Make Football Straight Again Leo Chenal
Thank you to the incredible Coach @badguyswin for giving me the opportunity to spin off his series.
The MFSA series starts here - part two here - part three here - part four here - part five here - part six here - part seven here - part eight here - part nine here - part ten here - part eleven here - part twelve here
The red wave had rapidly decimated the National Football League. Team after team had fallen to the Make Football Great Again movement, replacing their empathy for pure, brutal masculinity. The media had already cracked open too: the radio silence had begun shifting into dissent, but before long almost all the opinions had switched to unanimous praise. And now, leading up to the Super Bowl, the red shirts were planning to swallow the League all together.
But on the sidelines, quieter work had been underway. Tremendous changes had been happening at the local level, escaping the view of the tumultuous national news. Because of this, these smaller projects were able to grow unmonitored and unchallenged. Pioneers carefully chosen by the leaders of the MFGA movement–Josh Allen, Kirk Cousins, and Harrison Butker–were quickly painting over the rest of America, their red brushes smothering out any of the common peoples’ opposition.
One of these pioneers was Leo Chenal, a linebacker for the Commanders and former teammate of Harrison. When Leo had first received the package at the Washington facility, he was surprised to find a folded red shirt with a letter attached. Leo had pulled the fabric over his head without a second thought, not even reading the shirt’s statement or the letter and placing his blind trust in his friend. But before Leo could even orient himself to a mirror, evolution struck.
Within moments, his frame ballooned outwards, piling on pound after pound of excess muscle. His frame expanded upwards and outwards with extra mass, expanding him into a monster. His height increased, his pecs and shoulders swelled dramatically, his neck thickened. Everything that could become manlier did so. Even his feet, which were already quite large, widened out even further so that every step demanded complete attention.
Leo did not process any of these changes however, for his mind became focused on one thing: dominance. Dominance over women, solidifying their place as cheerleaders and homemakers that pleasured his massive, engorged cock. Dominance over the faggots, nailing them to the ground to grovel at his gigantic, superior feet. And most importantly, dominance over rhetoric, ensuring that traditional, conservative values and straight, white, alpha men like himself would always be at the top of the hierarchy.
This last statement, which Leo had already identified as the most crucial, was also what Harrison outlined in the attached letter. He called for Leo to begin working on the ground, helping grow the ranks “from the bottom up.”
“Football is a man’s sport. It’s straight and it’s brutal,” Harrison had written. “It’s about brotherhood. Real men supporting real men. The rainbow crap and the woke agenda were softening the game, turning alphas into betas. We’re solving the problem at the top, but we need you working from the bottom. These betas weren’t born betas, they were raised betas. If we find the root of our problem, then we can Make Football Straight Forever.”
Now, Leo found himself walking the tarmac of the Grantsburg Municipal Airport. His private jet stood out against the backdrop of rural Wisconsin. Leo was able to progress towards his rental truck without any interruption, for no press had been officially notified in advance of his arrival. The early morning sun at his back made his red tanktop glow, its statement pulsing off his massive upper shelf. Leo held a trusty water bottle in one of his hands. The other carried a duffel bag filled with enough fabric to corrupt his entire hometown.
Leo arrived at his old high school in minutes. The brick exterior looked the same as when he attended less than a decade ago, but within moments he noticed a blotch on the perfect painting. Beside the American flag flew another, one whose rainbow colors made Leo sick. Dropping the duffel momentarily, Leo grabbed the ropes and furiously forced the flag down. Once it was lowered enough, Leo ripped the fabric from the pole and shredded it in his hands. The pitiful colors stood no chance to his passionate masculinity.
“Hey!” A voice from behind him called. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Leo turned as a man a few years older than him rushed forward. Average height, tucked in shirt with a striped tie, nerdy glasses. The man reeked of inferiority and natural submission, so Leo was surprised when he ripped the trashed flag from his fists.
“Our GSA fought hard to get that flag up!” Daniel Holland was a history teacher for the high school, and the Gay-Straight Alliance was one of the extracurriculars he hosted. “My students spent months campaigning for the district to allow it. Do you even realize that what you just did is a hate crime?”
Leo continued along stoically as each of these insults was fired at him, unphased by the beta as he made his way to the football field. Daniel followed behind closely, continuing to hurl his remarks with decreasing intensity, gradually taking in the alpha male before him. The man Daniel was confronting appeared a few years younger than him and yet was taller, more muscular, and more confident than he would ever be.
Eventually, Leo stopped and dropped what he was carrying, taking in the field around him. He could feel the memories of many home games returning to him, the crowds cheering for Wisconsin’s Offensive and Defensive Player of the Year. Daniel had by now gone silent, watching as the giant bent over to open the duffel bag. The zipper pulled back to reveal glimmering fabrics of all shapes and sizes. Leo’s mitt dove in and pulled out a white piece.
“Who are you even, anyway?” Daniel asked.
Leo ignored answering and instead fired the question back. Daniel replied swiftly.
“A history teacher? Well, then you’re certainly a bad one,” Leo remarked. “You should know better than anyone that history is written by the winners. And who have the winners always been? Men. Men like me. Straight, white, alpha males who take what they deserve.”
Daniel scoffed, although he was surprised by the slightly intelligent remark.
“Aren’t you tired of being the weak link? Aren’t you tired of being pushed around in this meaningless job? Aren’t you just a wimp who forces others–your students–to ingest this beta agenda because you can’t suck another guy’s cock?”
Daniel blushed red. Leo had immediately understood the faggot’s true nature after first laying eyes on him.
“So what?” Daniel finally spat back, obviously losing. He shot a finger at Leo’s chest, its size dwarfed by the wall of flesh. “You’re just going to come in here and force your bigotry on us?”
Leo tossed the white shirt at Daniel, who instinctively caught it. A burst of energy ignited from Daniel’s fingertips as Leo zipped the duffel back up and grabbed his things. “Yes.”
Before Daniel could reply, his arms began to move on their own, unfolding the white shirt and lifting it up over his head. As soon as the fabric touched Daniel’s body, it absorbed his teaching outfit, making way for the transformation.
The white shirt set off an outbreak across Daniel’s skin, causing his mass to burst outwards. The skinny frame shot up to a solid 6’1, still placing him below Leo but making him an admirable height. Every ligament of his body bulged forward: biceps, triceps, and delts. Glutes, quads, and calves. Muscle carved out his upper frame as a small layer of fat piled on, creating a body built by a history of exercise but matured with age. Daniel was becoming an ex-player: a native of the field now able to pass down wisdom.
Every inch of Daniel’s body that could become more masculine was made so. Hair spread across his frame like wildfire, coating the tanned skin. His Adam’s apple pried forward to create a commanding baritone. His jaw forced its way outward to host a prominent chin hidden behind the five-o’clock shadow. Daniel’s slacks drew upwards into a trusty pair of shorts that could hold his expanding pouch while his loafers extended outwards into a well-loved pair of sneakers that could hold his lengthening feet.
A whistle planted itself on top of his growing muscle gut, attached to strings that led one’s eyes up to the new cocky smirk. It would become forever etched into Daniel’s face, thanks to his blossoming conservative beliefs. Gone were the days campaigning for the rights of others, sticking up for the weaker students and himself. Now Daniel was the top dog, the man in charge, and he was coming to realize that that was how all men were meant to be.
Men were meant to be strong and dominant. Men were meant to be straight alphas. The woke agenda, pushed by feminists and libtards alike, threatened the harmonious existence that had existed for thousands of years. The existence granted by God himself. And Daniel was not going to let any queer, blue-haired, crying liberal take away his rights! Not only was he going to live red, but as a teacher, it was his duty to have his students live it too.
Once everything was squared away, the man finally recognized Leo for the idol he was.
“Leo? Leo Chenal? On my field!?”
Leo grinned, appreciating the way the familiar letters curved against the man’s chest. As one alpha appreciates another alpha.
“Dan Hoffmann. Gym teacher and coach for the varsity team.” The coach extended a meaty hand to Leo, which he accepted. “I was on the team myself a few years before you came along. Can’t say I made quite the impression, or stayed in shape.”
The coach threw back a hearty laugh. Leo remained quiet, watching along.
“So, let’s get to the point,” Coach Hoffmann eventually started again. “What can I do to help spread the movement and Make Football Straight Again?”
Thanks to his new convert, Leo was easily able to infiltrate the high school. The pair first returned to the parking lot, where Leo offloaded a few more duffel bags onto the coach. Coach Hoffmann took a glance inside the truck bed, discovering a dozen or so more bags. Once prepped, the coach led Leo into the high school, where teachers and students alike had begun to mill about, preparing for the school day.
At first, no one recognized the football legend or the statement he proudly wore on his shirt, but after a few minutes, the high school staff and students began to exchange nervous whispers and glances. Eventually, some approached Leo, ready to confront the message and his presence. Coach Hoffmann was prepared for each of these distractions however, thrusting a shirt forward before any stranger could open their mouth. Each person found themselves immediately silenced, suddenly finding their only purpose to wear the shirt and obey its command.
Before they entered the administrative office, Coach Hoffmann stopped Leo.
“I gotta warn you, bro,” the coach said. “This secretary has also been a whiny skank.”
Leo pushed open the door, revealing the forewarned secretary at her desk, diligently typing away. She was not much to look at with her short hair, barely B-cups, and simple white blouse. Peering up, her eyes filled with professional disgust.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her tone grating.
“I don’t need an appointment,” Leo responded. “I’m here to see the principal.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the secretary parroted back. “You can’t see the principal if you don’t have an appointment.”
Bored with this conversation already, Leo reached into a duffel bag and revealed a ball of pink fabric, throwing it right at the secretary’s face.
“Hey!-” the secretary started, but after a moment her eyes wandered away dreamily. Without waiting any longer, Leo made his way towards the principal’s office.
“I’m gonna wait out here, bro!” Coach Hoffmann eagerly volunteered, staying back. “I’ll make sure there aren’t any interruptions.”
Without knocking, Leo marched into the principal’s office, his massive body filling the doorframe. Sitting behind the desk was a middle-aged man of little distinction. His office was lackluster, painted gray with the typical decorations. At first glance, Leo discerned that the principal was roughly six feet tall. The man had certainly not embraced any kind of exercise in years, perhaps decades, properly filling out his seat behind the desk.
“Excuse me?” Ronald Harris could not recall the last time someone had stormed into his office, let alone anyone’s. Slowly, the principal began to recognize who was before him. “Oh, Mr. Chenal! I had no idea you would be stopping by. Typically you’d have to make an appointment but given the circumstances, I’m happy to give you a few minutes of my time. What can I do for a Grantsburg celebrity?”
Leo took a seat, his muscular glory causing the chair to creak as he sat down. “I’m here to set things straight,” he started. “I’ve been assigned to bring things back to the way they are supposed to be. Straight, strong, and unapologetic. I’m here to reestablish tradition, one that can be carried for generations after.”
The principal could not tell if it was the speech, Leo’s booming voice, or the hulking figure that gave him goosebumps. As a moderate himself, he did not really appreciate some of Leo’s points, but he knew better than to start an argument.
“So, what exactly are you asking from me?” Ronald curiously asked.
“You’re going to help me Make Football Straight Again,” Leo commanded. It was not an ask, but a direct order. “We’ll start first with the high school, then advance to the district. After that regional Wisconsin, and before long we’ll have the state league backing us.”
“This all seems quite grand, especially for a uh-” the principal paused, now finally reading Leo’s shirt. “Pardon my language, but a controversial cult-like initiation.”
Leo turned to the duffel he had brought in, unzipping it and removing a folded shirt. He slid it across the desk without a word, watching Ronald eyes latch onto the mysterious fabric like magnets.
“Why don’t you try it on and see for yourself?” Leo asserted.
At first, it appeared as if Ronald was going to reject the offer. After staring at the glowing red for almost a minute, the principal finally ascended and grabbed the shirt. He then made his way around the desk to Leo’s side with the intent of returning the shirt, but he could not find the will to do so. There was something so hypnotizing about the fabric, the way its texture not only caressed Ronald’s fingertips, but his brain too. It murmured promises of glory and unadulterated masculine splendor.
Leo watched on silently as the principal dazedly undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, the cheap garments falling to his feet. With his flabby body on full display, the principal undid his belt and lowered his slacks slightly before disappearing underneath the glorious red fabric. Once it was properly fit onto his frame, he tucked the garment in with the utmost respect, the belt buckle resecured like a lock that would never come undone.
Two inches were added to the principal’s body instantaneously, igniting the true magic. The mass around Ronald’s stomach immediately shifted, the fat in his gut sucked up into his pectorals and deltoids. His upper shelf grew out even wider as the biceps and triceps expanded into footballs of their own, leading down to weathered mitts holding decades of experience tossing the old pigskin. The principal’s stomach, once fat and neglected, was now as tightly bound as a minister was to his scripture: his core had become impenetrable.
The rest of Ronald’s body grew out accordingly to match the proportions. Thighs thick enough to crush skulls, calves sculpted to chase after delinquents. His vocal chords stretched, causing every word to hold authority, no matter how insignificant. His face was squared off, allowing for a clefted chin and more prominent brow. The wrinkles displayed his age as something to be intimated by, not ignored. His hair was the finishing touch of refinement, shaping itself into the tight cut the principal had held since his military days.
Both Ronald’s brain and balls began a massive descent, churning with new potential. The submission the principal had had for the school board, the obligations he had once felt towards supporting his community, were drained away. He now felt an urgency to support traditional values. The urge to usher in alpha male ideals. The need to silence the women and queers who fought back against what was good and great. Ronald had the jurisdiction to live how he wanted to live, and to ensure all of his students and subordinates did so also.
Following the principal, the office took on a transformation of its own. The titles in the bookshelves switched from academic bores to proper reads. To Be a Man and Manhood: The Masculine Virtues America Needs were the first two examples to pop out, but soon the racks were filled with written proposals of tradition and conservative order. The bottom shelf was converted into a storage for Bibles, all ready to be handed out to unruly students.
The sparse decorations on the walls magically shifted, boasting new pictures and promoting different events. There were countless photos of the football team and posters sporting masculine and athletic verbiage. Trophies decorated the desks, and a new American flag propped itself up in the corner. Even the walls were upgraded, three of which took on a fresh new coat as the fourth was painted a proud, aggressive red. As the cherry on top, the fourth wall was blessed with a huge graphic rejoicing the school’s new priority. The same priority the principal now wore with pride on his chest.
“Leo, my boy!” Roy Hayes exclaimed, his booming voice shaking the walls around him. “On behalf of the whole school, might I say that we are honored to have a man of your presence here. The pathetic woke agenda has spent too long brainwashing our children and raising them into soyboy betas!”
The principal continued: “These boys want to dress up like women to feel special. Biden and his lackeys had us teaching that deep down, boys should want to be soft and submissive. What kind of education is that? These boys are supposed to grow up into real men, alphas like us. And alphas are breeders, large and in charge. Make Football Straight Again is the start, but I say we need to Make Education Straight Again!”
Rou’s passionate monologue came to a spectacular finish, and the principal returned to his seat.
Leo smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“So I’ll ask again,” Principal Hayes said, shifting slightly in his seat. His giant manhood was at full mast beneath the desk. “What exactly are you asking from me?”
From the duffel beside him, Leo pulled out a small stack of papers, outlining numerous policy reforms and edited doctrines.
“Signatures, to start,” Leo grinned. “Leave everything else to me. I’ll have this whole town painted red by the end of tonight’s home game.”
After some time, Leo finally exited the office. The paperwork was filed away, and Principal Hayes had already scheduled a staff meeting over the school’s lunch break. Three duffel bags were to be delivered to the auditorium, where the discussion would be held. On his way out of the administrative office, Leo found the secretary who bent forward over her desk with Coach Hoffmann behind her. His heavy cock, veined and throbbing from the sheer dominance of the moment, was driving in and out of the secretary’s wet entrance. She now wore the pink shirt Leo had thrown her, the words “Sissy For Football Alphas” bouncing along with her hearty C-cups and long blonde hair.
The rest of the school day progressed according to plan. Leo would walk into a classroom, empty a duffel, watch the progression, and leave satisfied. What had started as a Spanish class degraded into a discussion lauding ICE and the importance of deportation. An English literature session ended with the students and the teacher tossing historical fiction in the trash to make way for “superior American titles.” The choir practice was one of Leo’s favorite moments; watching all the tenors slowly drop into bass territory, their lyrics changing from some corny tune about inclusion to a recent Morgan Wallen hit.
The school itself also adapted with each passing hour. A poster advertising the theatre department’s sponsored school trip to a Shakespearean play shifted to an in-house event hosting Turning Point USA. The calendar that once documented minority holidays had been corrected to showcase every local sporting event. And beside this calendar appeared a lamented schedule of all the churches in town and their services.
Before long, school was out, releasing a new population supporting the Make Football Straight Again movement. There was only one step left to Leo’s plan: the home game that night.
“Boys!” Coach Hoffmann called out to the rowdy group of players. The locker room already held a cloud of unmitigated manly musk, and the game had not yet even begun. “I’d like to introduce you all to a very special friend of mine. You may recognize him from his framed pictures lining our high school walls, or as the linebacker for the Washington Commanders. Please help me welcome the pillar of unapologetic masculinity: Leo Chenal!”
The locker room erupted into boisterous whoops and hollers, some even staring in awe as Leo’s gargantuan mass rounded the corner.
“Football is meant for straight alphas,” Leo got right to the point, watching as Coach Hoffmann quietly made his way around the room with a duffel in hand. As the players kept their eyes on Leo, the coach softly placed a shirt on top of each of their laps. Leo watched as one by one their eyes glazed over.
“Tonight, you are going to dominate,” Leo continued. The players listened intently, unaware of their own bodies stripping away their shirts to adorn the new red fabric. “Tonight, we take football back from the woke agenda. This school will never again have soft rules. This school will never again promote any beta rainbow pride. Tonight, we show football for what it really is: a straight man’s game!”
The locker room burst into rallying shouts once more, but this time, they were deeper and more primal. Before Leo’s very eyes, the high school team was evolving into men. Rippling abs, pulsing veins, muscles built by testosterone and arrogance alone. By the time the team entered the field, they had become a conglomerate of young alpha males. Their thick, broad bodies radiated an aura of oppression, their dominant swagger a heavy cloud suffocating the field.
The game was anything but intense. The visiting team had arrived prepared for a back-and-forth battle, but after a few minutes it was clear they stood no match. The home team was built for destruction; every player on the field was bigger, stronger, and meaner. Their enhanced bodies, powered by their commitment to the patriarchy and heteronormativity, had the visiting team out of breath and defeated by half-time.
Despite the superficial battle on the field, the crowd was loving the action, in part thanks to the growing sea of red. As the game continued, shirts were freely handed out through the bleachers, some even delivered by cannons from the cheerleaders wearing new MFSA outfits. One could look away for a few moments and return back to a completely new picture. A 30-something stick of a man would be replaced by a buff trainer. A nerdy college student would be sitting at the end of the bleacher, but after a touchdown, there would now sit a rambunctious frat boy. Adults who had sworn off having children would become handsome but strict fathers ready to pass down their morals. The protestors too were blessed by the shirts, evolving them into local leaders and politicians who would further the movement.
In the end, no one was surprised by the landslide victory. The visiting team was demolished, their score less than half of the home team’s. But by then, everyone was celebrating the symbolic win–even the visiting team, who had found a duffel bag in their locker room as a consolation prize, courtesy of Coach Hoffmann. The sea of red cheered for the return of traditional values and the hierarchy of men. They cheered for the rights of straight alphas, and soon, they all began to chant together, their words echoing out through rural Wisconsin.
“Make Football Straight Again!”
The next morning, Leo found himself at the airport again, his final duffel in hand. The rest had been given over to Principal Hayes, with more to be delivered to the school through expedited shipping. Thanks to Leo’s work, the entire school had already shifted over to the MFSA mindset. The school board would naturally follow, and new protocols for the district would come after.
The paperwork Leo had had Principal Hayes sign included new policies supporting the MFSA movement, assuring that kids of all ages would begin to understand and adopt the natural hierarchy. Posters of the Ten Commandments and imagery depicting Josh Allen would be required in every room. The students would declare allegiance to the American and heterosexual flags every morning. There would be required prayer times and domestication classes for the girls. And all students would be required to wear red from here on out, from preschool through graduation. “Make Football Straight Again” would be on everyone’s shirts, everyone’s lips, and constantly in everyone’s minds.
Before he had left, Leo had also dropped off some extra MFSA gear at Coach Hoffmann’s office. He had planned on exchanging it in person, but as he was about to knock, Leo had noticed that the coach was occupied through the locker room window. Coach Hoffman’s back was to him, standing behind his desk with his shorts lowered to the ground. Blocked partially by the coach’s muscular body was a blond slut wistfully sucking away, simply taking pleasure from being on her knees for an alpha male. Although the view was obscured, Leo recognized that the chick on the dirty office floor was not the principal’s secretary.
Leo’s work here was done. Naturally, the movement would spread outwards from this part of rural Wisconsin, and soon Harrison and his crew would be receiving more and more requests for shirts. Leo had solidified himself as an unstoppable force of alpha power. He smirked, knowing that by restoring traditional masculine power to every corner of the country, he was going to Make America Straight Again.
my boy did a great job on this and is helping spread the MFSA message as any real patriot should!
