the huddle with Joe Stapen and the other two survivors.
“What’s the game plan?” I asked.
“Just to stay the fuck alive,” said Joe Stapen.
“What’s the score?”
“I think they’re winning,” said Lenny Hill, the center.
We broke out of the huddle. Joe Stapen stood back and waited for the ball. I stood looking at Kong. I’d never seen him around campus. He probably hung around the men’s crapper in the gym. He looked like a shit-sniffer. He also looked like a fetus-eater.
“Time!” I called.
Lenny Hill straightened up over the ball. I looked at Kong.
“My name’s Hank. Hank Chinaski. Journalism.”
Kong didn’t answer. He just stared at me. He had dead white skin. There was no glitter or life in his eyes.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
He just kept staring.
“What’s the matter? Got some placenta caught in your teeth?”
Kong slowly raised his right arm. Then he straightened it out and pointed a finger at me. Then he lowered his arm.
“Well, suck my weenie,” I said, “what’s that mean?”
“Come on, let’s play ball,” one of Kong’s mates said.
Lenny bent over the ball and snapped it. Kong came at me. I couldn’t seem to focus on him. I saw the grandstand and some trees and part of the Chemistry Building shake as he crashed into me. He knocked me over backwards and then circled around me, flapping his arms like wings. I got up, feeling dizzy. First Becker K.O.’s me, then this sadistic ape. He smelled; he stank; a real evil son-of-a-bitch.
Stapen had thrown an incomplete pass. We huddled.
“I got an idea,” I said.
“What’s that?” asked Joe.
“I’ll throw the ball. You block.”
“Let’s leave it the way it is,” said Joe.
We broke out of the huddle. Lenny bent over the ball, snapped it back to Stapen. Kong came at me. I lowered a shoulder and rushed at him. He had too much strength. I bounced off him, straightened up, and as I did Kong came again, knifing his shoulder into my belly. I fell. I leaped up right away but I didn’t feel like getting up. I was having breathing problems.
Stapen had thrown a short complete pass. Third down. No huddle. When the ball snapped Kong and I ran at each other. At the last moment I left my feet and hurled myself at him. The weight of my body hit his neck and his head, knocking him off balance. As he fell I kicked him as hard as I could and caught him right on the chin. We were both on the ground. I got up first. As Kong rose there was a red blotch on the side of his face and blood at the corner of his mouth. We trotted back to our positions.
Stapen had thrown an incomplete pass. Fourth down. Stapen dropped