The Counterfeit Tackle

by Matt Christopher

  “You know,” Mom said, looking directly into Buzz’s eyes, “you might be very sorry about this.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m going to rob a bank or something, Mom.” He went up to her. “Please, I’ve got to do it now. I promised Corky.”

  She looked straight into his eyes. She was a lot taller than he was, and her eyes were dark and shiny. She was quiet a long while, thinking.

  “All right,” she said at last. “I suppose it’s too late to do anything now. I hope for your sake — and Corky’s — that everything goes all right. But if it doesn’t — “She shook her head, and her eyes were hard as she looked at him.

  A big smile splashed across Buzz’s face. “Thanks, Mom!” he said happily. He kissed her on the cheek and rushed out of the door.

  He walked about half a block when a car pulled to the curb across the street and its horn tooted.

  “Hey, Corky! Come on!”

  Buzz saw that it was Mr. Marsh in his green station wagon. His son Goose was with him. His name was Jerry but everybody called him Goose because of his long, skinny neck. Other kids on the Otters football team were in the car, too.

  Buzz felt a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach as he started across the street. Here was another test, he thought. Would Mr. Marsh recognize him? Would Goose or any of the others notice that he wasn’t Corky, but Buzz?

  Every time he met someone new it was a test.

  He climbed into the car and forced a grin. “Hi, Mr. Marsh,” he said. “Hi, gang.”

  “Hello, Corky, old boy!” cried Goose, showing one missing tooth as he smiled. “How come you’re walking? You want to be late again?”

  “I couldn’t help it,” said Buzz. The butterflies were fluttering like mad in his stomach. “Mom — well, she wanted to see me about some things before I left. I can’t take a chance on being late again.”

  “I guess not!’ Tony Krebbs chuckled. “Not unless you want to sit on the bench!”

  The butterflies stopped fluttering. Well, most of them did, anyway. Everyone in the car thought he was Corky. If he fooled them, he should be able to fool all the other members of the team, too.

  They arrived at the football field. Mr. Marsh parked the station wagon in the parking lot and the boys piled out. They walked to the benches that were lined up two or three yards in front of the bleachers, took off their regular shoes and put on their football shoes.

  Coach Hayes walked by with a couple of footballs in his arms.

  “Well, see you made it in time today,” he said to Buzz. A wide grin was on his sun-tanned, ruddy face.

  Buzz smiled. “Yes, sir, I did,” he said.

  He stood up and the coach tossed him a football. “Here. Find someone to play catch with. Then you, Foote and the other linemen better get together and go through a few drills.”

  Buzz caught the football and trotted out with it onto the field. The Marlins, in their green and white uniforms, were at the other end of the field. The Otters were warming up on this end.

  Buzz played catch with Michael Foote and Goose Marsh. Both boys were running around and Buzz had trouble throwing to them. He couldn’t get a grip on the ball and realized that that was one thing that he and Corky had not talked about. He held the ball in his hand loosely and heaved it the best he could. The ball wobbled and rose high into the air but never went more than twelve or fifteen yards.

  He had trouble without his glasses, too. He could see things up close pretty well, but objects in the distance looked fuzzy.

  Boy, he’d be lucky to get through this.

  Soon other members of the team ran out upon the field, including Craig Smith, Jimmy Briggs, Alan Rogers and Frosty Homan. Buzz soon discovered that they were the backfield men.

  “Okay, let’s run through some drills,” snapped Craig.

  The boys quickly hurried into their positions. All except Buzz. He trotted around, pretending he was limbering up his legs. Actually he was just waiting to see where he was supposed to go.

  “Corky, what are you waiting for?” snapped Craig.

  “Who? Me?” said Buzz. “Nothing!”

  He saw an open space between Peter Monino and Gary O’Brien. He hurried to fill it, remembering that Corky had told him that his right tackle position was between Pete and Gary.

  “Okay. Get set! One! Two! Three! Hike!”

  At the word “Hike!” the line charged forward. Every man moved at the same time, except Buzz. He was a fraction of a second late.

  “Corky, you’re dragging! Snap into it!” said Craig.

  They tried it again. Now Buzz was ready. At the word “Hike!” he sprang forward at the same time the others did.

  After a while Craig said, “Okay. That’ll be enough. Pass the footballs around a while.”

  They started running around the field, passing and catching.

  “Corky, take off!” shouted a voice.

  Buzz saw that it was Goose Marsh. He was ready to throw a football. Buzz started to run. Goose heaved the ball. It spiraled through the air in a high arc, not wobbling a bit.

  For a moment the ball looked blurry, then cleared as it got closer. Buzz caught it on the run, stopped, heaved it back. It was a poor throw. I’ll never be able to throw a football, he thought.

  Goose picked it up after it bounced around a bit, then threw Buzz another long pass.

  The ball sailed over Buzz’s head and bounced toward the sideline. There were people standing several feet behind it, waiting for the game to begin.

  The ball rolled across the white line before Buzz could pick it up. As he rose with it he came almost face to face with someone he knew very well. Dougie Byrd, his best friend!

  Buzz grinned. “Hi, Dougie!” he said. “Coming over tonight to play chess?”

  Dougie stared at him. Then Buzz turned away quickly, his face beet red.

  He had forgotten he was supposed to be Corky, not Buzz!

  4

  I THOUGHT you didn’t like chess, Corky!” said Dougie.

  Buzz turned and forced a smile. His neck was burning. “I don’t,” he said. “But Buzz brought some books about chess home yesterday and I read them. Oh — forget it, Dougie!”

  Buzz ran off, trying to put a lot of distance between him and Dougie before Dougie could say anything more to him. Some of the fans started to chuckle behind him. They certainly must have gotten a kick out of listening to that silly conversation about chess.

  A few moments later the whistle shrilled and the football field cleared. Buzz trotted to the Otters’ bench where the entire team was standing, facing Coach Hayes. Buzz felt an arm rest on one shoulder, than an arm rest on the other shoulder. He looked at the guys on either side of him. They were Goose Marsh and Frosty Homan.

  Something warm and good went through him as those arms rested on his shoulders.

  Coach Hayes named off the starting lineup. Corky’s name was included. A whistle shrilled and Buzz saw the three referees standing at the middle of the field.

  “Okay, let’s get out there!” said Coach Hayes. “The old hustle!”

  Both teams ran out onto the field. Quarterback Craig Smith and left halfback Jimmy Briggs headed for the referees, as did two men from the Marlins team. Craig, Buzz had learned, was captain. Jimmy was co-captain.

  The coin was tossed. Craig called it. He must have won. “We’ll receive,” Buzz heard him say.

  The Marlins chose the north goal. A moment later both teams were ready. The referee lifted his hand, blew his whistle, and the Marlins kicked off.

  The kick was shallow. The ball hardly spun as it shot through the air. Jimmy caught it against his stomach and started to run forward with it. Buzz was already running down the field, looking for a man to block. The whole Marlins team was charging forward like an army. All eleven men had their sights on Jimmy.

  Buzz got in front of a Marlin man, lifted his arms to block him. He let out a grunt as the man pushed him aside. He fell to one knee, rose, plunged ahead to block another man.


  The whistle shrilled. Jimmy had been tackled. Buzz’s heart pounded as the Otters gathered into a huddle.

  “Forty-three,” said Craig. “Corky! Pete! Break open that hole!”

  They broke out of the huddle, went into a T formation. The ball was on the twenty-seven-yard line. It was first and ten.

  “Ready! One! Two! Three! Hike!”

  Tony Krebbs centered the ball. Craig caught it, spun halfway around, shoved the ball against Frosty’s stomach. The fullback put both arms around it and plunged through right tackle. Buzz tried to shove his man aside. He felt himself thrust backward instead. He caught a glimpse of Frosty plunging past him, then Frosty being pulled down by the Marlins’ big tackle.

  A yard loss.

  “Corky!” Coach Hayes shouted from the sideline. “Keep your shoulders down! Down!”

  On the next play Buzz kept his shoulders down. He dug his toes into the hard ground, too, remembering what Corky had told him.

  This time Craig threw a screen pass. He was well protected by his linemen as he flipped the short, spiraling pass to Jimmy Briggs. Jimmy caught it and ran toward the left side of the field, dodged a couple of Marlin tacklers, then was knocked out of bounds on the thirty-eight-yard line. A twelve-yard gain!

  “Nice run, Jimmy!” said Craig.

  “Nice pass!” smiled Jimmy.

  In the next play the Otters got the ball across the forty-yard line, the midway mark on the eighty-yard-long field. In three downs they moved it to the Marlins’ eighteen.

  Beads of sweat lay on Buzz’s forehead. He took back everything he had said about the tackle position’s being easy. There was more to it than just crouching there and staring into your opponent’s eyes. Blocking him and driving forward to open up a hole for your ball carrier were acts that took a lot of energy. This was no job for a weak kid.

  Buzz began to realize that he wasn’t as strong as he had thought. It was a good thing that there were ten other men on the team who were in better condition than he was.

  Right halfback Alan Rogers caught a short pass that netted another four yards, putting the Otters on the Marlins’ fourteen. On the next play Craig faked a pass, then handed the ball off to Frosty.

  Frosty fumbled it! He tried to pick it up and accidentally kicked it. Marlin men charged through the line and a mad scramble for the ball followed.

  Someone fell on it. There was a pile-up of green and brown uniforms that looked like a quickly made-up sandwich. The whistle shrilled, and one by one the players unpiled.

  Buzz look anxiously to see who was at the bottom. Whoever it was must be flattened out like a pancake.

  It was Frosty. By a miracle, he wasn’t flattened at all. Under his chin was the football, with his arms wrapped tightly around it.

  It was an eight-yard loss. Buzz glanced around at some of the Otters’ faces around him. They all looked as if they’d eaten green apples.

  Third down. Fourteen yards to go for a first down. The ball was on the Marlins’ twenty-two-yard line.

  Craig passed. It was long and spiraling beautifully! Reaching up his hands near the end zone was Goose Marsh! He caught it, and was tackled almost in the same spot.

  Three yards from the goal line!

  “We want a touchdown! We want a touchdown!” yelled a host of Otter fans from the sideline.

  First and goal to go.

  Frosty took the hand-off from Craig and bucked the line. One-yard gain.

  He tried it again.

  No gain. Third down. Two yards to go.

  In the huddle Buzz looked squarely at Craig. “Have Frosty take it between me and Pete. We’ll open a hole for him big enough for a truck.”

  Craig looked back at him. “Okay, Corky. We’ll try it. We’ve got to get this touchdown!”

  They broke out of the huddle. The teams lined up, facing each other at the line of scrimmage. Craig began barking signals. The ball was snapped. Craig took it, turned, handed off to Frosty. Frosty charged into the line between right guard and right tackle, where Pete Monino and Buzz were digging their toes into the turf, driving back their opponents.

  The hole was there. Maybe it wasn’t big enough for a truck, but it was big enough for Frosty. He went through it and over the goal line.

  A touchdown!

  Frosty kicked for the extra point but missed by inches. The Otters went into the lead, 6 to 0.

  Craig and Goose ran up beside Buzz, smiling happily.

  “Thataway, Corky! You and Pete sure opened up a hole that time!”

  Buzz was panting from all that hard work. It was almost too much of an effort to smile. But he smiled, anyway. It was what Corky would do.

  It was what he wanted to do, too.

  5

  THE Marlins ran the kickoff back to the Otters’ twenty-four-yard line. On the very first play Ollie Colt, the Marlins’ speedy fullback, busted through left tackle for a sixteen-yard gain. Buzz found himself lying flat on his back. He didn’t even know what had hit him.

  With goal to go the Marlins tried a pass. Craig intercepted it! He ran it back to his eleven, where he was tackled hard.

  Two plays later the first quarter ended.

  Substitutions came in for Buzz and a couple of other players.

  “Nice hole you made there for Frosty,” Coach Hayes complimented Buzz. “But what happened to you in that other play, Corky? When Ollie Colt went on that long run. Do you know?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Buzz. “I was trying to bust through to get after him. The next thing I knew somebody knocked me on my tail.”

  “Right. And that was because you weren’t crouched down. You had your shoulders and your head up. I haven’t seen you do that before. At least not this year.”

  “Guess I just forgot,” said Buzz, trying to avoid the coach’s eyes.

  If he slipped up in some way now, and the coach realized he wasn’t Corky but Buzz, he’d certainly be in a fix. Corky would be in a worse fix. He’d be kicked off the team for sure.

  The coach patted Buzz’s knee. “Just remember to keep those shoulders down. You have to keep your head up a little to look the other guy in the eye. But don’t stand up so that he could knock you off balance. You’re no good in there then.”

  Buzz nodded.

  When the referee announced that there were four minutes left before the first half was over, Coach Hayes sent Buzz back into the game. The Otters had the ball on their thirty-two-yard line.

  They lost a yard on a line plunge, but gained it back on a quick pass over center. Craig passed again on the third down. This time they lacked a yard for a first down.

  In the huddle Craig looked at Buzz. Buzz knew what ran through the captain’s mind. Craig was remembering that touchdown they had gotten and that it was Buzz who was mostly responsible.

  A smile flashed across Craig’s face. “Can you and Pete open up another big hole, Corky?”

  Buzz looked at Pete and smiled back. “Sure, if Frosty can hang on to that ball without fumbling it.”

  As soon as he said that, he looked at Frosty Homan. Frosty’s eyes lowered and his face colored.

  That was a wrong thing to say! I knew it! Corky would never have said that! Not to Frosty, one of the most quiet, bashful kids around.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” said Craig, slapping his hands together.

  Buzz and Pete made the hole and Frosty plowed through for a five-yard gain. As they headed back across the line of scrimmage, Buzz looked aside at Frosty. Frosty met his eye briefly, then looked away.

  I can’t let him be mad, thought Buzz. I know that Corky likes him.

  He walked up beside Frosty. “Frosty,” he said softly, “I’m sorry about that crack I made. I didn’t mean it.”

  Frosty shrugged. “Forget it.”

  “You made a nice run just now,” added Buzz. “You can really move, Frosty.”

  Frosty looked up and smiled. “Thanks, Corky. But if you and Pete hadn’t opened up that hole, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. You guys dese
rve credit, too.”

  “Oh, well,” grinned Buzz. “I suppose it’s in the line of duty!”

  With a minute and a half to go before the half ended, Craig tossed a lateral to Jimmy Briggs. Jimmy then heaved a pass to Gary, who was running down toward the right sideline.

  Suddenly a Marlin backfield man bolted out in front of Gary, intercepted the pass, and raced all the way down the sideline for a touchdown!

  They converted for the extra point, made it, and the score was Marlins 7, Otters 6.

  Buzz trotted up alongside Goose Marsh. “They struck like lightning that time, didn’t they?”

  Goose shook his head unhappily. “It takes one bad play,” he said. “Phoot! and you’re behind.”

  Craig ran the kickoff back to the Marlins’ thirty-three. Jimmy gained four yards on an end-around play, then Craig tried a screen pass to Alan Rogers. It was high and wobbly, definitely the worst pass Craig had ever thrown.

  Alan leaped high for it. He caught the ball, but he couldn’t hang on to it. At that moment Buzz, who had learned earlier what to do on a screen-pass play, was standing behind the line of scrimmage. He was blocking his man from trying to get at the passer.

  Then his man broke past him. It was then that he saw Alan, who was only a few feet away from him, leap high for the pass.

  When Alan fumbled the ball it bounced against his knee, struck the defender’s shoulder and landed in Buzz’s hands. Stunned, Buzz could think of nothing but to run with it. He started running along the thirty-yard stripe until the field was clear ahead, then turned sharply toward the Marlins’ goal, and the goal posts that were fuzzy images in the distance.

  “Run, Corky! Run!” a voice shouted. Other voices joined in.

  He crossed the twenty-five, the twenty, the fifteen. To his left he saw the Marlin safety man gaining ground fast. Buzz tried to step up his speed. If he did, it wasn’t enough. He was hit on the nine-yard line and went down. When he crawled to his feet, the referee spotted the ball on the seven.

  Goose, Craig — the whole Otters team — pounded him happily on the back.

  “Nice running, Corky!”