Mascot Madness! (10 page)

‘Not necessarily,' said Fiona, stepping back. ‘You should never underestimate the power of the mind.'

‘So it's Brainfright who's been filling your heads with this nonsense, is it?' snarled Mr Grunt. ‘I should have known.'

‘Yes,' said Jenny enthusiastically. ‘He's put us on the Brainfright Program for Sporting Excellence.'

‘Well I'll teach him to interfere,' said Mr Grunt. ‘I'm going to introduce him to a little program of my own. It's called the Grunt Program for Minding Your Own Business.'

‘Is that a threat?' said David.

‘No!' said Mr Grunt. ‘It's a promise!'

When we arrived at our classroom, Mr Brainfright was still in his banana suit, but he appeared to be a little less crazy than he had been for the last few days.

‘I owe you all an apology,' he said. ‘I think I may have got a bit carried away and crossed the line from banana mascot to banana bore.'

Jenny and I looked at each other. This was definitely a positive sign. Perhaps Mr Brainfright wasn't suffering from mascot madness after all. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

‘I guess I'm just so excited about the competition,' he said. ‘I really want to do a good job and be the best mascot I can be. I don't want to let you down.'

‘Just relax,' I said. ‘You're going to be great. We all are!'

The class murmured its assent.

‘Give me a B!' yelled Mr Brainfright.

We were about to give Mr Brainfright a B when the door flew open and Mr Grunt burst in. He always looked ugly, but now he was looking even uglier than usual.

‘I'll give you a B all right!' he barked at Mr Brainfright. ‘And I'll give you a good kick up the B-hind as well!'

‘Mr Grunt!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘What a lovely surprise!'

‘Don't you “Mr Grunt what a lovely surprise” me!' said Mr Grunt. ‘I've got a bone to pick with you, Brainfright!'

‘That's going to be a little difficult, I'm afraid!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘You see, bananas don't have any bones.'

Mr Grunt stared blankly at Mr Brainfright for a moment. Then he shook his head and continued. ‘Listen to me, Brainfright,' he said. ‘It might not mean much to you, since you haven't been at this school for long, but every year we have a very important sporting competition. As sports teacher I spend all year preparing my students for this event with a specially tailored combination of hard training and cutting-edge coaching techniques, and I do not appreciate someone like you coming in and messing everything up at the last minute.'

‘But I haven't been messing everything up,'
said Mr Brainfright. ‘I've been helping.'

‘Is that what you call it?' said Mr Grunt. ‘Dressing up in a ridiculous banana suit and messing with the heads of our students? Well I don't call that help—I call that interference!'

Mr Brainfright smiled and shook his head. ‘My methods are a little . . . ah . . . unconventional, it's true, but they are based on sound scientific principles. Mascots have been used throughout history to bring good luck to sporting teams, and the latest mind–body research is very exciting . . .'

‘Stop right there, Brainfright,' said Mr Grunt. ‘I'll tell you what would be exciting. It would be exciting if you would spare me this nonsense and let me get on with the business of preparing the Northwest Southeast Central students for the big day tomorrow.'

‘Why, certainly,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘But nobody has all the answers—we can all use a little help.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?' said Mr Grunt.

‘Nothing,' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Merely that Northwest West Academy have proven a hard team to beat in the past and your track record is, well, less than impressive . . .'

Now, one thing to remember when you're dealing with Mr Grunt is that you should never
refer to his track record. And if you do have to refer to his track record, you should definitely avoid the words ‘less than impressive'. Unfortunately, Mr Brainfright didn't know this . . . but he was about to find out.

‘Right, that does it!' said Mr Grunt, curling his large hands into even larger fists and raising them up in front of his face. ‘I'm not going to stand here and have some crazy banana-brained egghead trample all over my reputation and tell me how to do my job. Put up or shut up, Brainfright!'

Jenny raised her hands to her mouth in horror. ‘No!' she gasped.

Newton dived under his desk.

‘I think you'll find that fighting in class is against the school rules,' said David, holding up his handbook.

Mr Grunt snatched the book from David and threw it out the window. ‘I'll fight WHO I like, WHEN I like, WHERE I like!' he shouted.

‘Now, really!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘I don't want to fight you, Mr Grunt.'

‘Why not?' said Mr Grunt, bouncing around on
his toes, jabbing at Mr Brainfright's banana head. ‘Are you yellow?'

‘Of course I'm yellow,' said Mr Brainfright, ‘and proud of it! I'm a banana! You wouldn't hit a piece of fruit, would you?'

‘You're not a piece of fruit,' said Mr Grunt. ‘You're a fruitcake! That's what you are!' And Mr Grunt reached out and pulled Mr Brainfright's head off.

Of course, when I say that he pulled Mr Brainfright's head off, I don't mean that he pulled Mr Brainfright's
actual
head off—I mean that he pulled Mr Brainfright's banana-suit head off.

Things happened fast after that.

Mr Brainfright grabbed for the head.

Mr Grunt held it up high in the air, out of Mr Brainfright's reach.

Mr Brainfright jumped, and as he landed he accidentally bumped into Mr Grunt and knocked him sideways.

Mr Grunt dropped the banana head, but while he tried to regain his balance he stepped on it, slipped, and went skidding across the classroom . . . right out the window!

‘Oh dear,' said Mr Brainfright, picking up his banana head and putting it back on. ‘I don't think he's going to be very happy about that.'

Mr Brainfright was right.

Mr Grunt was not happy.

We knew this because we could hear him shouting from the garden bed below.

We all rushed to the window.

Mr Grunt was lying on his back, shaking his fist up at Mr Brainfright.

‘You'll be sorry, Brainfright!' he yelled. ‘Undoing all my good work with your crazy schemes! I'll get you for this!'

But Mr Grunt wasn't the only one who was unhappy. Zooming across the yard towards him was Mr Spade. And this time he was on his ride-on mower. He was steering with one hand and waving his pitchfork with the other.

‘Get out of my garden bed, Grunt!' he shouted over the noise of the mower's engine. ‘Get out of my garden bed or I'll turn you into compost!'

Mr Grunt got to his feet and ran for his life.

Mr Spade revved his engine and chased after him.

‘Come back here, Grunt!' he yelled. ‘I'm going to . . .'

We couldn't catch the next threat as it was drowned out by the deep throaty roar of Mr Grunt's Hummer. He'd made it to the car park, jumped into his car, and was now escaping at high speed through the school gates.

Mr Spade, however, was not going to give up the chase. He kept right on after Mr Grunt. He followed him out of the school grounds and was now riding his mower up the road at surprising speed.

‘That's amazing!' said Grant, as they disappeared into the distance. ‘How can Mr Spade get so much power out of that tiny motor? Wait till my dad hears about this!'

Mr Brainfright was dancing and chanting, cheering Mr Spade on. ‘Go, Spade, go! Mow! Mow! Mow!'

We all joined in for a few rounds before Mr Brainfright changed to another cheer. ‘He wrecked your garden bed! Mow Grunt's head!'

The class started chanting the new cheer enthusiastically. I was doing it too, till Jenny shook my shoulder roughly. ‘Henry!' she said. ‘That's not very nice!'

‘It's only Mr Grunt,' I said.

‘It doesn't matter who it is,' she replied. ‘It's not nice to mow anyone's head.'

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I guess you're right. It's just that Mr Brainfright is so persuasive.'

‘Yes, he is,' said Jenny, a concerned look on her face. ‘But I think his madness is getting worse. I'm worried that we'll never get the old Mr Brainfright back.'

It was Friday morning.

The big day had finally arrived.

Our class was unlucky enough to have been put on the first bus. We sat in our seats, quiet and miserable. Despite our mascot, our visualisations and our success in turning Northwest West Academy's tomato attack back on themselves, we didn't really expect today's competition to turn out any differently than any other year.

At the end of the day, Northwest West Academy would be holding the gold cup high above their heads, while we hung our heads in miserable defeat.

The only person who didn't seem to realise this was Mr Brainfright—and at this point, Mr Brainfright wasn't even technically a person. He was a banana. A big yellow dancing banana.

Decked out in his suit, he was dancing up and
down the aisle of the bus, trying his hardest to lift our spirits.

Our spirits, however, did not exactly lift at the sight of a large group of jeering Northwest West Academy students standing in the car park with a banner that said
GO HOME LOSERS
!

‘That's not very nice!' said Jenny.

‘Northwest West Academy are not very nice, in case you'd forgotten,' I said.

‘Let me handle this,' said Mr Brainfright, making his way to the front of the bus. ‘Let's give them a little taste of banana power, shall we? Open the door, driver! We've got an athletics competition to blitz!'

The bus driver, a tired-looking man who'd driven countless busloads of demoralised Northwest Southeast Central students to and from the Northwest Stadium over the years, looked at Mr Brainfright with great sympathy. He'd seen us get beaten too many times before to believe that a man in a banana suit was going to make any difference.