The Offensive Line (Patreon)

So this story started off as a discussion around a draft that jd07201990 on tumblr dropped in a discord channel. The main arc of the story was a student got drafted as a college athlete in one sport, was then bought over by a richer school and forced into a different sport, or at least into a exercise regiment that would bulk him up to not be suitable for the first sport. All just a sabotage of the first school.

Programming Prince thought the premise had too many flaws to save as it was, but mentioned he had a story idea of his own where some jocks somehow mind controls a different athlete to bulk up, and then break the mind control. After some discussion we decided to have a competition, where we would post our different stories, using the same image, and then see who got the most likes. His story early on got a small lead which he kept throughout the week and finished with about 10 more likes then may story. He was proud over the fact that he managed to track down the news story where the photo was originally published and used a second photo from the same article. He was almost upset I didn't realize that when reading it.

In my mind he never actually recover enough to compete in anything, but switches back to track and field. This is how I imagine him many years later:

Original JD Draft

General Idea: Sports trading, except its between schools, and sometimes, schools trade to sabotage other schools. In this case, the school they buys his scholarship, only did so to stop their rival from having an unbeatable track star. However, they also needed a heavyweight wrestler, and it just so happened, this athlete’s genes could fit the bill with some work.

You’ve all heard of Pro sports teams trading players. They do it in the NFL and in Basketball all the time. I’d never gotten into major sports, being a runner myself so I didn’t understand the reason for this. Until I was “Traded”

Apparently, it was a new thing for colleges recruiting Seniors before graduation. I was a star Runner, having lost only one race since 6th grade. I broke local and state records, amassed a collection of trophies and had a few schools clamoring to take me in the Fall. College recruiters showed up all the time to watch me practice, or watch my races. Hell, a few times I’d be running home or around town, noticing suspicious cars rolling slowly down the road. I knew who they were, so I’d sprint off and laugh as they’d screech around corners to follow me.

Finally, I’d gotten an offer from the one school I wanted to go to. It was my chance to get out of the small town I lived in, see the city, and all on a free ride including room and board. I was so thrilled when I got the letter, hand delivered by the school’s Dean that I signed the papers right there in the doorway. He’d never even made it inside.

Come to find out, one of the stipulations in the contract was that the school could, at any point, “trade” me off to any other school of equal standing. Meaning if the school taking me had the same accreditation, they could take me without notice. Unfortunately, they also made it clear in the contract I didn’t read, that the school taking my scholarship on didn’t have to keep me in running. They could, at their leisure, choose to place me in any sport or club they wished. Basically, it wasn’t “trading” in the normal sense. It was Schools buying and selling us. The school I’d wanted to go to had “traded” my scholarship, for one of the star Gymnasts the school that took me had.

I’d just settled into my private dorm when officials came barging in, packing up my things without care, and dragged me off to the parking lot, where a van from my town’s Rival school was sat, idling. My boxes were tossed in the back, and before I could yell for help, I was pushed in and sped off toward my state’s college, only a few miles from the town I had finally ditched. On the way, the man driving handed me a folder with new information. The terms of the trade, the my signature on the forms, and told me I’d be of better use at this school than the other.

Programming Prince Version

Oh great, I thought. I got caught by the idiot squad. That was careless of me.

“Well, well! What have we got here?”

“It looks like we caught ourselves a runner, Dave!”

“Who would have thought that was possible?”

“Yeah, I could have sworn we were, what was it again?”

“‘Slower than a snail, in every possible way!’”

“That was it! We sure did something amazing then, didn’t we?”

“Ha ha. I get it, guys. I’m sorry for making fun of you and your sport. That was mean of me.” I didn’t actually mean any of it, of course. It’s just that I was in no position to tell the truth when it would just upset them further. I have some modicum of sense, after all.

“Hear that, fellas? He says he’s sorry for what he said!”

“I wonder why he said that? I’m too ‘slow’ to figure that out! The school’s track star might be too fast for me.”

“I think he wants us to let him go? Maybe?”

“Yeah, but we might be rather ‘slow’ when we do so!”

God…these morons are just so interchangeable that it really doesn’t matter who says what. I just need to say the right thing to get out of this without too many bruises.

“Say guys, if you let me go, I can help you out.”

“Oh? And how would you do that?”

“I can share tips on how to be faster with the team! Make it really hard for your guys to get tackled! What do you say?”

“I don’t know if you can handle how we do our training to begin with.”

This was when one of the other imbeciles made a face like a lightbulb went off in his head. That was probably one of the few times that ever happened to him, assuming it wasn’t his first.

“Actually, I think he could really like our training.”

A mischievous smile stretched across his face. I was very confused. I was likely not going to be beaten up, but I was sure that something possibly worse was going to happen instead.

“Wait! Are you thinking of actually letting him in our secret training?”

“Yeah! He might like it so much that he would go to all of our training sessions and help us out!”

“Ooooooooooh! Ahahaha! You know, I think I would agree with you on that!”

“Should we start by showing him now?”

“The sooner the better!”

My memory gets rather fuzzy after that. The time I come to is still pretty goddamn vivid in my mind, however.

See that? Yeah, I was in the middle of that. I had to be stretched off the field after that. And it was just practice! These shitheels thought it would be funny to  do a team tackle in the middle of practice like that after I joined their team!

Oh, did I not mention I’m on the football team now? I’m even a fullback! You know what position that is? It’s right next to the QB and meant to use his huge thick body to be the last line of defense against sacks.

I’m sure you’re thinking “isn’t that a horrible role for someone with a runner’s body?” and you’re absolutely correct! I actually gained a lot of fat and muscle to be able to play this position and I now have a rather chunky bod.

If you’re wondering why the hell I would do any of this, well, you see, their practice regimen involves using hypnosis tracks to keep them motivated. Those bastards had put some headphones on me and played a track to keep me compliant until they gave me more tracks to listen to make me do what they wanted.

I started off eating like a fiend. Just…ate and ate and ate. My appetite was insatiable. I had massive cravings for the fattiest foods, too. I ate massive burgers with a large milkshake and fries pretty much daily. My only drinks were shakes (both protein and just plain fattening ones), soda, and sports drinks.

They changed me so I spent almost all my free time working out. Whenever I could, I neglected track to join the football team for their practice. I did what you would expect and lifted weights, ran tied to tire, rammed my increasingly larger body against things, etc. When practice wasn’t going on, I just kept doing whatever to build muscle whenever possible. Sit-ups, push-ups, the whole thing. Just all day, everyday, pretty much. The assholes kept laughing at practice, too.

I was even forced to burn all sorts of bridges. I said things to my track coach that you shouldn’t say to anyone! All he did was check if I was okay and I was so ruthless to him when I told him I was quitting track “to pursue the superior sport of football”. Their words, and certainly not mine! In fact, anyone who tried to help was given similar treatment by my controlled self to the point where my only “friends” were the football team when all they wanted to do was fatten me up, rough me up, and laugh at me! And don’t get me started on my shitty grades!

And the cherry on this epic “fuck you” sundae? That this was the time they decided to bring me out of it! Right after I made the starting team and got “initiated” with that painful dogpile at practice! It’s why I can speak about this bullshit now! I guess it was funnier to see my reaction at all this after being their plaything for months, unable to do anything about it, but vaguely aware of it all until now! Because you know, they’re assholes!

I could tell people about what happened to me, but who in the hell would believe me? Like, I barely do and I experienced the damn thing! And why should they even listen to me after how I was forced to treat them, anyways?

So, here I am, crying while lying on a bed in the nurses office because these sadistic assholes decided to get back at me by ruining my track career, making me fat, wrecking my body in all sorts of ways, and making me do and say terrible things to my friends and family!

And why am I still having massive cravings for a huge greasy burger, fries, and a shake?!?