Free The Overlap by Lynn Costa Page B

to say anything. For a moment it was my turn to radiate a sense of uncomfortable embarrassment, wishing that I hadn’t asked him that question and then insisted on an answer, but there was no turning back. Fortunately, though, as he began telling me his story I realized I had jumped to the wrong conclusion.
    “Back in my senior year I was the sports editor of our high school paper,” he began but then as our waiter reappeared, he paused to order us each another glass of port. I wondered when the Chardonnay and port were going to hit me but so far I wasn’t feeling even the least bit buzzed.
    “Anyway,” Zack continued after our waiter had slipped away, “we used to publish twice each week, on Monday afternoon and on Friday morning. In the fall, during football season, we would include football scores from the previous weekend in our Monday afternoon edition. You know, not just our high school and other high schools around Chicago from Friday, but college and professional as well. Usually we would also pick one college or pro game and I would do a short write-up about that game underneath the headline, before we would print all the other scores.”
    He paused for a minute to let out a short laugh – this must be some story he was going to tell me, or at least it was in his mind – and then continued.
    “So this one Monday morning I went to Mister Tolleson, the junior year English teacher who was also the advisor to the newspaper. I gave him this list of scores and told him that I thought it would be great to make that issue’s game story about South Carolina versus Southern Cal and call it ‘The Battle of the USCs.’ Mister Tolleson said that he liked that idea, so right away I show him the mocked-up headline I had already printed up on the laser printer. It said “ Trojans Roll Over ‘Cocks 35-7 in Battle of USCs .”
    He looked at me to make sure I got the joke, which I only half did, so he explained:
    “The University of South Carolina? They’re called the Gamecocks and people call them the ‘Cocks for short?”
    Suddenly I got it: Trojans...’Cocks... rolling over... Trojans rolling over cocks...
    I felt myself instantly blush.
    “He let you print that headline?” I asked Zack, trying to will the crimson of embarrassment out of my cheeks.
    “Well,” he shrugged, “Mister Tolleson was only about 24 or 25 at the time, just a couple years out of college. In fact, it seems strange calling him ‘Mister Tolleson’ since I’m actually a couple years older now than he was at the time. Anyway...”
    He shook his head, as if he had to will himself to get the story back on track.
    “I remember he looked at me like he was trying not to burst out laughing, and he just took the sheet of paper with the headline from my hands and started walking around the classroom we used for the newspaper, staring at the paper, like he’s doing some serious deep thinking. Then he came back to where I was, handed me the paper, and said ‘Print it!’ – just like that. He was a cool guy and he must have figured that hey, it wasn’t our doing that those were the team names, so why not?”
    Just as the waiter returned with our new glasses of port, I said:
    “That’s pretty funny you were able to get away with that. Did everybody in your school turn you into a freedom-of-the-press hero or something like that?”
    Zack didn’t answer me right away because he seemed to be waiting for the waiter to set our drinks on the table and glide away again, which he did.
    “Sort of, but that’s not the outrageous part of the story.”
    I didn’t follow, and he could tell from the puzzled look on my face.
    “The headline; that wasn’t the outrageous part, or at least the really outrageous part.”
    “What was, then?” I asked.
    “It never happened.”
    I shook my head, clearly signaling my confusion.
    “The game; Southern Cal versus South Carolina. They didn’t really play each other that weekend.”
    I began to