Battle

Clete didn’t realize how brutal the job would be when he was recruited. His peers agreed that he was the hands-down choice to suit up for a fight against the enemy. He wasn’t so sure.

The battle gear was tight, suffocating, and restricting. It smelled of mildew and mold. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his brows, but he had no way of wiping his face clean. His hands could not reach inside his headgear. His entire body was drenched. He was claustrophobic. His vision was limited only to what was directly in front of him. No peripheral vision. Difficult to hear who or what might be approaching from his side.

He was a soldier dressed for battle in enemy territory all by himself. Sure, there was a small gathering of support to stand with him, but he would get the bulk of the attention. He couldn’t be missed. His outfit was a dead giveaway that he was a stranger in the land. He knew he would be the target of enemy fire. He just hoped he could take it.

Clete began his maneuvers before the battle began. He taunted the enemy, gesturing himself in a way that only raised the opponent's ire. When his troops entered the fray, it only exacerbated the situation. Clete raised the ante with more antics. It was getting tense.

When the battle began, Clete was involved with every move, every blow, every advance, every setback. Clete was there. Adrenaline kicked in. He no longer noticed the steam filling his suit. There was too much going on, too many people to engage, too many opponents, too few supporters.

Clete skillfully used the confining suit to his advantage. It was both a weapon and a battle cry. He risked going to the edge several times but wisely never put himself in serious danger. He was a soldier and an artist fighting the battle with creative juices constantly flowing through his brain. His spontaneous moves humbled the enemy and inspired his cohorts.

When the war was over, Clete was able to peel the suit off his body and celebrate victory with the small army that came along. The fresh air was intoxicating. The cool air became a welcome relief to his flaming head. He was exhausted. Ready for a drink. Hungry. Desperately in need of a shower.

As he climbed back on the bus for the long ride home, he overheard the captain of the varsity cheer squad. “Clete is the best team mascot we’ve ever had!”

Clete smiled.