Spike was excited, and he shot out the front door with his little pouch of coins jingling, clutched tightly in his claws. It was a beautiful autumn day in Ponyville, and Twilight had given him the rest of the day off. Not that there wasn’t stuff to do around the castle, but she knew that her (normally) faithful servant wouldn’t be of any use today if she didn’t let him go. Spike had talked her ear off over the past three weeks about the recently-started hoofball season and how he couldn’t wait for the new set of player cards to be released.
He had counted his bits and figured that he had enough for ten packs, and if they were like last year’s—six cards to a pack plus a piece of gum—he would have a stack of sixty, minty-fresh cards to admire and read and sort. As he quickly made his way toward the shops, he wondered what the new cards would look like. Hopefully, they would be a little more colorful than last year. Spike thought those had been a bit drab.
He liked cards the best when they used the bright, neatly-styled team logos of the Equestrian Hoofball League, and this year had extra potential because the league had awarded two expansion teams to the cities of Appleloosa (the Wranglers) and Las Pegasus (the Silver Stars), bringing the team count up from eight to a nice round ten. Spike would always be a hometown dragon, though, and he loved his Ponyville Comets cards above all others.
Twilight wasn’t a huge fan of the game, but she did like the fact that Ponyville had an astronomical-themed mascot. She also approved in general of the league’s attitude toward gender inclusion. While the league had been historically dominated by mares, they had long ago welcomed stallion athletes into the fold, and the present mare to stallion ratio was about 60:40. The way Twilight saw it, whatever a mare could do, a stallion could do just as well.
Spike bounded up the steps to the store and pushed open the front door, hoping to see the Clopps™ brand displayed somewhere prominently, and the shopkeeper had not disappointed, placing the bright yellow box right near the cash register on the front counter. He must have known that a certain hoofball-hungry dragon was coming, too. Spike, who usually balked when it came to parting with his hard-earned bits, practically shoved the coins toward Mr. Breezy, and then watched in anticipation as ten packs were carefully lifted out of the display box and neatly placed in a small paper bag. The shopkeeper made pleasant conversation, but the little dragon’s attention was elsewhere and he didn’t really pay attention. He did remember, however, to give a pleasant, albeit hurried “thanks” on his way out.
“The first pack,” Spike exclaimed reverently to himself, as he slipped a claw under the neatly-folded wax paper wrapper and gently removed it. The familiar smells of ink and cardboard and peppermint greeted him as he readied the stack for inspection by giving it a ceremonious flourish. Proper card inspection requires certain formalities, after all. He flipped over the first card. It was Fancy Free, a wing receiver for the Baltimare Bugbears who was as well-known for her spectacular tippy-tail catches on the field, as she was for her quiet demeanor off it. Spike was so engrossed in the details of the card, that he almost walked headlong into Fluttershy.
“Oh, my, we’re so sorry, Spike,” she said quietly in alarm, “Angel and I should really be more careful and watch where you’re going.” She didn’t catch the narrow-eyed glare that her fluffy companion shot at her. The bunny stomped his foot angrily and hopped away as Spike told her not to worry and assured her that his hoofball cards had escaped unscathed. Fluttershy smiled in return and her voice regained its usual calm tone. “So, because it’s such a wonderful day, I’ve decided to host a last-minute picnic down by the swimming pond. I’ve invited our friends, and I think they’re all coming. You should come too, Spike…if it’s not too much trouble, that is,” she added hastily, sensing the dragon’s hesitance. Spike begged off as politely as he could; he had the whole afternoon booked for some serious sports-bonding time.
As he trundled off toward the castle, Spike looked at his second card. There was no mistaking the bold, scorpion-tailed outline of the Manehattan Manticores logo. It was widely accepted that the metropolis’ team—last year’s champion—had the league’s best tight end, and Spike was holding it. If Misty Flanks hadn’t been a hoofball superstar, she probably could have been a magazine supermodel. As it was, she had graced the cover of Pony Sports Illustrated at least half a dozen times. Spike owned the latest issue and had a pretty big sweet spot for Misty.
As if drawn from his amorous thoughts, Rarity rounded the corner just in front of Spike, looking as radiant as ever. The little dragon quickly covered up the card of Misty, although he wasn’t really sure why. He was also equally unsure why he had a sudden craving for marshmallows. “There you are, darling,” exclaimed Rarity, “did you hear about Fluttershy’s plans for an elegant afternoon nosh?” Spike explained that he had, but would be too involved with his hoofball cards to make it. “Oh dear, that’s a shame. The day just won’t be the same without my little Spikey-Wikey,” pouted Rarity, as she patted the soft scales on the top of his head. Spike felt his resolve weaken considerably, but sacrifices would have to be made if he wanted his card-sorting time.
Saying no to his sweetheart had been tough, so Spike rallied his morale by examining the next card in his pack. Although he had never been to Vanhoover, he always pictured it a blustery place, perhaps aided by the franchise’s choice of a windigo for a mascot. The highlight of last year’s playoffs had been a crazy game between the Windigos and the visiting Seattle Slingtails, in which the second half was practically played in a blizzard. The home team had prevailed thanks to Force Pummelhorse, their amazing kicker and his last-minute field goal, in which the stallion had somehow blasted the ball through the storm and between the uprights. Spike looked closely at the kicker’s statistics on the back of his card and wondered if his friend Applejack, who just happened to be approaching, could have made that kick.
Applejack was with her little sister, and she was giving pointers on the best way to buck an apple tree. “You need to aim at the right place on the base of the tree trunk so that you get the most vibration at the top where the apples are,” explained AJ. Spike supposed that Apple Bloom had heard this speech many times before, and when the little filly spied her friend Sweetie Belle going in to Rarity’s boutique, she seized the opportunity and deftly bailed on her big sister, who turned her gaze to Spike. “Well, howdy there, Spike,” beamed Applejack, seemingly unfazed by her sister’s brush-off. “You heard about Fluttershy’s shindig down by the swimming hole later on?” Spike replied that he had indeed been invited, but that he had other plans.
Halfway through his pack now, Spike flipped to the fourth card. It was a special All-Star design reserved for the league’s top performers, and few players deserved the title more than Deep Posts, the flashy wing receiver for the Cloudsdale Stormers. Few defenders could match his outright speed or follow his lightning-fast cuts that always seemed to get him the separation he needed in order to make the catch. Spike liked to think that he was—somehow—Rainbow Dash’s long-lost older brother. He was certainly outspoken at press conferences when it came to his spectacular plays. He was even light blue, come to think of it…
An overhead shadow and sudden whoosh almost knocked the cards out of Spike’s grasp, and he looked up in annoyance. His scowl quickly turned to a smile, however, when he saw that Rainbow Dash had landed nearby and was trotting toward him. “Heya, Spike,” Rainbow barked. She was somewhat winded and more than a little sweaty and answered Spike’s question before he could ask it. “I’m hurrying to clear all of these clouds so that I can get cleaned up and hoof it over to the pond for Fluttershy’s picnic. You going?” In response, Spike simply shook his head and held up his cards. He knew that the sports-loving pegasus was a kindred spirit, and would understand his devotion to his collection. Rainbow nodded in acknowledgement and took to the skies in order to finish her cloudbusting.
Just two cards left. This time Spike flipped the card over, but covered up the bottom half to see if he could identify the player based solely on their picture. He immediately recognized Riot “Crazyhooves” Roughshot, the veteran running buck for the Fillydelphia Firebirds, who possessed a wild spirit and fueled her game from a reserve of seemingly boundless energy. She was often seen on the sidelines playing hopscotch (with her helmet on) while the defense was on the field, and was even known to have eaten snacks that she had acquired from a vendor in the stands during timeouts. But on the field, she was a focused professional and a phenomenal athlete; she possessed an uncanny ability to make other ponies miss when they tried to tackle her.
Spike happened to be passing by Sugarcube Corner, and the smell of something freshly baking caught his attention. The fact that Pinkie Pie came rushing out the front door holding a large tray of cupcakes was also pretty hard to ignore. “Spike, Spike, Spike!” called Pinkie. She stopped in front of the dragon and blew her bushy bangs (and a large cloud of flour) out of her face. “Try this new recipe and tell me what you think.” Both of Spike’s clawed appendages were full of cards, but Pinkie solved the problem by shoving one of the oven-warm cakes in his mouth for him. “It uses a combination of lemon root and marsh mint and I made them especially for Fluttershy’s picnic today. What do you think?” inquired Pinkie with a tilt of her head. Spike genuinely liked them—the taste was much better than some of her wilder concoctions—but he knew that it was all too easy to get sucked in to a lengthy conversation with the enthusiastic baker when it came to her confection perfection. He managed to juggle his cargo just enough so that he could give a thumbs-up while sounding a hearty, full-mouthed “Mmm-hmm” to indicate general yumminess while be backed his way down the path to the castle.
Spike stopped in front of the castle and realized that he still had one card to look at. After seeing how well the first five cards matched up with his Ponyville friends, Spike was almost expecting to flip over the quick-thinking quarterbuck from Canterlot. Which, of course, he did. Pocket Passer may have been relatively new to the game of hoofball, but within just a few seasons she had quickly become one of the league’s best and brightest stars. Her play calls dissected defenses and her precise throws made even the best defenders look rather clumsy. Teammates told stories about how she studied playbooks at almost every opportunity.
There was a note in the front hallway of the castle. Spike recognized Twilight’s hastily-written script: “Spike- We’re all down by the swimming pond. Fluttershy put together a last-minute picnic. I know you have your cards, but you should come anyway. –TS”
Spike replaced the note and hightailed it to his room. He quietly closed the door and quickly cleared some items from table that he used for sorting and sat down. The nine unopened packs were placed neatly off to one side and the empty paper bag was tossed in the direction of the trash can. It missed by a mile, but Spike would get it later. He was finally all by himself with his treasure for the day and he savored the moment before diving in to his hoard. He took the opened pack and smoothed out the wax paper—he always like to keep one copy of the wrapper for his collection. He looked at the six cards he had already opened and remarked again how much they reminded him of his six closest pony friends. He thought of them at the picnic. Without him.
Then Spike noticed the stick of chewing gum--the chalky pink rectangle that came in every pack. He had completely forgotten about it. Sometimes, it was easy to overlook. But upon seeing it, he suddenly realized how much he liked the gum. Sure, it was hard and crumbly when you first started chewing it, and it certainly wasn’t great for bubble blowing, but its flavor and texture were so familiar, that they seemed an essential part of opening hoofball cards. The stick of gum may not have been the reason you bought the cards, but somehow the whole experience just wouldn’t be the same without it.
And with that realization, Spike had another, more important one—that despite all of his endeavors to spend the rest of the day alone with his cards, maybe they could wait. Perhaps his friends needed him at the picnic the way a pack of cards needed its gum. Besides, the cards would still be there for him when he got back. They were good at waiting. And with that, the little dragon got up from the table, deposited the stray paper bag into the trash, and grabbed his favorite hat that he liked to wear when he attended picnics with his closest friends.
Author's Note
Written for EFNW Scribblefest 2017.
