Cheering for the other team

Cheering for the other team, that's a strange name of a book and so was its cover for it had women in short skirts as well as short shirts that only covered their breasts; what was stranger was the fact that it had no writings in it at all. Then a noise had spooked me back to reality, a noise I didn't frequently -or at all- hear in a library.

A roar of cheers and applause came from every direction as the evening sky was betrayed by an illuminated playing field decked with large and well-built men chasing around a football before making their way at the other's goal when they had it. As I observed the game taking place, I felt tapping on my shoulders and promptly turned around to see a scantily dressed blonde woman looking down at me.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asks me, "Why are you not cheering? Come on!"

Then she stood by my side to line up with others dressed like her and soon found myself in apparel likewise to their own. They kicked and ruffled pom-poms that had a similar coloring scheme as our uniforms. I rustically followed suit, keeping an eye on how they performed their rituals but did not chant "Go team Go!" "Kick their balls!" as it just seemed as barbaric as it sounds.

Half an hour passed by with the cheering and the playing, scores were tallied while the men fought against one another with the audience applauding the victory of their team. On the other side of the field, I noticed that there were more women that were dressed as limited as us but had a different design and cheered as well.

A tie ensued before the whistle was blown and one team kicked the ball at the other's goal before it was followed by an airhorn and loud applause that could've punctured an unfortunate soul's eardrums. It was not our team at all, and we all sat defeated, both in expression and in battle.

The audience quickly dispersed off of the bleachers but the players and the women seemed to have been waiting for something to happen while we all sat in our respective sides. When the last of the observers were out of sight, the players of our color scheme retreated inside the stadium while the opposing team and their team of women approached us.

"You know the bet, Vicky." A tall African-American player said with one of their women with a cowboy hat stood next to him, fists on her swayed hips as she smirked at the tall blonde, "a deal's a deal. Hurry up now."

With a grunt, we were all commanded to stand up and players covered our paths.

"Alright, who's it gonna be, prick?" Vicky asked and the player, which I can only guess is the leader, chuckled.