The Ram

The Ram

It was a Saturday in October, and the campus of Colorado State University was nearly deserted. Aside from a few stragglers and random pockets of party-hardened individuals, the campus was silent, empty. Just a mile away, though, the roaring sound of thousands of fans rumbled and grew, as, in the jam-packed stadium, the CSU Rams were about to take on the TCU Horned Frogs. Everything was set. The players were good to go. The band was playing. The cheerleaders, bright and slim, bobbed up and down. And their beloved Cam the Ram…

But wait! Though their live ram, also named Cam, baaed and brayed on the sidelines, there was no sign of the newly-remodeled, much beloved, costumed mascot, Cam. With a matchup against an opponent like TCU, it seemed odd that the horned hero was nowhere in sight. Truth be told, few actually noticed his absence, as the fans were content with the players on the field, and a select, deviant few ogled the cheerleaders, smirks on their faces and sordid thoughts running through their heads.

In fact, it seemed that only the cheerleaders paid any real mind to Cam’s absence. On the surface, they looked as spirited as ever, their faces bright, their skin tanned in the Colorado sun, their bodies moving spiritedly. In their minds, they knew that Cam’s absence could only mean one thing.

Sam and Matt.

“Uhhh…”

Jack Daniels and the latest Anthrax album had left Sam Kilovic with a migraine that felt like a jackhammer going off inside his skull. He sniffed, the air, catching odors of a wild night, and slowly got up, knocking a few bottles and pieces of trash out of the way. Sure enough, Matt Redford, his roommate, was still asleep on the couch, half-dressed, a blue, stained cast on his left leg. The TV was blaring, and the sun was shining.

Vaguely, Sam tried to recall the events of the night before. The Russian-born student ran his fingers across his shaven scalp, trying to soothe the raging headache. As he moved forward, he nearly tripped over a beanbag chair and a tipped-over lamp. Stumbling, nursing his headache, he plopped down in front of the TV, his bloodshot eyes focused on the screen.

Onscreen was My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and Sam instantly forgot his headache and his comatose roommate; indeed, he very nearly forgot everything. It was pony time, and nobody, nobody kept Sam Kilovic, a 239-pound, 6’1” bodybuilder, from his pony time.

Engrossed as he was in the antics of the ponies of Ponyville, something gnawed at the back of his head, some nagging thought. He felt like he was missing something, something very important…

But then, on the screen, Fluttershy made a cute face, and Sam’s mind went blissfully blank.

Jessica Leavenworth, captain of the CSU coed cheer squad, was smiling and seething at the same time.

There were three minutes left in the first quarter, and Cam the Ram had not appeared. It came as no surprise to Jessica, nor to any of the squad, that Sam Kilovic would be late.

Normally, Matt Redford, who was nowhere near as fit as Sam but surpassed him in spirit, suited up for games as Cam. Three weeks ago, however, a freak accident involving a keg stand left Matt with a broken leg. Sam, who was backup mascot, had since stepped in for Matt, but both boys were big partiers, and Jessica imagined them both sprawled in their dorm room, sleeping off a night of drinking and drugs.

TCU called a timeout. The score was 17-3, Rams. Colorado State had done unprecedentedly well in their season so far, toppling big names like UGA and Florida State, and having only one defeat against the Boise State Broncos. With the score the way it was this early in the game, the crowd was psyched…and in more need of their mascot then ever.

Jessica was about to storm off the field and call Sam when a figure bounded out of the service entrance to the field, running toward the cheerleaders. The figure wore a green jersey and whitish-yellow football pants. It was covered in yellow-brown fur, had a head like a goat’s, and sported two brown curling horns on its head…

“Where the hell have you been?” Jessica growled as Cam the Ram sidled up to her. “Took you long enough, you lazy asshole!”

The mascot gave no knowledge that he had heard the cheerleader, but Jessica was almost certain that, behind that fur-and-plastic head, Sam Kilovic was mouthing insults at her. The two had dated during freshman year, but it hadn’t lasted. She rolled her eyes and waved her hand, as if to say ‘get going.’ The costumed ram nodded, and proceeded to cartwheel his way down the field.

Nobody noticed that Cam’s costume was ill-fitting, and nobody saw the brief flash of what looked like blood in the cracks of the suit. And Jessica Leavenworth, her mind focused on the game and how hard she was going to slap that Russian prick when he shed his suit, didn’t acknowledge the fact that Sam Kilovic had never learned to do cartwheels.

The show ended, and as the credits rolled, Sam could not resist bobbing his head to the outro music. His head shook so much that it rattled the couch on which his roommate slept, and, mumbling something about earthquakes, Matt Redford sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“The hell?” he groaned, noticing Sam on the ground.

“Ponies,” Sam grunted. He had lived in America for about six years, and he spoke English well enough, though he had retained a bit of his accent. “You know I have pony time.”

“Pony time? What the fuck? Do they even have ponies in Russia?”

“That was six years ago, man. They didn’t have ponies then.”

“Sure they did, they just sucked ass.” Matt kicked off the threadbare blanket with his free leg, grunting. “What happened?”

“To the place, or in the show?”

“What the fuck does it look like?!”

Sam’s face remained taut. Matt could be short-tempered, especially with a hangover. “You mean you don’t remember? Big party last night, got Davies and Wooten and even Rochester…”

“You invited Rochester?! After what he did at the Boise game?”

“Hey, just because…” Sam’s eyes went wide, and he sat up. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Really? No kidding.”

Fumbling for the remote, Sam focused and pushed the Last button. ESPN popped up, and in the highlight bar at the bottom of the screen was a small box that said ‘CSU-20, TCU-10, 6:32 2nd.’

“Goddamit, we have a game today!”

“WHAT?”

But Sam was already moving, kicking trash out of his way, throwing on an athletic shirt and grabbing his bag from his closet.

“Son of a bitch…completely forgot,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “It’s the second quarter already…”

“You mother…wait…”

“Son of a shit!” Sam cursed, slipping on Nikes and a pair of mesh shorts. “Damn it, damn it, damn it…”

“Sam…”

“I know, Matt! I know I’m supposed to fill in for you, I just forgot, get off my…”

“Sam…Cam’s already out there.”

“…if you know what’s…huh?!”

Matt was staring wide-eyed at the screen. There, gallivanting around, was Cam the Ram.

“What the fuck?!” Sam muttered.

“Somebody took the suit,” Matt concluded. “Did Verias call you?”

Franchesca Verias was the mascot coordinator for Colorado State.

“Nah, man,” Sam said, checking his phone. “She would’ve called if she’d gotten someone else…”

“Which means…”

“Somebody stole the suit.”

The idea, though ridiculous, gave them both a cold chill. They had heard horror stories of things like this. A year earlier, the mascot of the University of Wisconsin, Bucky Badger, allowed a friend to borrow the costume. Two days later, a six-foot-tall badger in a red-and-white-striped turtleneck waltzed into the local bank carrying a shotgun. Sure enough, the unfortunate mascot was arrested before the real culprit could be determined.

Now Sam and Matt watched the screen, wondering what baleful intent the faux mascot had in mind. If anything happened that wasn’t supposed to happen, their reputations would be ruined, and they’d probably lose the mascot position.

“I’m goin’ down there,” Sam said finally, brining his bag.

“What?!” Matt cried, trying to stand despite his broken leg.

“Some fucker’s taken the ram suit! You realize what that means, right?!”

“Yeah, but there’s no way in hell you’re goin’ without me!”

“Can you even walk?”

Reaching for his crutches, Matt stood up, brushing bits of potato chips and other debris off his shirt. “Let’s find out who this son of a bitch is.”

By the time they reached the stadium, the buzzer had sounded for the two-minute warning. The Rams were still winning, but Sam and Matt had eyes for only one thing: the fake mascot.

Sam wanted to call Verias, but Matt had convinced him not to, explaining that she might freak out and do something irrational. Realizing the truth in his friend’s suggestion, the two instead snuck in through the service entrance, the area where they normally entered to perform. Matt slowed things down with his crutches, but soon they were right outside the entryway to the field, looking out at the game.

Everything seemed normal, and to everybody except Matt and Sam, everything was normal. The game was dwindling down toward halftime, the marching band was preparing to perform on field when the half was over, and, on the sidelines, the cheerleaders did their thing. Then they saw him: the imposter, the suit-stealer. Nobody would have known the difference, not even the cheerleaders. But Sam immediately knew that the person in the suit was no cheerleader. While obviously athletic and spirited, the pseudo-mascot was awkward on its feet, and when they looked closer, it seemed that the costume hung off in folds in some areas, while in other places it looked too tight. They were surprised that nobody had yet noticed.

“What do we do, man?”

Matt’s eyes narrowed.

“We wait.”

They didn’t have long to wait. When the halftime buzzer sounded, the first to run through the entryway (other than the players) was the mascot. Up close, he looked even more suspicious. From behind cover, Sam and Matt noticed flashes of crimson beneath the suit, as if the person inside was bleeding or had very bad sunburn. Neither conclusion brought particularly good images to the boys’ minds, so they tracked the pseudo-mascot as he made his way through the underbelly of the stadium.

The fake mascot searched for solitude for a long while, but Matt and Sam didn’t let up. Matt seemed certain that the sound of his crutches on the concrete would be unheard by the imposter, whose ears were tucked within a five-pound bucket of cloth and mesh. Several minutes passed, and they went deeper and deeper into the stadium, finally arriving in a dimly-lit corridor just outside a maintenance closet. Stopping, the pseudo-mascot sat down with his back to the wall. Muffled gasps could be heard coming from the mask. Matt pushed Sam forward. He knew that the Russian would be better at subduing the imposter.

They waited a few moments, and the pseudo-mascot reached up to his head, about to lift off the mask.

Then Matt sneezed. The sound echoed in the small corridor, and the imposter straightened up. Their cover blown, the two boys charged.

Matt could hold himself in a fight, and Sam looked like he belonged in an MMA tournament, but even so, the imposter was tough. A minute into the fight saw Sam collide with the door to the maintenance closet. He saw stars. The sounds of scuffle behind him met his ears. Wiping spittle from his chin, he charged again, grabbing the imposter’s glove and ripping it off.

Exposing a bright yellow hand with only two fingers.

In his shock, Sam lowered his defenses, and the imposter responded with a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the Russian mascotter. Dizzy, he tried to get up. The blow to his chest was a lot more painful than he thought it should be. He’d been kicked in the chest before, but this felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his ribs.

Matt fared no better. He was trying to use his crutches as weapons, but only succeeded in making himself an easier target. The mascot imposter fought savagely, but, having been in many fights, Sam could see that he was defense-oriented. He did not want to hurt them, but was not afraid to defend himself.

“Hey, asshole!”

The mascot imposter looked up to see a crutch flying towards his emotionless ram mask. It connected with a low thud, and the sheer surprise of the attack knocked the faux ram over. Wasting no time, Sam pinned the imposter, socked him in his mask, nearly breaking it, and dragging him to the wall, slamming him against the concrete and Sheetrock.

“Alright, you fuckin’ son of a bitch,” Sam growled, pinning the imposter to the wall with his knees as his ham-sized hands gripped the fake horns of the mascot’s head. He pulled and met resistance, and in his confused fury, he forgot that the mask had straps, that the only way to properly remove the mask was to remove the whole suit first. He realized this, too late, as he heard a loud snap and came away with the furry ram head, losing his balance and banging the back of his head on the opposite wall. Recovering, he shook his head and eyed the imposter, who was trying to cover his face.

He froze. His mind seemed to explode. The thing in front of him couldn’t be. It couldn’t…be.

The mascot imposter was male and had deep red skin, too red to be sunburn; it looked almost like body paint. He had long blonde hair and apple-green eyes that bulged and took up most of his face. His head was sloped and ended in a short snout, and a few white specks dotted the corners of his eyes. His ears were like those of dogs, pointed upward, red.

Impossible.

Not fucking possible.

“Oh my fucking God…”

The imposter said nothing, staring at Sam with his brilliantly green eyes. Matt, who had tripped and fallen on his face after tossing the crutch, came to.

“Did we get him?”

Shaking his head free of dizziness, he eyed the unmasked imposter, and his jaw seemed to hit the floor. Nobody said anything. The heat and the rumble of the crowd above them made them feel like they were in the belly of a volcano. Seconds passed. They felt like hours. Taking it in, refusing to believe his eyes, a name played on the edges of Sam’s tongue, but his mind was reluctant to release it in fear of humiliation, and for the sake of his own sanity. He couldn’t hold it back. The name was like a tsunami against the Hoover Dam; it would hold for only so long before it came bursting through in a breathless escape of sound and air, forming words that Sam himself didn’t believe, couldn’t believe he had just uttered.

“Big Macintosh?”

As suspected, the atmosphere of the little corridor changed. Sam and Matt were sweating, and not because of the lack of ventilation in the maintenance hallway. The imposter, his face looking less human by the second, looked from left to right, searching for a way out. Matt didn’t know what was more insane; the words that his friend had just uttered, or…

Or the fact that they were true.

“No way. No frickin’ way.”

“Big Macintosh?” Sam asked again, shivering.

The red-skinned imposter looked dumbly at him before answering.

“Eyup.”

Something punched Sam in the stomach, and it hurt harder than when the fake mascot had delivered a kick to his solar plexus. His tongue seemed to dry and the minute hairs on his shaven skull stood on end, making his scalp look like a very threadbare hedgehog. His mouth refused to work properly, and he could only make a gurgling sound, like the sound a wet object makes when it is stuck in the drain. Indeed, the realization was stuck in Sam’s throat, in his mind. He began to shake. Not in fear, nor in anxiety. Merely in shock.

Matt recovered first. “Big Mac…fuckin’ Big Macintosh…holy shit…”

“I think we’re high, man,” Sam stuttered, finally finding his voice.

Matt nodded, but he seemed to pay no attention to his friend. His eyes were locked with the imposter’s. “You…you’re Big Macintosh?”

The imposter nodded. “Eyup.”

“From Ponyville? Brother of Applejack and Apple Bloom?”

“Eyup.”

“You’re a pony?”

“Eyup.”

“And you’re here…in the real world…dressed as a ram.”

“Eyup.”

The interrogation continued for several minutes, and the thundering crowd above signaled the end of halftime, but they didn’t care. Sam felt like throwing up, and he didn’t know why.

“Why the fuck are you here? How the fuck are you here?!”

At this, the red-faced, green-eyed, straw-haired imposter shrugged, still half-dressed in the Cam the Ram suit, looking utterly ridiculous.

“Are you even real?!”

Another shrug. It wasn’t a contemptuous or coy kind of gesture; he seemed to be genuinely ignorant of his presence in the human world. Matt started to hyperventilate, sliding down the opposite wall, hanging his head.

Sam’s migraine was beginning to return. He needed to get out of there, but he didn’t know how to diffuse the impossible situation he was in. Suddenly he became aware of his mouth spewing words that his mind did not conjure up. He felt like he had lost control of his body, and so he listened to what he was saying.

“Okay, this is too weird. We’re gonna go, Big Mac. Okay?”

The imposter nodded.

“You…I mean, you’re pretty good at this…I saw you…you were like, cool…”

A smile from the mascot usurper.

“But…it’s kinda our job, man. Understand?”

“Eyup.”

“So I’ll make you a deal, okay? You can do this for the rest of the game, but…but when it’s over…you gotta get out of that suit and get outta here. Nothin’ personal. Just…it’s…well…”

But the usurper seemed to understand. He nodded and smiled, then held his odd-shaped hand out, asking silently for the mascot head. Still on autopilot, Sam picked up the mask and handed it to the imposter, who promptly put it on, stuffed the broken straps into the neck of his costume, and gave Sam a big hug. Without any further words, the imposter turned and headed back for the game, leaving the two boys to roil in their confusion.

They didn’t get back to the dorm until the fourth quarter had begun. Returning “home,” the boys had plopped down on the couch and turned the TV on, cruising for something good to watch, not daring to speak to one another. About an hour later, the sounds of excited students returning to their dorms signaled the end of the game and a victory for Colorado State. Sam’s phone rang, and the caller ID read Jessica Leavenworth. Sam answered it.

“Hey, Jess.”

“Sam, what the fuck was that you pulled at the game?”

“What you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you jerkoff! You were late! Twice! And you broke the suit! Left it in a damn heap! Verias yelled at me! ME! She should have yelled at you! Matt would have done so much better, but no, big ol’ Sammy is too good for that…”

The rant went on for several minutes, and, for the amusement of his fellow dorm-mates, Sam put Jessica on speakerphone. She had quite a set of lungs on her, for her tirade didn’t end until after about twenty minutes and even then she didn’t sound out of breath.

“Well?! What do you have to say for yourself? Verias wants an explanation.”

Sam looked at Matt, who was drinking a Red Bull and eating potato chips. The other guys in the room snickered. Matt looked at his roommate, and Sam, realizing, leaned over his phone.

“Okay, Jess, I’ll explain. Do you want the real story or the bullshit story?”

“What the hell? The real, you idiot!”

“Okay,” he said, taking a breath. “We got sidetracked because somebody stole the ram suit and pretended to be Cam, and when we cornered him, he turned out to be a character from My Little Pony, and he promised that he wouldn’t do it again as long as he got to finish out the game.”

Silence. Some of his friends looked at him weirdly, but others, the ones who knew what Sam was talking about, snickered harder.

“Are you sure you didn’t mix up your real story with your bullshit story?” Jessica asked smarmily.

“Nnnope,” Sam said unintentionally. “The bullshit story is that I got so tired of being preached at by a stuck-up bitch of an ex-girlfriend that I decided to let her take the heat for me playing hooky. And you know what? That still ain’t bullshit.”

More silence. Everybody stopped laughing. Matt muted the TV.

“…”

“That satisfy you, Jess? Or would you like more detail?”

“…”

“Okay, here’s some more detail.”

He picked up the phone, placed it down the back of his pants, and passed gas.

“Russian farts! The deadliest of all!” He cried merrily, and while a few of his friends applauded him, more of them fled in disgust, for they knew it would be mere moments before the awful stench of Russian farts met their nostrils.

Sam brought the phone to his ear. “Good enough for you, Jess?”

Complete silence on the other end. Jessica had hung up.

“Serves that bitch right, Sammy.”

“Yeah, fuck her.”

“Well, don’t, she’d probably just like that.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eeeeyup.”

Everyone froze. Sam and Matt faced the group of boys, and for the briefest moment (so brief they might have imagined it) a red face with green eyes and straw-colored hair appeared behind them. But then it was gone, and a call rang up from down the hallway. It was past curfew. The other guys scurried off, leaving Sam and Matt in their smelly pit of a room.

They remained frozen for several minutes, until the odor of Sam’s fart was no longer bearable. Coughing, Matt reached underneath the sofa and pulled out a black Russian gasmask, slipping it on over his head so that his features were obscured.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Sam inquired.

“Amazon.” Matt’s voice was muffled and metallic through the mask’s filter, and Sam punched him in the shoulder.

“Hey, man, can you blame a guy for wanting a little clean air once in a while?”

“They really that bad?”

“Any worse an’ the fuckin’ military would claim it as a WMD.”

“Funny. Real funny.”

Behind the gasmask, Matt’s eyes twinkled, and Sam could tell he was smiling. For the longest while, they sat in silence, watching the muted TV. The only sounds were the rhythmic, metallic breaths that came from Matt’s mask. After a half-hour, he removed it melodramatically, and Sam just stared.

At midnight, they finally shut off the TV, and sat in darkness.

“Dude, you’re pretty much fucked,” Matt said.

“I think we both are.”

“We saw what we saw.”

“No shit.”

“We weren’t high.”

“No.”

“We’re not insane.”

“No.”

“But…”

They looked at each other. More silence. You could hear a pin drop. They finally decided to hit the hay, and Sam went to bed at the far end of the room, while Matt remained on the couch. He was suddenly very tired, and sleep began to overtake him.

Sam heard one last thing from Matt before falling asleep.

“I hope Big Mac didn’t piss in the suit.”