Chapter 3

Broom and the Bullhorn

A few days later, Brother Bear and Cousin Freddy went to football tryouts at the school athletic field. As usual, the tryouts were run by Coach “Bullhorn” Grizzmeyer. He was also the assistant principal and disciplinarian of Bear Country School. He was nicknamed “Bullhorn” because he didn’t need one.

Just before tryouts started, Coach Grizzmeyer went over the sign-up sheet with Cousin Freddy, the team manager. Meanwhile, Brother, Too-Tall Grizzly, and the other candidates for the team warmed up. They tossed footballs back and forth and charged out of their three-point stances.

The grandstand was empty except for someone who sat alone—someone whom no one had noticed.

Coach Grizzmeyer looked down at his watch and yelled, “All right! Let’s get this season under way! I want all you guys trying out for offensive line and blocking back to move over here to the blocking frame!”

The blocking frame was very heavy and difficult to move. The coach rode on the back of it to make it heavier still.

Cousin Freddy checked the name at the top of the sign-up sheet. “Barry Bruin!” he called out.

Lizzy’s brother was a big cub who had his heart set on playing offensive tackle. He took up his stance and charged the frame. He hit the padding with a WHACK and jarred it. But he failed to budge it.

“Ready when you are,” teased the coach. The other cubs laughed. “Just kidding, son. Don’t worry. You’ll get another chance. Next!”

Freddy called out each name in turn, and the cubs hurled themselves at the heavy frame. Only Too-Tall managed to move it more than a few feet.

Soon it seemed everyone had had a turn. But there was one more name at the bottom of the list. And Freddy didn’t recognize it. “B. Broom?” he finally called out.

The cubs looked at each other with raised eyebrows. No one recognized the name. Brother turned to Barry Bruin. “Must be a new cub in town,” he said. “Do you know him?” Barry shook his head.

Coach Grizzmeyer looked around at all the cubs. “B. Broom!” he roared at the top of his lungs. “If you want your turn, you’d better come quick!”

The mysterious B. Broom, it seemed, hadn’t heard Cousin Freddy’s rather weak call. On the other hand, Coach Grizzmeyer’s famous bellow could be heard clearly everywhere on the school grounds. The moment it rang out across the playing field, the lone figure high in the stands stood up and hurried down to the field.

“Present, Coach!” shouted the big, strong-looking candidate.

Everyone stared. Coach Grizzmeyer looked down over his glasses at the powerfully built cub. “Are you Broom?” he asked, frowning.

“Yes, sir!” said the cub.

The coach played nervously with the whistle hanging from his neck. “But you’re wearing earrings,” he said. There was some snickering from the players.

“Yes, sir.”

“And a hairbow—two hairbows, in fact.”

“Yes, sir.”

From the sidelines came a loud whisper: “Hey, Coach can count.”

“Cool it!” barked Grizzmeyer. He turned back to the would-be football player. “Says here ‘B. Broom.’ What’s the ‘B’ stand for?”

“Bertha, sir.”

The coach walked in a slow circle around Bertha. He studied her from every direction. He looked her up and down. He put his hand to his chin as if in deep thought. There was more snickering from the players.

“Bertha,” said Grizzmeyer at last. “You are a girl!”

“I think he’s got it,” said one of the cubs.

“Yes, sir!” said Bertha.

Bertha was indeed a girl—a big girl. She was bigger, in fact, than any of the boys except Too-Tall Grizzly. But she had a soft, round baby face. And right now that face looked very worried.

“Just what do you think you’re doin’?” growled Grizzmeyer.

That made Bertha look even more worried. She felt her knees go a little wobbly. “I … I’m going out for the team,” she said. “I know the game real well, Coach. I’ve played lots of football with my brothers—”

“With your brothers?!” yelled Grizzmeyer. “This isn’t some backyard family fun game I’m running here, Broom! This is varsity football—boys’ varsity football! You’re way out of bounds, young lady! Football’s a boys’ game. It always has been and it always will be. And as long as I have enough breath in me to blow this whistle, there will be no girls on any football team coached by Yours Truly, Mervyn ‘Bullhorn’ Grizzmeyer! You got that, Broom? Now get off the field and stop holding up my practice!”

Bertha’s lower lip trembled as she fought back tears. “But, Coach—” she said. “Aren’t you even going to see what I can do?”

“Off the field!” boomed the coach. “Manager, line ’em up for another round of blocking!”

At that moment you could have heard a daisy petal fall in the wide open space of the practice field. Even the cheerleader practice had stopped. All eyes were fixed on Bertha.

Chin on chest and heart breaking, Bertha Broom walked slowly off the field. The only sound was the mocking laughter of Too-Tall and his gang.

“Shut up, Too-Tall,” snarled the coach. “Let’s get on with it.”