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had their own team of sideline supporters doing the same thing on the other side of the field. It all made the event sort of unreal. Or maybe it was very real, for a hundred years ago!
    We lost the first game by three points. That was kind of a shock. We weren’t worried about it, though. We were playing on their turf with their referees. They had the upper hand. The first game was a learning experience. Back at camp after the game we discussed what we’d learned about our opponents.
    Our sideline support team said their supporters had cursed our side of the fieldbefore the game. That’s what made us lose, they said. Of course, I had no experience with this kind of thing. It sounded a little wild to me.
    The medicine man suggested we ask to change sides of the field. That should make a big difference. He said he and his support team would have to give it all they had. Tomorrow’s two games would go better for sure, he told us. I crossed my fingers.
    Saturday’s first game started at two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was shining and the wind was calm. The two stickball teams began their fight on the field. The two support teams also began their unseen fight.
    Suddenly a wind came up from the east, blowing across the field into the faces of the Mississippi players. Then a competing wind came out of the west. It blew into the faces of the Oklahoma players.
    The two winds collided in the middle of the field. A whirlwind of dust was stirred up and began making circles on the field. The players stopped in their tracks to watchthe strange event. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
    The players of each team backed toward their own side of the field. We all wanted to give whatever it was plenty of room.
    The whirlwind first twisted one way, then the other. It looked like it was fighting with itself. Suddenly it exploded and disappeared. All was silent for a while. Nothing moved. “What just happened?” I wondered.
    We were all pretty shaken up by the ordeal. Charley walked toward the center of the ball field. The other team’s captain did too. They talked quietly for a few minutes. Then Charley came back to us.
    â€œWe’ve decided to send our sideline support teams home,” he said. “Their powers are creating too much chaos. Frankly, I really hadn’t taken it seriously until now.”
    Charley explained the situation to our medicine man. The old man nodded his head. He, the drummer, and the singer packed up their things. The Oklahoma group didthe same. From that point on, we were on our own.
    When the sun went down Saturday evening, the Oklahoma Choctaws had won two games and we’d won one. At least we knew they were beatable. And we knew we had to win both of Sunday’s games.
    That night I was surprised to see the other team’s young player wander into our camp. He made his way over to my tent and introduced himself.
    â€œMy name’s Mitchell Leonard,” he said, shaking my hand. I told him who I was and where I lived. “How old are you?” he asked.
    I answered, “Sixteen. I’ll be in the eleventh grade.”
    â€œYou’re a good player,” he said. “I’m really happy to meet you.” Give me your address. I’ll write you. Next year we want to come to your Choctaw Fair in July.”
    â€œThat’d be great,” I said. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers.
    â€œI’d wish you luck in tomorrow’s games, but I want to win,” Mitchell said. Where had I heard that before?
    â€œSame for me,” I replied. We chatted for a minute or two. Then he put my address in his pocket and left.
    I went to bed very early that night. A big day was coming. I couldn’t let Mitchell’s team win.
    By noon on Sunday, storm clouds began gathering in the area. It looked like a thunderstorm was brewing.
    â€œWhat happens if it rains?” I asked Charley.
    â€œWe’ll be getting very