Tyrell Easley
CB - Oakland Raiders
Age: 22
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 212 lbs.
Hometown: Oakland, CA
College: Nebraska
That's what my Topps card should say. Man, I was on my way, too. All City, then All State in high school, looking forward to all those those scouts from the big schools wining and dining me and kissin' my ass to come to their school. Even the man, the legend, Tom Osborne was gonna pay me a personal visit. Get that! My life was gonna be all that, I just needed to play. Four years at Nebraska, then drafted in the first by Oakland and BAM! Hometown boy makes good.
I wish. Junior year in high school, football season. I'd been dogging it in practice all day, gettin' my ass busted by the coach. Coach rode my ass every damn day 'cause he saw I had "potential"...don't know why it pushed me over the edge that particular day. For all the bitching and moaning, he was still like the father I never had. I put him in the hospital for a week, and I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he saw me change.
I ran for a long, long time, still wearing what was left of my uniform. I found myself under the Bay Bridge wondering what the hell I was gonna do next. Then some old bum comes up, his eyes gleaming like fire. He sniffed me like a dog. Then he sat down on an empty barrel about five feet from me, staring at me all the time. I told him he better get outta here or I'd beat the crap outta him. That made him laugh, just like a hyena. "You Ahrouns'll pop anybody that even looks at ya cross-eyed, won'tcha?" Then he crossed his eyes.
I knew he was only doing it to piss me off, but I couldn't help myself. Without even thinking, I shifted into Crinos, ready to rip his damn eyeballs from outta his head. He didn't freak like Coach did. If anything, he laughed some more. Even as nuts as I was going, I saw him change too, until he looked like a cross between those werewolves from "American Werewolf in Paris" and a big old mutt. He had floppy ears and a tongue that hung outta one side of his mouth. Even now, I have a hard time taking him seriously on account of those damn ears! He looks all playful even when he's deadly serious.
I tackled him like a big, furry practice dummy. We rolled around on the ground for a time, clawing, biting, punching, you name it. It was a real knockdown-dragout. Somehow, he managed to get my throat between his jaws. He bit down. Hard. It cut off my breathing and I passed out, thinking I was dying. When I came to, I was wrapped in a smelly old blanket with half a dozen faces all staring at me. And I was indoors too, some abandoned warehouse.
"Welcome to the Bone Gnawers, kiddo. That was your test. You passed. You're in. The name's Muttley. Yeah, like the cartoon dog. This here's Chico, Greaseball, Dingo, Scraps and Junkyard. They're my pack. Yours too. Get used to it kid, this ain't Oz and ya can't go home. You're a real scrapper, gave me a run for my money. Almost had me for a minute, too! Think we'll hafta call you 'Blitz.' Whaddya think?"
I've been running with the Southside Johnnys for five years now. I've seen stuff that'd blow your mind. Everybody's got their own gig in the pack, I'm the one who gets all Medieval on the bad guys. Alot like playing football, but I'm not making 7 figures. This Gaia thing, with the werewolves and all, is a pretty cool gig, but I'd give it all up in a heartbeat to be the starting Corner for the Raiders.
Now, if you'll 'scuse me, my Boys are whuppin' up on the
Denver Broncos. Gonerz!