Laggan Lard Butts by Eric Walters Page A

that, it’s on the uniforms. I just wanted to know what a laird was. What does it mean?”
    â€œIt’s Scottish. It’s some sort of weapon, I think, something they used when there were knights and armor.”
    He passed the ball off. “Lairds,” he chuckled. “Your team should be the
Laggan lard butts
.”
    He suddenly broke for the net, cutting by me before I could react. He got the ballback and drove for the open net and an easy bucket. I pushed him from behind with both hands, sending him sailing through the air. He landed face-first on the ground and—
    The ref blew his whistle to signal the foul. At the same time Coach Davidson yelled for a time-out.
    I walked over to the bench. I knew what was going to happen.
    â€œCampbell, you’re—”
    â€œI know, I know, I’m on the bench.”
    That was the end of the game for me, but it really didn’t matter. With or without me we’d already lost. Probably better this way, I thought. Now all I had to do was keep my mouth shut for the next two minutes. Say nothing to my coach, or my teammates, the other team, the ref or the fans. Just shut up and be a good loser. Since practice makes perfect you’d think that I’d know how to be a good loser by now. I should be a
perfect
loser by now.
    Our school teams always lost. It didn’t matter what sport—basketball, soccer, baseball, volleyball or hockey—we sucked atthem all. I’d been on all our school teams every year since grade six, and we’d never had a winning team. Forget winning team, we’d hardly ever had a win.
    One of our rare wins had been the first basketball game of the season. We’d won by ten points. We’d played well. We were good. At least that’s what I had thought. What I didn’t know then was that the first team we’d played was just more terrible than we were. They lost every game all season, including the two against us. Those were our only wins.
    Winning that first game made the season even worse. It had given me hope. It wasn’t good to have hope when your team played hopelessly.
    The buzzer sounded, mercifully ending the game. I stood up but didn’t look at the score clock. I joined my team and shuffled toward center court to congratulate the winners.
    â€œNot bad,” Tanner said as he came up beside me.
    â€œWe were terrible.”
    â€œNot the game. You. You almost made it through an entire game without losing it.”
    â€œMy proudest moment.”
    â€œJust be polite in the line,” Taylor said as he joined us. “Don’t let them get you going.”
    â€œI’ll be polite.”
    â€œGood, ‘cause we need you to play the last game of the year.”
    Earlier in the year, during the lineup at the end of a game, I’d been in an argument that almost led to a fight with a player from the other team. I was told that if that happened again I’d be suspended from the team for the rest of the year.
    I walked through the line, slapping hands and mumbling “good game” as the other team did the same. I kept my head down. I didn’t want to look at anybody. I knew everybody on that team—most by name. You play against people for three years and you get to know them. Three years of playing. Three years of losing.
    We walked back toward the bench.
    â€œWhat did that guy say to you?” Tanner asked.
    â€œSomebody said something to me?” Iasked as I skidded to a stop. “Somebody in line said something to me?”
    â€œNot in line, during the game...at the end.”
    â€œOh, him. He said that our team should be called the Lard Butts.”
    Tanner started laughing.
    â€œYou think that’s funny?” I demanded.
    â€œOf course I do. Think about how we play. Maybe we should be the Lard Butts. Forget it, let’s get changed and get out of this place.”
    There was no argument from me. I wanted out as soon as