Long Arm Quarterback

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1999 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09398-9

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  To

  Craig, Diane,

  Paul, and Karen

  1

  The football flew in a smooth arc with no wobble at all. Candy Wadell sprinted hard, looking over her shoulder for the ball.

  “Look at that ball fly!” Grandpa Tully Wadell sat on his favorite porch chair, its back tilted against the wall. Now he let the chair drop with a thud, leaned forward, and shouted, “Go get it, girl! Reach for it!”

  Candy stretched out and the ball settled on her fingertips. She pulled it in and raced for an imaginary goal line, brown hair flying, fist clenched high. She trotted back, grinning, toward the house. Her brother Casper, who usually answered to Cap, didn't smile back.

  Grandpa Tully applauded. “Heck of a catch, Candy. Cap, I never saw an arm like yours on a boy your age. You can air it out.”

  Candy flipped the ball to her brother. She was fourteen, two years older than Cap. “Let's try a post pattern,” she said. “I give the defender an inside move and go deep.”

  Cap rolled his eyes and groaned.

  Candy ran in front of him, cutting him off. “Cap, c'mon, okay? I feel pumped!”

  Cap shook his head. “Well, I don't. I feel flat. Let's call it a day.”

  Candy put a hand on her brother's arm. “Come on, just one more. It's late fourth quarter, we're down by four, and it's third and ten. It's now or never. Cap?”

  Cap scowled but said nothing. Candy took his silence for agreement.

  “All right!” She clapped her hands. “Set!” She bounced on her toes. Scowling, Cap held the football at his side.

  “Hut one! Hut two!” Candy started fast, stopped short, head-faked right, and took off left.

  Cap fired the ball as hard as he could. It sailed through the sky, yards out of Candy's reach. Not waiting to see where the ball went, he wheeled around and headed for the porch.

  The girl glared at Cap. “Ha ha. What's eating you, anyway?” She trotted off to retrieve the ball.

  Cap clomped up the porch steps, not saying a word. Grandpa frowned.

  “Something bothering you, boy?”

  Cap slumped down next to Tully.

  “Yeah, I feel… it's not fair, that's all.”

  “What?” Grandpa studied Cap's face. “Must be bad, for you to treat your sister bad.”

  Cap looked at him and then down again. “That was dumb, I know. Well, you said it yourself. I have a great arm, I could be a great quarterback, but all I ever get to do is play pickup games or catch with Candy. I'll never be on a real team in a real game, and it isn't fair.”

  He heard Candy's footsteps on the porch steps and looked up. She was mad.

  “Uh, sorry,” he said. “That was a dopey thing to do. Guess I'm in a bad mood.”

  Candy fired the football at him, and Cap barely grabbed at it before it hit him in the chest. “That makes two of us. What's your problem?”

  Grandpa said, “Cap wishes he could play on a real football team.” He stopped and scratched his head, thinking. “Come to think of it, why couldn't you?”

  “Aw, you know, Grandpa.” Cap stood and began pacing back and forth on the porch. “Cowpen is so small—what is it, two hundred and fifty people?”

  “Two hundred and thirty-four,” Candy said. “No, wait, Ms. Klinger had her baby last week. Two hundred and thirty-five.”

  “See?” Cap shook his head. “In our whole school, we have sixteen middle-grade boys. It's not enough for a team.”

  Tully nodded. “Not for an eleven-man team, but you could have a six-man team.”

  Cap laughed. “Six-man football? Six on a team? That's not real football.”

  “Oh, no?” Tully snatched the ball. “Let me tell you, when I was your age, all our schools played six-man football, in a league. And I was our quarterback, and team captain.”

  Cap and Candy exchanged glances. “That's great, Grandpa,” Cap said, “but still, it wasn't… well… real football.”

  Tully Wadell's eyes flashed. “Oh, you mean like with all those big hulks lumbering around like they have today? Ha! Our game was faster! We played offense and defense. Real football. Huh!”

  “Why did they stop?” asked Candy.

  Tully sighed. “Cowpen got too small to even get six on a side. But there're six-man leagues all over Texas, and other states, wherever the population is thin.”

  Cap found that he was getting interested about the possibility. Could it happen here?

  “Grandpa, how would we start it up? You really think there's a chance we could?”

  Tully grinned at his grandson. “Well, we could surely give it a try! I could—”

  “Hey, Cap! What's happening?”

  Cap's best friends, Hoot Coleman and Ben Worthy, rode their bikes into the Wadells' yard. Hoot was a wiry redhead, an inch shorter than the lanky Cap, and Ben was stocky with blond hair cut short. Both wore jerseys of their favorite football teams over faded jeans.

  “Yo, Cap, how about a little ball?” asked Ben. “Hi, Candy, how you doing?”

  Cap waved them over. “Guys, listen to this. How'd you like to start a school football team? Maybe even a league?”

  Ben snickered. “I'd like to go to the moon on a rocket but I won't do that either.”

  Hoot said, “Shoot, Cap, our school's too small. You'd need too many guys, and—”

  “No,” Cap said, “Grandpa's telling us about this six-man football the schools here used to play. Gramps was a quarterback.”

  “That's right,” Tully agreed. “My last year, the Panthers were undefeated. Five and oh.”

  “Really, Mr. Wadell?” Hoot sat on the porch. “How did this game work?”

  “We used an eighty-yard field,” Grandpa said. “Three backs, three linemen, and everybody was an eligible receiver.”

  “Linemen could carry the ball?” asked Ben, who was built to be a lineman. “Cool!”

  Grandpa nodded. “You needed fifteen yards for first down. A field goal was four points. After a touchdown, you got two for kicking a try and one for running or passing it in.”

  Ben looked puzzled. “How come you got two for a kick?”

  Cap took a guess. “I bet there weren't many place-kickers, so kicking field goals and extra points deserved something extra.”

  Grandpa Tully patted Cap on the back. “Right. And I reckon we could put a league together in time for school this fall. If we can figure out how to get some uniforms …”
>
  “Maybe local high schools can give us old ones,” Ben said. “Pads and helmets, too.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Tully, “I'll call Principal Vinson.”

  “Who's going to coach?” asked Candy.

  Grandpa chuckled. “Me! The ex–star quarterback of the Cowpen Panthers!”

  Cap beamed. “Great! I'll be quarterback, Hoot'll run, Ben can be a lineman, and—”

  Tully held up his hands. “Whoa, slow down! Let's go one step at a time, all right?”

  Cap saw that his friends were excited too. “You think this can work?” he asked Tully.

  The man laughed. “I know it! You just wait… this fall, the Cowpen Panthers are back!”

  2

  A whistle sang out and eight Cowpen Panthers turned to their coach. Tully wore faded old sweats, and the boys had on gray practice jerseys and carried helmets.

  Tully called, “Fellas, gather round.”

  Cap was amazed that it had happened so fast. Grandpa had called Principal Vinson, who thought six-man football was a great idea. He had spoken to other principals, and five schools—Sandville, Moosetown, Ausburg, Elmsford, and Bee Town—had organized teams of their own.

  Tully and Mr. Vinson had contacted schools all over Texas and even some in Oklahoma. The schools had sent old uniforms and gear they no longer needed. The local schools had bought footballs and laid out fields that were eighty yards long and forty across.

  In two weeks, the Cowpen Panthers would battle the Sandville 'Cudas in the first game of the season. Each team would play every other team in a five-game schedule.

  Tully looked at the eight players and frowned. “Weren't there nine names on the bulletin board sign-up sheet?”

  “Where's Jimmy Cash?” asked Sam Dracus, the fastest boy there and their probable deep threat. “His name was on the list.”

  “Well, he's late,” said Tully. “Or he changed his mind.”

  Cap shook his head. “You mean this is all we're going to have? Eight guys?”

  His grandfather replied, “All we need is six. Eight is enough, if we work at it.”

  “Well, but…” Cap looked at the little team. “How can we practice plays? We won't have a full offense and defense.”

  Tully shrugged. “We'll work it out. Meanwhile, let's do what we need to do first, which is learn how this game is played. Okay?”

  The players all nodded, including Cap. But he couldn't see how the problem would be solved. Other teams would have a big edge over Cowpen if they could field two squads for practice and the Panthers couldn't.

  Tully smiled. “First, here are some ways this game is different from the one on TV. This is more wide open, there's more room for imaginative plays, and scores may be high. As far as passing goes, it's similar—except everyone can catch a pass.

  “But you can't run the ball until the man who takes the snap makes a clear pass. That means a pass that goes back or sideways, a lateral. After that, you can run the ball. No handoffs, sneaks, or bootlegs, no runs period, until that clear pass. Breaking that rule costs you five yards and loss of down. Don't forget.” Tully looked at the eight boys in front of him. “Now, have we got a placekicker?”

  Hesitantly, Hoot raised his hand. “I can kick, a little. I tried a few times once and I actually put one between the goalposts, in three tries. But I'm not much good at it.”

  Tully grinned. “Work on your kicking fifteen minutes a day. A good kicker is valuable. Remember, in this game a field goal gets you four points. After a touchdown, you get one point when you run or pass, but two points if you kick it. So—”

  “Hey,” said a voice behind Tully “Sorry we're late, Grandpa couldn't start the truck.”

  Tully turned and smiled at the new arrival, a tall boy with a shock of black hair. “You must be Jimmy Cash. Well, you haven't missed much, Jimmy, I've just been going over some rules.”

  “That's all right. I told Jimmy all about the rules last night. I still know 'em.” The speaker was a lanky man with gray hair and a mustache who strolled up smiling.

  Tully smiled too, but Cap didn't think there was pleasure in the smile. “Sable Cash.”

  Sable nodded. “I thought you boys could use a quarterback.”

  “Well, fine, Sable. Actually, my grandson, Cap here, is a quarterback, too. The boy has a rifle arm … like his granddad.”

  Sable chuckled as though he'd heard a good joke. “Yes, I recollect you could throw a fair pass back then … pretty near as good as me.”

  Tully's smile grew thin. “I recall that Cowpen was undefeated our senior year, and Sandville finished second.”

  “Right. I broke my leg and couldn't play the last game against you, or it would've been different. Jimmy here is good. I hope you give him a fair chance—even if he isn't a relative.”

  Tully's face turned red. “Everybody will get a shot. Today's only our first practice.”

  Sable Cash looked unconvinced. “You need help with the coaching? I have some time.” Cap saw Ben and Hoot exchange a look.

  “I don't expect I'll need you, thanks.” Tully's words were polite and his tone soft, but Cap knew Grandpa was steamed. He looked at Jimmy and caught the other boy staring at him. They both dropped their eyes.

  “Hmph,” grunted Sable, shaking his head. “Jimmy, I'll pick you up later and I want a full report of what you all did today. You hear?”

  “Sure.” Jimmy didn't look happy.

  Tully watched Sable walk away and said, “Boys, give me a minute.”

  He walked after Sable, caught his arm, and the two began to speak. Cap couldn't hear them but it didn't look like a friendly chat.

  Hoot nudged Cap's arm. “Hey, Cap, you're going to be our quarterback, aren't you? Your grandpa's the coach, right?”

  “Well…” Cap looked at Jimmy talking to Sam Dracus and Fritz Marconi, who was new in town and whom Cap didn't know. He didn't really know Jimmy either, except to say hi to. Just because there were only a few kids in school didn't mean everybody hung out with everybody else.

  Cap felt confused and not sure what to say. Ever since the idea of six-man football had come up, he had just assumed that he'd be the quarterback. Grandpa was always talking about what a great passer he was, the best he'd ever seen. Now, though … maybe Jimmy Cash was a great passer too. What then?

  “Grandpa will do what's right,” he assured Hoot. He believed it too. He just hoped that “what's right” meant he'd be the starting quarterback.

  3

  Sable Cash drove off, raising a cloud of dust. Tully came slowly back to the team. He looked at each boy in turn, ending up with his eyes on Jimmy.

  “Son, Sable says you can really throw the ball. And I guess he'd know.”

  Jimmy said, “Thank you, Mr. Wadell.”

  “Call me Coach. That goes for all of you. And I want this clear: Each of you will get the chance to show your stuff. No favorites. True, only six can start, but I guarantee you'll all get plenty of playing time. You play offense and defense, so I'll shuttle players in and out to keep you fresh. With two talented passers, we'll find ways to use you both. We might use you at the same time now and then and drive the opposition crazy. Any questions?”

  No one had questions, and so practice began.

  Tully taught them pass patterns: sideline routes where a receiver could turn upfield or step out of bounds to stop the clock, hooks, two-man patterns with one receiver going deep and another cutting over the middle. He showed a swing pass to a running back with linemen pulling to block downfield.

  “Here's one for you, Ben,” Tully said. “I don't suppose it's giving away secrets that you're going to be a center. Jimmy, come in for Cap and I'll explain. We scored against Bee Town with this in my playing days.”

  Ben snapped the ball to Jimmy and took a step back as if to block. Jimmy faked a pitchout to Vince at halfback, pump-faked to Sam going deep, and shoveled an underhand pass to Ben, who raced up the middle.

  Tully grinned. “That'll still work, I bet.”
>
  He alternated between Jimmy and Cap at quarterback. Jimmy was good with timing patterns and short passing, but his arm wasn't up to throwing bombs; Cap saw that if Jimmy went long, he threw high floaters that anyone—receiver or defender— could get to. Still, Cap couldn't deny that Jimmy was a good ball handler who could fake a lateral and fool defenses.

  Cap, on the other hand, could throw deep, and Sam could outrun defenders—if Cap didn't overthrow him and Sam could hang on to the ball. Sam was the fastest Panther but didn't have the greatest hands. Fritz Marconi looked like a powerful runner, and his solid frame suggested that he'd be a good blocker.

  Cap had played enough pickup ball with Hoot Coleman to know he was shifty, could fool tacklers, and put on a burst of speed when needed. Stocky Ben Worthy was a natural center, with surprisingly good hands. Once he saw Ben's ability to catch, Tully added a play in which Ben went out ten yards and hooked. Cap's pass was slightly behind Ben, who reached back with one hand and managed to pull the ball in.

  The coach applauded. “All right! We're going to throw some in your direction, for sure.”

  Mick Avery, though he was short, had good moves and could catch everything coming his way. His younger brother Vince, though taller, was less coordinated, and likely to be a reserve. Steve Flynn wasn't very athletic, but he was enthusiastic, always talking it up and yelling encouragement. He'd be good to have around and might improve as a player.

  “Cap!” called Tully. “Let's run Blue Streak Right again. Sam, go deep. Mick, go out eight yards and hook. Ben, drop back to block.”

  The players took positions. Cap called, “Blue Streak Right, on two! Down! Set! Hut one, hut two …”

  Cap dropped back three steps, pumped toward Mick, and fired downfield. Sam sprinted hard, but the ball was two feet beyond his reach. Disgusted with himself, Cap kicked the turf.

  “It's okay, you'll nail it next time,” Ben said, giving Cap a pat on the back. “It's just the first day.”

  Cap didn't feel better. He was in for a battle with Jimmy, who was looking very good.

  Sam retrieved the ball and trotted back. He tossed the ball to Tully and grinned at Cap.