“Sure. Starting Monday.”
The Vulcans played the Cadets on the South Field. The Cadets had a perfect win record so far, having beaten the Vulcans once already, as well as the Saturns and the Astrojets.
Within three minutes after kickoff, the Cadets scored a touchdown on a twenty-two-yard pass, then converted. Before the quarter was over, they scored again, this time failing on the conversion try.
Jim, sitting on the bench near where Chuckie Gorman, Chuckie’s parents, and his own parents were seated in the stands, watched the game with a sick feeling in his heart. There had been times when he wished he hadn’t started to play football because of his fear of being tackled. But now he realized that his desire to play was stronger than ever. It hurt to sit here on the bench and be a spectator. It hurt to know he couldn’t go into today’s game even if he were the Vulcans’ star player.
He was sore. Real sore. Doug at least let him put on a uniform and sit on the bench. But thinking about it, what good was it to sit on the bench in football gear if he couldn’t play?
Still, the desire to play stayed with him. He wanted to prove to Doug and everybody else that he was no longer afraid of being tackled. That if he had a chance of intercepting a pass, he would, even if the entire opposing team came flying at him. The desire kept building up inside him. He became nervous and fidgety.
The Cadets scored again in the second quarter and converted to lead the Vulcans 20–0.
Then Chris Howe uncorked a long pass to Pete Witz. Pete caught it in the left corner pocket and went over for the team’s first touchdown. Jim rose in his seat, whistled, and yelled. He yelled louder than anyone else. Those who sat near him cheered along with him. They didn’t know that this was what he needed — that he was letting out all that built-up steam.
Ronnie Holmes booted the extra point. In the third quarter, Ronnie broke through right tackle for a gain that put the Vulcans on the Cadets’ nine-yard line. On the next play, Ronnie took the handoff from Chris, faked a run to the right, and handed off to right end Pete Witz. Pete bolted around left end for a yard gain.
Chris tried a pass. It was intercepted! The man was downed almost on the spot. The Cadets moved down the field like a steamroller till they crossed the goal line for another touchdown. The try for point was good, and they led 27–7.
Chris scored on a quarterback sneak in the fourth quarter, and Ronnie kicked the extra point. But that was all the Vulcans could do. The Cadets captured their fourth game in a row to take top spot in the league.
“Well, no one can blame you for our losing today,” said Chuckie as Jim walked alongside the wheelchair being pushed by Chuckie’s father. “The Cadets were just on.”
“We have two more games to play, and well win ’em,” said Jim confidently. “You’ll see. And I’m going to be in them. I’m going to be in them every minute I can.”
11
Jim practiced with the squad on Monday. During scrimmage he wished a pass would be thrown to some receiver near him so he could test himself. He wasn’t worried a bit about his burned arm. His mom had put ointment and a clean bandage on it. He felt brand-new again.
He didn’t get a chance to intercept a pass. Doug praised him though on breaking through the line and bringing down the ballcarrier. “Just running last week seems to have done you good, Jim,” he said. “You’ve picked up speed.”
“Know what happened?” broke in Bucky Hayes. “He skidded on a banana peel and got banana oil on his knee joints.”
Doug chuckled. “Pardon me for that peel of laughter,” he punned. “Okay, let’s try a couple more plays. Then run around the field twice and we’ll call it quits.”
Practice proceeded normally on Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday Jim’s wish was answered. Chris Howe, quarterbacking for the offense, faded back a few steps after the snap from center and pulled back his arm. Jim, starting through the line, saw the move and stopped. He looked to his right. No man was waiting for a short pass there, but the left end was running deep. Jim looked to his left. The right end was racing down toward the corner pocket. But another man, Ronnie Holmes, was button-hooking in!
Chris lobbed a pass. Jim sprang. He leaped high and caught the ball. As he came down with it, he saw Ronnie diving at him. He gripped the ball hard, shut his eyes, and braced himself.
And then Ronnie hit him. The blow felt like an explosion. He went down, still gripping the ball, with Ronnie’s arm like a vice around his waist. He lay there a moment, then opened his eyes. Ronnie got off him.
“You lucky stiff,” he muttered.
Jim fixed a smile on his face. He tossed the ball up to Doug and climbed to his feet. He had done it. He had intercepted a pass, was tackled, and still had hung on to the ball. Sure he had gotten scared. Sure he had almost fallen to pieces. But he hadn’t. He had made it.
He was in the lineup Saturday. The Vulcans were playing the Astrojets, who had won two games and lost two. They were steamed up for another win. The Cadets had first place cinched, but second place was still open.
Ronnie Holmes and Tom Willis, the teams’ captains for today’s game, were on the middle of the field. They watched the referee toss the coin. They looked at it on the ground. Then the ref put his hand on Ronnie’s shoulder, indicating that Ronnie had won the toss. The ref said something to Willis, then trotted to the thirty-yard line and spotted the football on end while the two captains ran off the field to their respective teams. A moment later, the Vulcans’ offensive unit ran out to the north side of the field and the Astrojets’ defensive unit ran out to the south side of the field.
The whistle shrilled. The Astrojets kicked off. The ball sailed end over end to the Vulcans’ nineteen. Mike Ritter, the left halfback, took it and galloped for sixteen yards before he was pulled down.
“Let’s win this for Christopher Columbus,” said Bucky, huddled in his poncho against the nippy October air.
Jim frowned. “Why for him?”
“It’s the twelfth,” replied Bucky. “Columbus Day — the day he landed in the New World.”
“Boy! Are you a whiz at history!” said Jim, giving his friend a shove with his elbow.
The Vulcans kept the ball on the ground for their first three plays and gained eight yards. Then Ronnie plowed through center for three, picking up a first down.
On the first play, Chris Howe faked a handoff to Mike, then flipped a lateral to Ken Morris, who was running behind him from his right halfback position. Ken took the pitch and bolted around left end. Ronnie swept in to throw a block on the right linebacker, and Ken raced to the Astrojets’ twenty-four before he was tackled.
The Vulcan fans roared, and Bucky slapped Jim heartily on the back. “Another first down! That was a hot play, man!”
Ronnie bucked, but lost two yards on the play. Mike took a handoff and started a long spurt around right end. The Astrojets’ left line broke through and chased Mike back. He started toward the opposite side of the field, saw two linebackers swooping at him, and started back the other way.
“Oh, no!” yelled Hook Wheeler, standing at Jim’s left side. “Run forward, you nit! Not backward!”
“Please, somebody, tackle him before he goes into our end zone!” wailed Jim.
Mike was hit on the Vulcans’ thirty-five and was brought down on the thirty-four.
“Good thing that Astrojet wasn’t thinking,” said Jim. “He might’ve scared Mike all the way back to the goalposts.”
Third and thirty-two. Now was the time they needed another hot play. Chris took the snap and faded back. His arm came around. The ball left his fingers and whipped through the air in a perfect spiral. It sailed over the head and uplifted arms of an Astrojet safety man and into Ben Trainor’s waiting arms.
Ben pulled the ball to his chest and raced down the field. The safety man gained on him inch by inch, and caught up with him on the six. Chris bucked for three, then Ronnie plunged over for the touchdown.
“Man, are we hot today!” cried Bucky.
“Chris Columbus will be happy,” said Jim with a smile.
Ronnie kicked for the extra point. It was good. Seven to nothing.
The defense went in, and the offense came out. “Hold ’em, Jim!” a familiar cry rose from the right side of the stands. Jim waved. I’m going to try, Chuckie! he said to himself.
Hook Wheeler kicked off. The ball sailed through the air, barely turning. An Astrojet back caught it on the twenty-one and got good blocking as he brought it back up to the thirty-eight. On the first play, Jim bolted after a man who was on the verge of throwing a block on Marv Wallace, who in turn was within two yards of the ballcarrier.
Jim struck the Astrojet from behind. A flag went down. A couple of seconds later, Marv tackled the runner. The man went down on the Vulcans’ thirty-one.
The whistle shrilled. Jim, climbing to his feet, saw two flags on the ground and frowned. The ref and an umpire were discussing something. Then the umpire trotted away, and the ref signaled the clipping motion and pointed at the Vulcans.
“That was you, in case you didn’t know,” Hook Wheeler said to Jim. “Clipping.”
“Me?”
“Who else? Don’t you know you can’t jump on a guy from behind unless he’s carrying the ball?”
The ref stepped off fifteen yards from where the runner was tackled and spotted the ball on the Vulcans’ sixteen. The Astrojets got into a huddle, then broke out of it and went into formation at the line of scrimmage. Tom Willis barked signals.
“Hup one! Hup two!”
The snap. Willis faded back and lobbed a pass over the scrimmage line to the right. Jim saw it coming and sprang for it. It was a wobbly pass. It struck his fingers and bounced to the side. He grappled for it, and in his hurry and fear of losing it, he knocked the ball clumsily to the ground.
Oh, no! he thought despairingly. Oh, no!
He fell to one knee, his head drooping.
12
Second and ten. Astrojets’ ball.
I’ve got to make up for that muff, thought Jim. I’ve got to. The guys must think I dropped the ball because I was scared. I wasn’t scared. The ball wobbled too much.
Willis called signals, then took the snap and faded back. Jim drove hard through the line. He kept his head down, just high enough to see the quarterback’s waist. His padded shoulders thudded against other padded shoulders as he plowed between the center and tackle and barely missed stepping on Marv Wallace, who had fallen to his knees.
And then, barely a yard from Willis, Jim dove. He hit the quarterback solidly and knocked him to the ground.
“Hey!” the quarterback shouted.
Jim, lying on top of Willis, knew instantly that something was wrong. Willis was glaring at him. His arms were outflung on the ground.
Jim rose bewilderedly to his feet and saw the ref standing only a foot away. At his feet was a red flag.
Where was the ball? What had happened, anyway?
Then he saw an Astrojet throw the ball from the sidelines and then, and only then, did he realize what had happened. Willis had thrown a pass.
“Yak,” Jim addressed the right linebacker, “what happened? They get a touchdown?”
“No. The pass was thrown out of bounds. But you fouled. You nailed Willis after he had thrown the pass.”
“What a booboo, man,” said Hook, throwing him an icy glare above the bar of his face mask. “That ball was already out of bounds when you hit Willis. Didn’t you see him throw it?”
Jim, dazed, stared at him. “That’s a stupid question, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have tackled him if I had.”
“I wonder,” said Hook.
The ref counted off fifteen yards and spotted the ball on the one-yard line.
“Why don’t we just give ’em the touchdown and start all over?” Hook grunted disgustedly.
“Don’t be a sour apple all your life,” rapped Bucky Hayes. “Jim’s in the middle of every play. Every time that ball is snapped, he’s either busting through the line to get at the ballcarrier or knocking down a pass. All you do is wait back there for a pass or for some runner who makes it past the linebackers. Maybe that pass would’ve been good and it would’ve gone for a touchdown if Jim hadn’t busted in like he did. Maybe he scared Willis into throwing the pass wild. Have you thought about that? No. All you’re looking for is an excuse every time to knock Jim. What’ve you got against him, anyway?”
“Nothing,” said Hook, his eyes like slits cut in white paper. “Who said I’ve got anything against him?”
“Then cool it,” replied Bucky. “And don’t —”
“Okay, Buck,” interrupted Jim, nudging his arm. “I think you’ve said enough.” And, thanks, he wanted to say Thanks for popping off to Big Mouth.
The teams lined up at the line of scrimmage. The Vulcans formed a tight wall as they faced the Astrojets. Jim and the other linebackers stood close behind them, the safety men a few yards back.
The snap. Helmets clattered and shoulder pads thudded as both lines belted each other. The whistle pierced the air. The struggle halted. The men unpiled.
“They didn’t make it,” someone shouted.
The Vulcan fans roared, grew silent again.
The ref spotted the ball in the same place.
“GOAL! GOAL! GOAL!” screamed the Astrojet fans.
They quieted. The teams lined up. The quarterback barked signals. There was the snap. And again the pileup.
“We held ’em!” cried Bucky.
The Astrojets had gained a foot. Only two feet to go. Third and goal.
The lineup. The snap. Willis faded back two steps and passed. Ben Trainor leaped in front of the intended receiver. And batted down the ball!
“Way to go, Ben!” yelled Jim, thumping him on the back.
Fourth and goal.
“Hold ’em, men! Hold ’em!”
The snap. Willis bucked on a sneak. Jim plowed forward to stop the quarterback from reaching the goal line. All his effort was concentrated on this last drive.
The men unpiled. Willis was on the ground, the ball was under his head, and his head was six inches from the goal line. “He didn’t make it!” the Vulcans yelled enthusiastically. “He didn’t make it!”
They jumped, danced, shouted. It was the Vulcans’ ball now. On their six-inch line! The defense ran off the field; the offense ran on.
“We stopped ’em for you guys!” cried Bucky. “Move it up!”
Ronnie Holmes plowed through for three yards, Ken Morris for two, then Chris snapped a pass to Ben Trainor. Ben caught it and was down on the fourteen. A first down!
They moved the ball to the twenty-eight when the horn signaled the end of the quarter.
Jim sat on the bench, his helmet in his hands. He felt good, but not too good. He still hadn’t made up for that lousy mistake. The guys might still think he was scared of being tackled. Except Bucky, maybe. But Bucky was a pal.
13
The Vulcans reached the Astrojets’ eighteen, then lost the ball on a fumble.
Willis clicked with a thirty-two-yard pass to his right end, but an Astrojet guard was offside, so the ball was taken back. The half ended with the Vulcans leading 7–0.
Within a minute from the start of the second half, the Astrojet quarterback pulled a sneak and took off on a run that netted him forty-four yards. Two plays later, he threw a touchdown pass. A try for the point was good, and the score was tied at 7–7.
In the fourth quarter, Ronnie Holmes broke through right tackle for a twenty-one-yard run. He rammed through the same spot for another six-yard gain. Then Chris Howe tossed a pass to Ben Trainor in the corner pocket. Ben caught it and galloped down an open field to a touchdown. Ronnie booted for the extra point. It was good, and the game ended with the Vulcans on the fat end, 14–7.
“Bucky,” said Jim as they were walking home, “thanks for telling Hook off. But maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe you’ve made an enemy.”
“No loss,” replied Bucky. “He’s just a big blowhard, a
nyway. Let’s just forget it. We’ve got enough to think about with next week’s game with the Saturns coming up. Just think — it’s our last game of the season.”
“And it’s also our last chance to win second place in the league,” Jim replied grimly.
“One! Two! Three!”
Rip Kiley, the Saturns’ quarterback, caught the snap from center and faded back. Jim Nardi started through the narrow gap between center and left tackle. The center fell in front of him, stopping him momentarily. Jim got up and struggled forward. At the same time, Rip lateraled the ball to his left halfback. The halfback started toward his right side of the line, then saw Jim coming and reversed his run.
Jim chased him toward the left side of the line. There he and right linebacker Yak Lee tackled the runner for a two-yard loss.
“Jim, what would you have done if you were that runner?” asked Bucky.
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, you and Yak came at him like a couple of tanks.”
“Oh.” Jim shrugged. He knew what Bucky meant, all right. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Guess I’d do what he did. I’d go down.”
Bucky laughed. “Yeah! Guess you would, wouldn’t you?”
The Saturns’ ball was on their thirty-one. Second and twelve. No score and less than four minutes to go in the first quarter.
The snap from center. Rip Kiley faded back. He tossed a short one over the left side of the line. Jim saw it coming, but the play was too far away. The Saturn end caught it and was smeared almost on the spot by Yak Lee. A gain of four yards.
Third and eight. Another pass. A long one. Jim halted inches away from Rip, turned, and saw the ball spiraling beautifully through the air. A glimmer of hope welled in him as he saw Hook Wheeler coming up under the ball. Catch it, Hook! Catch it!
Hook leaped. He caught it! Or did he? Jim saw a blue-uniformed player behind him, saw him sprint down the field, Hook chasing after him. Hook couldn’t catch up. The Saturn went over for a touchdown. Seconds later they converted. Seven to nothing.
Catch That Pass! Page 4
