When a Lion’s Pride is Pushed
by David Strawn
Montresor speaks with a mysterious confidence: “The thousands injuries
of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insults,
I vowed revenge” (1117). The short story “The Cask of Amontillado,” by
Edgar Allan Poe, caused me to reflect on my past and what I had done when
presented with the opportunity of revenge.
In most small Texas towns, football is not just a school function; it is a
part of the town’s DNA. My town was no different. We lived for the Friday
night lights, the roar of the crowd, and the crashing of helmets ringing in our
ears. The Dublin Lions were just another Texas team in a long list of 2A
teams, but they were my pride.
Similar to other schools across the nation, a game with one specific rival
represented a high stakes match, far beyond a mere win or loss. This was
about pride and bragging rights. Tempers were always high, and pranks
would be played and reciprocated by the fans in each town throughout the
year, just to stir up additional animosity between the teams, Likewise,
Fortunato betrays Montresor’s friendship for the last time, so Montresor
devises a sinister plan to exact his revenge for the inflicted pain. After
reading this short story, I realized I could identify with Montresor, because
we each had been wronged in many instances and we had vowed revenge.
It was my first year on the varsity football team, and I was looking to
make a name for myself. We were scheduled to play our biggest rival, the
De Leon Bobcats, at our homecoming game--adding to the intense pressure.
All was quiet until the week before the big game. We arrived at school to
find our campus littered with maroon and white streamers and our “Go
Lions” sign painted the same colors. There was no question who had
committed these vile acts. It was our rivals, trying to strike an ominous blow
to our team’s esprit de corps. Their vandalism could not and would not go
without a swift and direct response: Lions do not back down. Soon we were
on the hunt for a tasty bobcat lunch. As our school began to clean up the
mess of this latest invasion, my teammates and I began discussing how to
exact retribution for these reprehensible acts.
Matt, our star middle linebacker, suggested, “We should break into their
stadium and spray paint our colors all over their press box and locker room.”
It was quickly brought to his attention that this idea, though a strong
statement, would be next to impossible. Their stadium was locked up tighter
than a bank vault, especially since they would be expecting this kind of
response from our school.
“Let’s steal the mascot’s outfit before the game and hold it hostage till
after the game,” piped up one teammate. “I know the guy who takes it
home and we can easily find out where he lives.” Now this would have been
perfect, but none of us really knew anyone who would be able tell us when
he was going to take it home, let alone how we were going to intercept him
before he got to his house.
At the end of the day it was clear that though all the ideas sounded
great, no one really knew how to follow through. Our players were also
afraid of getting caught and getting into trouble for the deed. It just so
happened that in a few days some of my friends and I planned on going
paintballing on land not far from De Leon campus. Could this be a
coincidence or fate? On our way out to the property, we began to see yard
signs of De Leon teammates in the front yard of their families’ houses. All
high school sport players are proud to let everyone know where they live by
sticking the signs in the yard of family members. In “The Cask of
Amontillado,” Fortunato displayed a similar arrogance: “He had a weak point
– this Fortunato—although in other regards he was a man to be respected
and feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship of fine wine” (1118).
This weakness left him an easy target to be drawn in and manipulated by his
so-called friend.
We played our game for hours, having fun without incident or thought
about our close proximity to our rivals’ homes. When we finished shooting at
one another, we still had plenty of paintballs left. Coincidentally, the balls
just so happened to be our school colors: green and yellow. With adrenaline
coursing through our veins, everything became crystal clear. Jacob, the
youngest of the four, was the first to speak.
“How many yard signs did y’all see on our way over here?” he asked with
a sly smirk.
“I don’t know; ‘bout six or seven I guess,” I replied. “Wasn’t really
paying any attention.”
“Why, what you got on your mind, biggin’?” another boy asked.
“Just wondering what those signs would look like with our colors all over
them,” he remarked slyly.
At this point we all came to the same conclusion. We set out to find as
many yard signs as possible to give them a fresh coat of paint. Though the
paintballs were completely washable, it would still make the statement that
we had not forgotten what they did to our campus.
We rushed to the trucks like we had been fired from a gun. We took only
two vehicles, which made our dastardly deed much easier. One could drive
while the other shot the signs. If by chance a student entered the yard, we
would have shot him, too.
As soon as we were all in the trucks we started reloading the paintball
guns, but there was a slight hesitation when we realized that we were about
to do something that all our other classmates only talked about. Montresor
had this same feeling when he was walling up Fortunato, who began to cry
for several minutes. Montresor took pleasure in hearing the cries of his
enemy. When the tears stopped, he paused from his work to relish in his
deeds thus far: “I ceased my labors and sat down upon the bones. When at
last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel and finished without
interruption…” (1122). As soon as the first engine cranked, our trucks
propelled us into action. I turned to look at my friend Jacob will a sadistic
smile on my face.
“Are you fully loaded?” I asked.
With the cocking of his paintball gun, he said “Heck ya, let’s do this!”
“Let me know when you run out and I’ll refill ya,” I remarked.
He slammed his truck in gear, slinging a rooster tail of mud high in the
air. The mud covered our buddy’s truck in mud as we left the property. It did
not take us long to find the first yard sign. We blasted the sign with paint,
laughing with excitement as the thuds of balls hitting the sign rang in our
ears. We continued to race down the back roads of the town, shooting every
sign in sight and kicking up a large cloud of dust so thick that no one would
be able to follow us even if they wanted to.
It was by pure luck that that a high school student was out mowing his
yard. Both trucks slowed down just enough to get a good aim on him. Then
we opened fire on the boy, hitting him and his lawn mower with our neon
green and yellow paint. He screamed at us, using numerous profanities, so
we once again hit the gas. Finally, we ran out of ammo and were forced us
to start back home.
To our surprise, when we hit the paved road again, we had some
unexpected company waiting both in front of and behind us. It was the
police, who had been following us. Suddenly I was seized with panic, my
hands trembling uncontrollably. This was not part of our original plan, and it
was not going to end well for any of us. We complied when the police
instructed us to get out of the vehicles and sit on the sidewalk.
“What do you kids think you were doing?” the first officer said.
Frozen with fear, we remained silent, hanging our heads in shame. The
county commissioner pulled up soon after. He got out of his car and stomped
our way, with a face as red as an apple. We could hear him screaming at the
other officers.
“Are these the hooligans who have been shooting up the back roads of
this town?” he yelled.
“Yes sir,” one officer replied.
As he stormed over, he yelled and screamed more explicit words at us.
He called us everything but white boys. Then he informed us that we were
going to have to pay for every sign we shot and for any damages we might
have done to anything else along the way. Then they called our parents to
come pick us up and that they would be in touch with us soon enough with a
full list of the charges.
The next day Jacob and I started the hard task of cleaning the signs we
shot with hopes of showing our remorse. Jacob’s mom hired a lawyer; Since
we were both minors and tried to clean up our mistake, the judge dropped
the charges against us as long as we stayed out of trouble in his town.
Although I could not drive through the town without getting pulled over by
the cops, I still upheld my end of the agreement. We intended to get away
clean, but we all had to pay for our misdeeds. I sometimes wish I were as
lucky as Montresor when he got away with the murder of his enemy:
“Against the new masonry I re-erect the old ramparts of bones. For the half
of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In peace requiescat!” (1122).
We all did stupid things in our youth that we wished we had avoided.
This is just one of mine. My folks always told me that “it is only a mistake if
you do not learn from your action” and in this case I surely did. After this
incident, I knew I had to keep my Lion’s pride in check.
Works Cited
Poe, Edgar Allan.”The Cask of Amontillado.” Making Literature Matter: An
Anthology for Readers and Writers. Ed. John Schilb and Jon Clifford. 6th
ed. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2015. 1117-22. Print.
About the Author
I was raised in Dublin, Texas. Most of my family still lives in Texas but we still
stay in close contact. My family means the world to me; I would not be in the
situation I am in now without their support and inspiration. I am currently pursuing
a criminal justice degree in hopes of getting into law enforcement.
I wanted to write a short story about one of my life experiences. “The Cask of
Amontillado” was about the lengths at which a man will go to exact his revenge no
matter the cost. It reminded me of my years playing high school football and the
long seeded rivalries many schools often possess.
My style of writing is a bit of a long process: I sit down and write my paper,
then I edit it and have my professor make suggestions, then I got back and make
the proper corrections, and add more to it. Finally, I take it to the writing center to
get more feedback from the knowledgeable people there; after making additional
corrections then I take the paper to a close friend of mine to get even more
feedback from him. Then I proceed to my final edits on the paper. After this long
process feel that all my papers are presentable to turn in for a grade.