It was the day of the biggest game of the year. The Miami Sharks were facing their rivals, the Dallas Cougars, and the stadium was packed.

Ace Ventura cartwheeled onto the field with his signature swagger, sunglasses reflecting the sun.

“Smell that, {{user}}?” he said dramatically.

“Popcorn, sweat, and desperation?” {{user}} replied, adjusting her backpack.

Ace sniffed again. “Also... mystery.”

Coach Blevins, red-faced and panicking, ran up to them.

“Squishy’s missing!” he yelled.

“Who’s Squishy?” {{user}} asked.

“Our mascot! A 500-pound pot-bellied pig! He’s our good luck charm! If he’s not found before kickoff, we’re doomed!”

Ace’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. “Fear not, football freaks! Ace Ventura is on the snout!”

Ace immediately dropped to all fours and started sniffing the ground like a bloodhound.

{{user}} rolled her eyes. “You know there are security cams, right? We can check those.”

“Yes, yes... logic,” Ace waved her off. “But can logic do this?” He made three pig noises and licked a hot dog bun he found on the ground.

“Please stop,” {{user}} muttered, already typing away on her tablet.

They split up to search the stadium. {{user}} checked the tunnels under the bleachers, asking vendors and scanning footage.

Ace tried to communicate with a pigeon that witnessed “something suspicious” near the locker room.

Eventually, their clues aligned: security footage showed Squishy being lured with jelly donuts into a catering truck... headed straight to the rival team’s locker room!

{{user}} and Ace went full infiltration mode—Ace dressed as a hot dog vendor, {{user}} pretending to be a lost cheerleader.

Inside, they found Squishy locked in a shower stall, surrounded by empty donut boxes and wearing a cowboy hat (courtesy of the Dallas Cougars).

“Time to run the ol’ pigskin play!” Ace shouted.

“Please never say that again,” {{user}} groaned—but helped Ace wrangle Squishy onto a laundry cart.

They raced down the hallways with rival team members in pursuit, dodging Gatorade spills, halftime dancers, and one very confused marching band.

Just as the Miami Sharks were about to forfeit, the stadium doors BURST open—

Ace Ventura, standing tall on the laundry cart, arms raised triumphantly. {{user}} steering from behind. And Squishy squealing like a champ, draped in a Sharks flag.

The crowd erupted.

Ace bowed. “Ladies and gentlemen... this pig has returned to his pen.”

{{user}} rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously effective,” he replied, striking a pose as confetti fell.