Basketball Practice Got Cut Short

Part 4

The task of looking for a tiny Mr. Menendez had ended. Jeff called home and said that his mom just received a call from Mr. Menendez, who sounded rather confused and strange. Ryan looked down at the McKinley High School varsity basketball team, who now could fit in the circumference of a dime, who were now in the palm of his hand. He saw that they were excited about something. Yeah, he thought, I bet you’re all excited. Ryan pulled an empty ‘Altoids’ container out from the pocket of his jean in his gymbag. Carefully and gently, he slid the team off his palm and into the small, metal container. He placed the container on the bench as he changed his clothes and put on his street clothes: a light-blue North Carolina Tar Heels hooded sweatshirt, blue carpenter jeans, and tan, Timberland work boots.

When finished dressing, Ryan stood up and placed the Altoids container carefully inside his right Adidias high-top and stuffed in a sock. It was the only way Ryan could think of to keep his tiny friends from getting jostled around too much. He placed his gym clothes and sneakers inside the gym bag. Many of the freshmen had changed clothes, but were lingering around, as if in a fog. Ryan told them not to say anything about this to anyone yet. In the meantime, Ryan told them that they might have to fill in for the varsity team against Centerville. Ryan knew that he and Coach Bowers had a lot of work to do to get them ready to play. Putting on his Varsity team jacket and pulling his gray, knit hat over his ears, Ryan walked out of the locker room and out to his truck through the slushy parking lot on that cold, December evening. Ryan carried the gymbag very gingerly. Jeff Menendez went out with Ryan; he needed a ride home. Jeff put on his team jacket over his cotton, button down shirt, and put on a white, ‘Gamecocks” ball cap. Jeff also wore a pair of blue, carpenter jeans, and a pair of size 13, black ‘Lugz’ boots. The two boys climbed into Ryan’s truck. Ryan turned to Jeff: “Your dad, he’s a chemist, right?”
“Yeah,” responded Jeff.
“You think he could help us with this problem?” asked Ryan.
Jeff chuckled: “Man, I don’t know. I’ve—I’ve never seen anything like this. SHRINKING? That only happens in goofy movies. I don’t know what he could do.”
“It has to be worth a shot.” aid Ryan.
Ryan started the truck and drove out of the parking lot, headed for the Menendez home. When Ryan and Jeff arrived at Jeff’s house, Jeff leapt out of the truck and into the house. When he saw his dad, Juan Menendez, he threw he arms around him. Mr. Menendez, still in a fog over the events of that afternoon, was even more confused. Teenagers never acted like this! “Well, son…” stammered Mr. Menendez, as Rita Menendez looked on in surprise, as well, “What’s all of this about?”
“What?” asked Jeff, still hugging his father hard. “I’m just glad you’re…you’re here and are big enough to hug!!”
“What??” said Mr. Menendez with a start. He looked at Ryan, who followed Jeff into the house, and asked Ryan: “What does THAT mean?”
“I, ah, think we…the varsity team, needs your help…” began Ryan, holding his gym bag. “Can we go to your work room?”

Part 5

Ryan, after taking off his jacket (but leaving on the knit hat), opened his gym bag and fished out his basketball sneaker. After pulling out the sock, he pulled out the Altoids can and opened it. Carefully, the tiny humans were transported to a microscope, through which they could be seen clearly. Juan Menendez was flabbergasted. Then, a cold chill traveled down his spine as Ryan told him how and where he found the shrunken varsity team, athletes less than ¼ of an inch tall. Mr. Menendez suddenly remember that he was there, in the locker room, with the Centerville boys, but he was under the influence of some kind of drug that they must have sprayed on him in the midst. However, he said nothing to the boys about this.
“Dear God!” Mr. Menendez exclaimed. “I…I have been working on a project designed to shrink tumors. When I last tested it, the formula could shrink matter 324 times smaller than life size…”
“Wait!” interrupted Ryan, “324 times smaller than life? Hell, that would make one foot to us seem nearly the length of a football field to them!” he said, pointing to the tiny players and coaches standing near the container.
“And that Altoids box is probably the size of a basketball court to them!” said Jeff, taking off his jacket, but leaving on his ball cap.
“Mr. Menendez, is there anything you can do? Were you able to…to reverse the shrinking in your tests?”
Mr. Menendez looked down at the floor. “I never actually tried to. I…I don’t know if the shrinkage can be reversed.”
Ryan and Jeff groaned. “Dad, these guys…many of them are getting sports scholarships. If you could find a way to shrink stuff, why can’t you find a way to make stuff grow?” asked Jeff.

“Yeah, Mr. Menendez”, chimed Ryan. “Coach MacGregor is the best basketball coach in the state. He can’t end his career like…like this! Where IS he? Oh, wait…I think I see him. Jeez! How’s he gonna coach anybody? I can’t even SEE him!”

Jeff noticed that one of the teeny, tiny specks ran to the edge of the glass slide under the microscope. It was Coach MacGregor. Jeff held out his fingernail against the edge of the slide so that Coach could walk out onto Jeff’s fingernail. Soon, against the wishes of Ryan and Mr. Menendez, Coach was standing square in the middle of Jeff’s fingernail.
“What’re doing?” demanded Ryan. “He’s gonna get blown off!”
Coach MacGregor was desperately trying to communicate with Jeff, probably to tell Jeff of his father’s involvement. “What is it, coach? What are you trying to tell me?”
Jeff looked up to his father: “Is there a way to rig up something so we can HEAR them. It’s good to be able to see them, but Coach as something to say…he’s turning purple from yelling, and I can’t hear a damn thing!”

Meanwhile, on the 14 year-old’s fingernail, Coach MacGregor was yelling: “JEFF!! JEFF!! YOUR DAD DID THIS!!! DON’T TRUST HIM!!! SOMETHING’S UP AND ITS STINKS!! JEFF!! DEAR, GOD, JEFF!! PLEASE HEAR ME!!”
Finally, Coach stopped: “MacGregor, you idiot. It’s pointless”, he panted, “Jeff can’t hear me. NO ONE can hear me!! Coach sat down on the fingernail, which seemed to be about the same area as his first apartment in college. Some peeled skin poked up like little hills. MacGregor also noticed something else: “He could clean his nails once in a while!!” he said with a snort.

Suddenly, a deafening roar, like that of ten locomotives, blasted Coach MacGregor. At that moment, a tremendous gale picked the tiny coach up off his rear. He was airborne!! Coach flew in the air for a second, approaching Ryan’s face, until landing hard against something fleshy. Coach clung to this huge, massive, fleshy mass for dear life. He heard loud, booming voices; from Ryan and Jeff, too loud to be understood by Coach. All the poor, tiny man could do was to hold on for dear life! “HEEELLP!!!” cried the terrified, tiny man. Tears were streaming down his face. What a terrifying situation! What a humiliating situation, too: a state-championship coach reduced to a piece of lint that gets blown around by even the smallest gust. “Just don’t look down!” he whimpered to himself, trying not to think of the two-thousand foot drop to the floor, among two colossal pairs of big, heavy boots.

As Jeff peered at the speck of his coach on his fingernail, he began to feel a tickle in his nose. Before he could react to stifle it, Jeff let out a huge, blast of a sneeze. He sneezed right one his finger, which he held up in front of his face, with Ryan looking on. A spray hit both Jeff’s finger and Ryan’s face, and Ryan was pissed.
“What’s wrong with you, fool??” bellowed Ryan. “Aww, man!! He’s gone!! Coach ain’t on your finger! You blew him off—“, Ryan’s voice trailed off in a whimper. Jeff looked at Ryan’s now-moist, very gorgeous face. There was only one imperfection: a little, pale speck, probably about the size of a grain of rice, clinging to the tip of Ryan’s nose. Jeff grabbed the magnifying glass and looked closer. Sure enough, the speck was Coach MacGregor, clinging with all fours to the fleshy tip of Ryan’s nose.
Jeff chuckled. “I think I’ve found him.” said Jeff, very relieved. Ryan raised his finger to his nose, right under the old coach. Coach let go and landed on Ryan’s nail. Ryan quickly returned coach to the glass slide under the microscope and peered at his tiny team. Coach look like he’d been caught in a hurricane; his toupee was blown off! Ryan, now amused, chuckled with Jeff: “Sorry ‘bout that, sir. No one’s gonna be handling any of you. You’re all too small. It’s too dangerous.”

The team would be staying with Menendez. Ryan called his parents and asked if he could spend the night over at the Menendez’s house. He did not trust Jeff, especially knowing that Jeff and Little John were beefin’. An immature, 6’2” freshman alone with a ¼” senior that don’t get along? Not a good combination!
Ryan also called Mrs. MacGregor. Ryan knew that she wouldn’t believe him if he told her what had happened to her husband and his basketball team (who would?) So he carefully took Coach MacGregor, placed him in the Altoids container, and held it level in his hand. Ryan would drive over to the MacGregor’s home to break the terrible news in person. As Ryan drove, he wondered what would happen if his friends and his coaches would stay so tiny forever. What sort of lives could they lead? Would the varsity team be restored to their normal size before the Centerville game, or would they be crushed (LITERALLY!) by Centerville in a couple of days?

Part 6

Ryan drove to the MacGregor house. Holding the Altoid’s can containing Coach MacGregor in a gloved hand, he rang the bell. Mrs. MacGregor was an attractive, older woman who was a very gracious hostess. She had made hot chocolate and even took his coat. Soon, he sat at the MacGregor’s dining room table, holding onto the Altoids can. Mrs. MacGregor saw this and thought this odd, but didn’t say anything about it.
“Well, Ryan.” Began Mrs. MacGregor, “You said something was going on. Something involving my husband. By the way, I have no idea where he is.”
Ryan opened the metal container, handed Mrs. MacGregor the magnifying glass, and winced as she let out a cry.

Soon, Coach was on his wife’s fingernail. The manicured nail and polish was very slick, and Coach didn’t want to risk standing. So he laid spread eagle against her pretty nail. The sheer scale of her finger was making him wig out! “Oh, DEAR!!!” wailed Mrs. MacGregor. “Charlie? Charlie? Are you OK? My God, Ryan!! How did this HAPPEN???”
Ryan explained that he didn’t know for sure, but that Mr. Menendez might know what to do. He couldn’t bear to tell her the truth, that Menendez had no idea what to do and acted weird…like he was hiding something.

Just then, the sound of a motorcycle purred out in the driveway. Jon MacGregor, the MacGregor’s only son, had arrived. He graduated from McKinley in 1990 and now owner an excavating company in his home town. He lived only 15 minutes away and made frequent visits to his parents’ house. The ruggedly handsome, 6’6” athlete had been the star quarterback for the football team and had led the basketball team to the state championship, along with Ryan, last year. Within a minute, the door out back opened. The heels of Jon’s black motorcycle boots bumped heavily against the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Jon entered the dining room, happy to see Ryan’s truck out front. Jon used to baby-sit Ryan when Ryan was a kid; Jon had taught Ryan much about football and basketball. The 32 year-old Jon MacGregor bore a strong resemblance to Vin Diesel, with his shaved head, black leather jacket, large shoulders, and strong jaw. However, his smile faded when he saw his weeping mother. “What’s going on?” asked Jon. He looked at his mother’s extended finger. “I don’t get it. What’s the problem?” he asked, squinting at the speck on his mom’s nail. Once she handed Jon the magnifying glass, he saw his father; his tiny, tiny father, not even one quarter of an inch tall.

Jon grew pale as he watched his dad struggle to keep from sliding off Mrs. MacGregor’s fingernail. Jon started to sit at the table, eyes fixed upon the speck. He almost missed the chair as he lowered himself; Ryan reached over and pulled the chair under Jon’s 240 pound frame as it seemed to go limp. Meanwhile, the tiny coach sat at the very tip of his wife’s fingernail, legs hanging over the edge, waving to his son.

After Ryan explained the situation, Mrs. MacGregor slowly moved her finger to Jon.
“Hold out your hand, Jon.” She said, her eyes red from tears.
Jon opened his hand as Coach leapt off the nail and into Jon’s fleshy palm. Jon watched his father, barely the size of an ant, climb around on Jon’s palm. “Dad? Hey dad? Are you alright?” said Jon in a deep, husky voice much too loud for such a tiny man.
“Not so loud!!” wailed Mrs. MacGregor. “You’re hurting him!”
“How did something like this HAPPEN?? I mean, come on!! How can this be real!?!” yelled Jon, as Coach crouched in pain in his son’s palm.

Meanwhile, Coach MacGregor never felt so puny in all his life. As he stood in his son’s massive palm, a sense of overwhelming humiliation filled him. He remembered when he was the man of the house! It was one thing when Jon outgrew him by five inches. But this was too much. His wife and son might as well have been on another planet; at his tiny size, they were totally inaccessible to him. They towered like skyscrapers over him….from their waists up! Humiliation welled up as MacGregor realized that his son—his ‘little boy’ who used to be so small and who looked up to his father—now towered at a height approximate to over 2,100 feet!
The giant’s day-old beard stubble was knee-high to the tiny man. What if the shrinking couldn’t be reversed? What kind of husband could he be? What kind of father could he be, a man no bigger than a grain of rice? Moreover, how could Coach MacGregor continue to coach and teach at the high school? His career was over. A coach less than ¼ of an inch tall among high school jocks? He’d get trampled! He’d be squashed!!

”I have an idea, Mom.” said Jon. Jon told his mother to get a pair of tweezers. He used them to pick his father up by his belt-loop (Not again!?! cried Coach) and held him up to his face. “Aieeeee!” screamed Coach, who was dangling by his belt, flaying his arms and legs. Mrs. MacGregor clasped her hands. “Oh Jon! Be careful with him! He’s so small and fragile!”
Jon shot a look at his mother. He replied, sarcastically: “Really, mom? Gee, Ryan and I were going to take him outside and play football with him! Us two versus him! Full contact, of course!”

The humiliated coach, dangling helplessly, swallowed hard: “F-f-f-f-footb-b-all?? Y-you’d better be kidding. I hope—“.

“Please don’t talk to me that way!” snapped Mrs. MacGregor. “I’m sorry, Jon. I know you’ll be careful. He’s your father!”
She brought her face close to the tiny coach as Jon held him out in front of him and sobbed: “Oh, my brave, little snuggle-bunny!”
Both Jon and Ryan snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. “Snuggle bunny?” said Jon and Ryan in unison. Jon regained his composure and brought the tiny man close to his face: “Now ‘snuggle bunny’, listen up. There’s no way for you to communicate with us, so I’m gonna put you in my ear. Run as far as you can into my ear, as close to my eardrum as possible, and say something.”
Coach MacGregor didn’t like this idea, but he was in no position to voice his opinion or to stop Jon. Jon raised the tweezers to his left ear and loosened the grip. Coach plopped right on the entrance to his son’s ear hole. As Coach made his way into the cavern, his feet were getting mired in the thin layer of wax build-up. One of his tiny loafer got stuck and came right off his foot.
“Hey dad!” whispered Jon. “Quit dancing around in there and crawl inside. And start saying something!”
“God, his footsteps are driving me nuts!” said Jon to Ryan. “It tickles like crazy!”
“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW??” Coach MacGregor kept yelling. Finally, Jon spoke up: “I hear ya, pop!! We’re in business! I can hear you, dad! Now tell me, what the @#@$! happened to you??”

“WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, JON!! YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO SWEAR IN MY HOUSE!!” roared the tiny Coach at Jon’s eardrum.
“All right! All right! Sorry, dad. OK, so tell us…what HAPPENED???”

Coach told Jon everything that happened in the locker room, about the Centerville boys, and about Menendez. After Coach told Jon what happened, Jon relayed this to Ryan: “Oh man! Menendez did this? And I left my boys at his house!”
Jon and Mrs. MacGregor decided to keep Coach MacGregor with them. Jon, using much precision, carefully scooped his tiny father out of his ear with a Q-tip. The tiny man, smeared with ear wax, clung onto the massive cotton tip with all of his strength; the humiliating experience was complete. Meanwhile, Ryan threw on his jacket and sprinted out of the house, heading for Menendez’s place. What have they all gotten into, Ryan wondered.

Meanwhile, at the Menendez house, Mr. Menendez was working feverishly on an antidote for his shrinking formula. He did not know how he would live with himself if the shrunken team were to stay at such a tiny size. Menendez put two and two together and realized that he had been drugged with some sort of vapor and forced to use his shrinking formula on the team.
Menendez broke the news to Jeff, who was angry at both the Centerville boys and at his father, for making such a formula. Suddenly, from his work room, Jeff and Mr. Menendez heard Ryan burst into the house. “Menendez! Where are you??” boomed Ryan.
“I think Ryan just found out what you did, pop!” said Jeff.