The Billygoats, the NFL champions, find themselves skyjacked by silent Luke Hairston, a teammate turned junkie and now waving a Schmeiser submachine gun around in their cabin at 30,000 feet. Mainlining and popping pills, Luke goes kook, has his fellow meat giants putting on boxing matches in the aisle, and visits several indignities upon a white stewardess (smearing her with chocolate cake, among other amusements). Essentially motiveless, Luke's mad act results from feelings of utter worthlessness over his having sold out to some gamblers who are undermining the Billygoats' game (they're on their way to the Super Bowl in New Orleans for the big one). The whole season's training program and games are served up in flashbacks to pad the skyjacking incident. Damned pleasant fluff, the story's told by a Lardnerian lunkhead, Alphabet Jackson, whose prose jams along on submarginal misspellings and a fine unerring ear for black (and white) dialogue, new words (psychosemantic), and lowbrow references to the weirdo music of ""Bartock and Beethoven and a guy named Mailer."" Nothing original, but funny enough (the Billygoats in their gay new fuschia uniforms), for fans of Semi-Tough and North Dallas Forty.