When we last left our heroes in green, they'd stood by in blissful angst as the Sonora team basketball bus they'd planned on egging whooshed by them on 120. Nary an egg was thrown. These Wildcats were leaving town forever with a hardwood victory under their belts and a possible VOL title and somehow without egged up windows?!

Failure.

The group of 10-12 that gathered near Comconex Road jumped into their various rides and headed home on this cold Wednesday night.

But one boy stood bravely – and demanded satisfaction from his crew of 5.

Tony Coit could see in the eyes of his cohorts that they'd given up – that the end of a nearly 3-year prank war between the Buffaloes and Wildcats would flop in an unceremonious fashion. So, he did what leaders do – lifting us up with a high note so ridiculous and futile we'd have no choice but to rise to the occasion.

There is a scene in the movie Young Guns in which Billy the Kid cites a fable to rally his men for one last hoorah…

(I'll paraphrase this Manteca style for Tony)

"Remember when Joe Seamas told us the story about the great MHS vs EU homecoming parade pumpkin incident of '79? A game of 'huck-n-chuck'?! Several Buffaloes were told to stop and headed to Larry's Pizza for a slice instead. Others felt guilty about what they had planned and prayed while returning the stolen pumpkins to Perry's yard . . . but a few brave Buffs said, “’We shall finish the game'...and tonight, we shall finish ours!"

We piled into my 1983 Mercury Cougar named Freddy and Tony said "We're heading to Escalon; they'll never suspect us there..."

Words that would haunt this herd of 5…

As we passed the school bus near St. Patrick's church, Tony and I both did the sign of the cross – being good Catholic boys. The other 3 and their loose religious affiliations did not partake. It was the kiss of death.

There is a slow bend in the center of 120 as it meanders through Escalon, before heading back up to Dunleavy Field. The perfect spot for cover – much like Dealey Plaza in Dallas on that terrible day in '63, we knew the bus would come to a crawl. The crew of 5 parked a block away and got to our stations.

I jumped to the other side of the street – “this way we get both sides of the bus" I proclaimed.

But nobody followed me. Unbeknownst to me, mistakes were being made by all parties. Our eggs in tow we could see the bus coming…

Steady. Steady. Blam! Whap! Kretch!

The bus was 'yolked up' from both sides, a cacophony of splatters!

(Once again, I'm sure The Bulletin would appreciate me taking the time to run a disclaimer. Stating how dangerous and reckless our actions were. You know, much in the way Disney+ just did upon their releasing of The Muppet Show '77-'81. Because nothing says Accountability like "this may be offensive" flashing across the screen, before an episode in which Dom DeLuise does a cha-cha in a coconut brazier.

ATTN Disney: No kids seeing the Muppet Show now available are clicking to watch Tony Randall or Jean Stapleton talk to a frog. And if they are, an adult is guiding their hand for nostalgic purposes and is fully capable of leaning in for a teachable moment without your phony ham-handed "this may contain offensive material" sign. Gross.)

Yet, I digress.

The sound of crunching shells that still hung in the air was instantaneously replaced with the sound of screeching tires. But not that of the school bus.

Those of two high school van/Suburbans acting as Sonora Secret Service. The doors opened and several faculty members sprang into action — "Stop boys! Get over here!"

They scattered. I was still on the other side of the road shrouded by bushes, guile, and guts. Nobody noticed me. I slinked into the night in full earshot of my friends being herded up.

I had the keys to the car! They had nowhere to go and were gathered up without much fanfare. Gathered by Sonora faculty and Escalon Police Department alike.

It was strange how quickly the Escalon PD appeared. As if they knew. As if the Sonora Secret Service had seen us coming and phoned ahead.

But how? This was 1991. Cell phones were 6-7 years from becoming the norm.

Years later Sonora High stalwart athlete and friend Kirk Clifton confided to us — "You and Tony still don't know? We (varsity basketball team) were riding in the school vans and saw it all happen. The bus had an old fashioned Motorola carry bag phone. We called EPD when you passed us near that church on the highway. We'd been egging each other for 3 years. You didn't think we were ready?!"

How dare you Clifton?! We'd always played by the VOL rules of egg engagement.

No Fuzz Involved!

Our trap had been foiled. I've imagined Kirk's window slowly rolling down, like a giant head peering down from the book depository that evening – back and to the left.

Nice shot, Wildcat.

I could see that 3 of the crew were "in custody" from my side street view - but no Tony. Let's be honest, all bets are off at this point – getting home was all that mattered.

Bobbing around darkened streets the universe then enacted a justice I couldn't have seen coming.

A curb. My ankle. A loud crack.

It was bad. I knew I'd done serious damage. Compounded by the fact I was in a wrist cast from an injury just a month before, this mission had gone FUBAR.

Nestled in a spot where I could see both my car and 100 feet from it my friends being harangued, the question of "Where is Tony?" loomed.

Then the pack of 3, Sonora faculty, and Escalon PD motioned towards my car. The jig was up. One of the 3 had rolled over on the hidden getaway car. This has always been a serious point of consternation within the group.

Who couldn't hold their water? Who gave up the one escape hatch for Tony and me?

We know it was you, John. Just admit it.

Adrenaline was the only thing keeping my ankle issue at bay, and with "Freddy" Cougar's whereabouts being undermined, hobbling to pay phone seemed a last resort.

Then the night turned truly magical. As an officer reached into my glove box to ID the car, he shouted "get out of the car with your hands up!"

It was Tony! He had been laying tucked into the back seats, covered by a blanket and mish mash of MHS hoodies.

He didn't hesitate upon exit — "Which one of you *insert expletive* ratted?!"

An exchange of bickering Buffs ensued and was quickly stifled by the boys in blue.

"Which one of you is the driver?"

Somehow, they managed to clam up, no doubt a result of Tony laying the stink eye upon the crew.

Little did it matter. The registration told the story. They were gathered into the backs of cars and ushered away.

But not before a declaration was made by EPD.

"Let's just keep an eye on the car from a distance. He'll be back for it."

Standing alongside Emil's Liquor, the caravan of my friends passed by but I had blended in with a couple miscreants. The officers didn't give a second look to the young mulleted boy wearing a poncho in a quasi-hobo gathering…

But Tony did. From the back of his police car, we locked eyes for a second that seemed like an eternity.

He nodded and with his eyes delivered his final order…

"Finish the Game."

Next week we shall.

Pt. IV of Eggs and Idiots to come.

"It's not Where 'ya do, It's What 'ya do"