Bwahaha!

So I was asked to coach powder puff football. I hasten to point out that I was asked so that no one confuses me with the volunteering sort. I don't volunteer around school. For anything. But this sounded kind of fun, despite the fact that what I don't know about football could seriously injure somebody. It's a week of practice followed by a trip to the Superbowl.

But even funnier than the thought of coaching a sport I haven't seriously played since the days when a mailbox was a first down and defensive tackles had names like Chrysler and Honda has been my desperate attempts to connive some seniors into helping me assistant coach -- defensive coordinators, offensive coordinators, etc.

I found six who were interested and I began to wonder what the terms of our deal would be. I tossed an extra-credit package out on the line but I really hate to dilute my grades like that. Community service hours? Cash? Blood diamonds? I anticipated their demands.

And then someone told them I had a rap video.

After a day of faux stonewalling, of telling them there was no way I'd ever let that tape out into the public eye again, I "gave in."

"Okay," I said, "but if any of you miss a single practice, you're locked out of the screening room." We shook on it while other students tried to convince me of their absolute necessity to the team.

As a down payment, I had to tell them the meaning of my rap group's name, Notorious Z.F.G. I told them that Z stood for Ziggy, F for Furbs, and G for Gator. I wouldn't tell them which one I was, but I didn't have to.

"Gator! That's you," they said.

And I knew they were right.