Team Buddyback Pose presents: 'Stop or My Grandma Will Shoot!'

“I’m gonna kill Casanova English.”

Charli Crawford dropped down hard onto the steel bench, peeling the tape from around her wrists. She had won, but the prize the wheel revealed was anything but a prize.

“Craig Cogan,” she muttered. 

The self-proclaimed People’s Champion, a man - or moron - in a My Little Pony mask who may or may not have been absolutely insane. She has spilled not only her blood, but the blood of countless others on her quest for-

“I got clown blood in my eyes!” She could hear him screaming from somewhere backstage. He had done well in winning his match over the clown, but he was just a bozo and the two they were facing? The Big Time. “What do you mean, ‘How do I know it’s not mine?!’” 

Charli ripped the last piece of tape free.

“Of course it’s not mine! See? It tastes funny!!”

She dropped her head into her hands, shaking it slightly as she muttered once more.

“I’m gonna kill Casanova English.”

Boston, Massachusetts. Home of the American Revolution.

The Brony had asked me to meet him at the corner of Cedar and Blue Hill Avenue. It was a seemingly straight forward request, but little did I know he would be standing in the small medium that separated the main road from the free flow turn lane. He wore a pair of camouflage pants and matching army boots, the Pony mask tucked into his trousers. 

I pulled into the small liquor store across the street, sliding the stick toward the back of the steering column, before watching him exchange words with more than one motorist. Oftentimes this ended in items exchanged at his face and him running after them for as long as his lethargy would allow. After seeing a full-sized soda stagger the man, I considered cranking it back up.

Maybe turning.

Maybe missing a medium.

“CHARLI!”

I stopped, mid-crank. He spotted me, but if I moved fast enough... 

There was a screech of tires and a crash. It didn’t take much to determine he was heading my way. After all, he had both hands waving over his head as he ran across the intersection. Another near miss and I found myself face-to-face with the man himself - the big, bad, bearded Brony - breathing heavily only inches from my window. 

“Heeeeey!” he shouted, loud enough for me to have heard with the window closed. I lowered it slightly and his nose nudged through like a Kilroy doodle. “I’m glad you’re here! Are you ready to start our investigation?”

I followed him into the park as he went through his plan - if that’s what you would call the delusion rantings of a man who was either coked up or crazy - possibly both. He talked about his theory on relativity which had nothing to do with the works of Einstein, but of the deep relationships between various cryptozoology which ultimately landed on a relationship between Spring-Heeled Jack and various Phantom Clowns in the area. 

I won’t bore you with the details. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” I asked, stopping a few steps away from a hot dog stand. Fishing a few dollars from my pocket, I ordered a hot dog with mustard and dumped the change into the small plastic jug labeled ‘TiPS’.

He thought longer than he should before answering, one bushy eyebrow raised, “No?”

“So,” I said, peeling the wrapper away, “You’re saying that you think the best way to take on our opponents is to stake out this park because you heard a tale from over 40 years ago about Phantom clown sightings in this park?”

He nodded with much more surety than someone who was exposed to their own insanity should. I stepped to the side and let a couple approach the stand to order.

“One with ketchup?” The man said and I felt something inside me scream. It was enough I had to hear this man babble about battling cryptoclowns but ketchup on a hot dog?

“Ketchup on a hot dog?” Craig shouted, just as I opened my mouth. He started towards them as there was another scream.

“My purse!!”

I felt my training kick in - eagle eyed and ready I reached back for my badge. They say amputees often feel something called phantom limb and let me tell you and I feel that’s the same for everyone who exits the force. The badge, the gun - all an extension of an arm that-

“Stop that clown!”

Craig turned like a massive mastiff, his limbs moving faster than his brain as he took off towards the sound and directly into a recycle bin. I thought to help him up but he seemed to be well on his way so I turned to the task at hand. Sure enough, there he was - a mime making off with a handbag. 

I hit the pavement, my thighs pounding- for a man with floppy shoes he sure moved fast. He was making his way back through the park and headed towards the highway. I could see a bend in the trail that intercepted and took the turn. 

Cut him off.

Cuff him up.

Plain and simple, right?

I ran him down just as he stepped onto the sidewalk, hitting him square in the spine with my shoulder. He was a foot taller, but that didn’t matter. It never mattered. My knee was in his back and I felt for my restraints. 

“Great work, partner!” Craig breathed, stumbling out of the woods. 

“You should call the cops,” I pulled the mimes arm back and he loudly mimicked a scream. Craig continued to struggle for breath - doubling over - just as a small station wagon pulled up on the curb.

“Get off him,” one of the men said as he squeezed himself free. I turned to Craig and he nodded, puffing out his chest. Two more men squeezed out of the car, followed by four. After a few agonizing moments, a baker's dozen of dunces and dodos stood in our way. I released the purse bandit's wrist and stepped back.

“Hey!” Craig cried out, catching the man as he tried to rise, cranking the arm back with a loud crack. The sound of the screaming caused them to start to circle around us. I turned, taking the six of the Big Bad Brony, who still held right onto the suspect. 

“Looks like this is your lucky day,” one of the more bloated men said. 

“I guess I could say the same,” I said, looking over my shoulder to the bearded man. “You ready, partner?”

“Oh yeah,” Craig yelled, lifting the man into the air before tossing him into the pack. I could feel his shoulder against mine, his muscles flexing as he prepared his fist, “It’s Buddyback time, baby!”

The blast of a high caliber round caused us all to turn, looking over to a bright red car that had pulled up to the curb. A elderly woman holding a pump-action mausberg stood in front of the door, a smoking barrel aimed our way. Without a single thought, everyone but Cogan raised their hands.

“Hahaha! Alright gram gram!”

Looks like it was our lucky day.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.”

I leaned back against the 1967 Cherry Red Plymouth Barracuda, tucking my hands into the bright blue bell bottom pantsuit. Craig had crammed himself into a matching purple suit, though why he chose the same size, I’ll never know. The lights from the cop cars around us play nicely off our aviator frames. Crossing my arms across my chest, I tilted my shades down and nodded to the camera.

“Jokes on Charli. Just when I worked my way up the mountain, fate tosses its proverbial banana peel in my path. Everyone gets a good laugh at my expense because they see the Brony as a burden.”

I shrugged.

“I have to admit, I had my doubts but I also have my belief, because that’s what brought me here. The belief in me.”

Nodding my head, I continued.

“Is that enough? Back against the wall, I’ve shown where I stand, not where I lay. Each challenge a chapter in this campaign, so what did you think I’d do when it came to the carnies? Curl up and walk away? No.”

Shaking my head, I leaned back once more into the car. 

“I’ll take the chance. I’ll learn to leap and I’ll leave those doubts behind because I didn’t climb this far just to fall down,” I saw a movement as Craig jumped to attention, his fists landing on his hips. He puffed his chest out, causing a single button to flip past the startled cameraman.

“But if you fall down, I’m gonna pick you right up because I’m the wind beneath your wings! See, some of you have already forgotten exactly what I do to clowns!” He dropped down into a bicep pose, the seam along the back of his pants ripping as he did, “I pop them like little balloons!”

There was a series of grunts and groans as he moved from one isometric pose to another. I cleared my throat.

“It’s easy to count us out. No experience. No coordination. Possibly crazy. The teamwork and the tactics - I could see where you could think we are lacking but one thing we have that you don’t is potential. You know what works and you’re in your ways but us? We’ll have to innovate.”

I stepped in front of my still posing partner.

“You may have chemistry, but we have the reaction and an element of surprise-“

Out of nowhere, Craig shouted, “Boo!” I shake my head and go on.

“You see us as a joke? Well, let’s see who’s laughing,” on cue Craig’s bellowed out, “You bank on the idea that we’ll be an easy escape for you and those titles. Your coordinating efforts canceling our our clumsy attempts.”

Craig laughed louder and I jab him in the ribs.

“Well, just like the others, it’s time to prove you wrong. When you step into that ring, you won’t find two fools flailing around. You’re gonna see the future in your ending. See we’re not just Cogan and Crawford, nah.” I slipped my glasses back for effect, “We’re teammates.”

Craig took the cue and clasped hands with me.

“Friends.” I turned, just as we rehearsed, his back once more against mine. I could hear him whisper over my shoulder - face away from the camera - his breath in my ear. 

“Romantic partners?”

“Back up,” I commanded and he turned back to the frame. 

“Right, sorry.”

We cross our arms in unison.

“Time to show them what we’re all about.” There is a long pause and finally, Craig remembers his line. Lifting one arm, he screams once again.

“Ohhh yeah, here we go! Team Buddyback pose!!”

The camera man yelled cut and I immediately started off down the street. I could hear Craig turn and start to talk to himself as I shook my head and walked away - this is gonna be a disaster.

“That was awesome, hey let’s get some spaghetti to cele-“

He stopped, finally figuring out I was no longer there. I jammed my fists into my pockets once more, muttering to myself as I made my way back to the truck.

“I’m gonna kill Casanova English.”