Delmonico's Chicken

The cell phone lay on a small table next to a twin size bed occupied by a young man with a toned body. The phone’s screen lit up and began playing the Delmonico Community College fight song. He groaned and reached over for his phone. “This is Simon. Sup?”
The voices on the phone sounded too energetic. The guys must have been up all night and pumped full of energy drinks. It took a while for them to stop laughing enough to get to the point. “Dude! Simon! We got someone who wants to challenge your position!”
“Position?”
“As mascot! In their words, you’re boring.” More laughing.
“Hmph…”
“We’ll meet you at the ball courts at 6 tonight, ok?”
“Yeah, whatever. Get some sleep.” Simon flipped his phone shut. Boring? This school has never had a better mascot. He wondered if the guy had ever even been in a full body chicken suit before. Most likely some wannabe thinking it’s cake. He’ll pass out from heat exhaustion within 10 minutes. Simon rolled over and went back to sleep.
The day dragged on. Although he was confident, Simon knew it was important to conserve energy before performing. Instead of his strenuous daily workout, he opted for a short swim and a stretch routine, then spent the rest of his day watching television and filling up on water. When it was finally time to head to the basketball courts, he grabbed his chicken suit and started walking. He was impressed to find his three buddies had actually shown up, along with the challenger, who even more surprisingly was wearing a chicken suit of his own. Good, Simon thought. He didn’t want to loan his costume to a stranger. In addition were three girls from the cheerleading squad to be the judges.
“What are you waiting for? Get your suit on!” As he put on his costume, he looked over his challenger. He was starting off with a sort of dance routine with the girls. The outfit hid his features, but he looked a little shorter and by the way the fabric hung on his body, he should be slimmer as well. Perfect. Simon could picture him, some gawky poser, with greasy hair and a smug face. The kid disgusted him already. What an amateur. Simon had to admit the guy had moves, possibly better than some of the cheerleaders, but being a mascot isn’t a joke. It doesn’t involve just getting up in front of people and dancing around. It requires being able to function in a hot and constricting environment for an extended period of time. Then there are the jerks from the audience that find it funny to assault mascots as if there isn’t a human being inside. Not only was he determined to maintain his title as the school mascot, but Simon was going to teach this guy what it really means to be a mascot.
The routine ended, and at last it was his turn to prove himself. They would play a game of basketball, one-on-one, in their chicken suits, as a final challenge of skill and endurance. One of Simon’s buddies tossed him the basketball, which he passed to his opponent. He promptly bounced it back.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Simon asked. The other chicken gave a single nod, then raised his arms in motion for Simon to bring it. He dribbled the ball forward, charging straight toward his masked rival. At the last instant he spun out of the way as he noticed a chicken wing making a feeble attempt at stealing the ball. He laughed and sent the ball soaring through the hoop. Whatever moves the other chicken had while dancing were not present now. Now they were. He was doing a victory dance across the court. Bobbing that stupid chicken head and flapping those flimsy wings. Was that a stripper move he just did with the light pole? Simon watched. If only his own chicken head wasn’t hiding his face of inexpressible disgust. He shook his head to clear the image as his friends howled with laughter. The cheerleaders cheered. But Simon knew it wasn’t for him. Hadn’t he just scored a point? Wasn’t he clearly the better player? So what was with this moron’s attitude?
Simon was fed up. He walked over to the other chicken and shoved the ball at his chest. “What do you think you’re doing? There’s no way you can beat me. Why don’t you just go home?”
The chicken said nothing. He just dropped the ball and lowered his head. His wings dangled in defeat. Simon laughed, all of this trouble and he gave up this easy? But he was wrong. Suddenly his competitor had his wings stretched out to each side. As he raised one he dropped the other, then reversed it. His arms looked like feathered snakes. Suddenly, while Simon was distracted by one wing, the other struck out and slapped him right in his chicken face!
“What the hell!?” Simon said. It didn’t hurt. It was nothing more than a tap. But what sort of move was that? Did the punk seriously believe he still had a chance against him? He grabbed one of the serpentine wings and shoved the chicken to the ground. He kicked and shouted at him.
“Dude! Stop it! Let him go!” his friends yelled, but he couldn’t hear them. He pulled off his mask and chucked it aside so he could breathe easier as he knelt down and began throwing punches. His challenger on the ground did nothing to fight back, but managed to block each blow until Simon’s friends came and pulled him away. Two of his friends walked him away from the group and had him sit down while one remained to make sure DelMonico’s new mascot was okay.
“The winner is Allie Get‘er!” announced one of the cheerleaders. Simon stared in disbelief. He had been set up. He was notorious for his short fuse, and he was starting to hurt the school’s reputation. He should have seen this coming, but he never expected they would replace him with a roller derby girl! He looked over at his successor. She was leaning over and saying something to his friend. She was now waving at him. She turned around and smacked her tail as a farewell gesture to him. His friend was now approaching him while she walked away with the cheerleaders.
“She wanted me to tell you, a real mascot never exposes his real identity.”