Catch That Pass! Page 2

  He thought about football all the time he worked on the model racing car in the garage. He knew the big reason why Dil and Hook were on his back. They were sure that the Vulcans would’ve won the game yesterday if he had hung on to those intercepted passes. Well, maybe they would’ve and maybe not. So what? Was it a crime to have lost? It was only a game. And their first one, at that.

  Darn! He was only looking for an excuse! Of course the game would’ve turned out differently if he had hung on to those passes. But he’d been scared—scared stiff of being tackled and getting hurt. He had tried to do something about it, hadn’t he? He had tried not to be scared. But he had failed. That scary feeling just grabbed him like electrified steel fingers.

  Somebody came in. It was his little sister, Karen. Her hands were tucked up inside the sleeves of her green sweater. “Isn’t it cold in here?” she said. “Brrrrr!”

  “I turned on the electric heater,” answered Jim. The heater was on the bench beside the tools, warmth pouring from the twin circles of coils.

  Karen came forward and stood in front of it. “Whose cars that?”

  “Chuckie’s. I was racing it and it jumped the track and landed on the floor.”

  He had cemented the split front end together and was putting the axle back in place.

  “I just saw Hook leaving the Gormans’,” said Karen. “Was he there when you were?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a worm,” she said.

  “Aw...”

  “Aw, what?”

  “Aw, nothing.”

  “Aw, nothing, my eye. You know what you should’ve done when he yelled at you? You should’ve socked him one.”

  “Yeah. And get kicked out of the game. Oh, sure.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared. I mean I wouldn’t have cared if I’d been in your place and he’d yelled at me and I’d socked him and got kicked out of the game. After all, anybody can miss a pass.”

  Jim looked at his sister. Man, it was a good thing Hook wasn’t here. She looked mad enough to follow through with everything she said. “Karen, you don’t understand.”

  She glared at him. “I don’t understand? Just because you’re older than I am and I’m a girl, you think I don’t understand?”

  “Look, I had the ball. I’d already caught it. I got scared and dropped it when I saw the tackier coming at me. You just don’t know how I felt—” He swallowed hard and turned her around to face the door. “Look, leave me alone, will you? Go into the house. Maybe you can help Mom with something.”

  She spun and looked at him hotly. “You mean you admitted it to that … that worm that he was right and you were wrong?”

  Jim shrugged. “I didn’t admit anything. But he was right, Karen. I do get scared, and I can’t help it. Don’t you see? I just can’t help it!”

  Her voice softened. “Does Doug know?”

  “I—I think so.”

  “Don’t you think he can help?”

  “How could he? I’m the one playing out there. I’m the one who gets the chance to intercept a pass.”

  “Why don’t you ask Doug to let you play quarterback? Or halfback?”

  Jim shook his head. “I’m not going to ask him anything. I don’t want the guys to think that just because the coach is my brother I’m asking for favors. Anyway, Doug knows his stuff. He wants to develop Chris Howe in the quarterback position so that Chris will be broken in when he gets into high school.”

  “Don’t you care about playing football in high school?”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “Then why doesn’t Doug put you somewhere else?”

  “Because he thinks he could make me a good middle linebacker, that’s why! For crying out loud, Karen! Please don’t bother me anymore, will you? I—I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  He finished repairing the model car, turned off the heater, and went into the house, taking the car with him. In his room he touched it up with paint and put it on a shelf to dry.

  On Monday there was football practice after school, and Doug had the team scrimmage. Bill Clark, Doug’s assistant coach, worked with the defensive unit and Doug with the offensive. After a few routine one-on-one plays, in which each defensive man covered his offensive man, Coach Clark suggested a new tactic.

  “Let’s try red-dogging ’em,” he said. “You linebackers break through the line and grab the ballcarrier before he has a chance to do anything. Okay?”

  The teams lined up at the line of scrimmage. Chris Howe, quarterbacking for the offensive team, called signals. The bail was snapped. There was the thudding sound of helmets striking helmets, shoulder pads brushing shoulder pads.

  Jim Nardi bulldozed through the narrow gap between center and right tackle. At the same time, he spotted right halfback Ken Morris taking the pitchout from Chris and starting to sprint toward left end. Jim’s rubber cleats dug into the turf as he wedged through the line after the fast-running back. He caught up with Ken and tackled him a yard behind the scrimmage line.

  Coach Clark grinned when Jim returned to the defenses huddle. “Nice work, Jim,” he said. “I think Doug’ll have a man on you the next time.”

  Three plays later, Bill Clark had the linebackers red-dog again. This time a man blocked Jim two yards beyond the line of scrimmage. Chris fumbled the ball in his hurry to back away from the other plunging linemen and linebackers, and it was recovered by Marv Wallace, the right tackle.

  Coach Clark kept the defensive unit in a huddle until the offense broke out of theirs. “I’m trying to make ’em think we’re changing our pattern,” he explained in a voice that wasn’t supposed to carry beyond the U-shaped huddle. “But let’s try the red dog again. It’s working pretty good!”

  Chris Howe barked signals. He took the snap, rushed back, faked a handoff to Ken Morris, then flipped a short pass over the line of scrimmage. Jim, charging through the line, saw the ball sail in his direction in a slow, crazy wobble. He stopped, leaped, and caught it. Just as his feet touched the ground, he saw Roger Lacey, the chunky right guard, rise from his knees and dive at him.

  He was unprotected and had no time to move. Nothing was going to stop Roger from tackling him, tackling him hard. At that instant he was gripped with fear. His head got fire-hot. Rogers shoulder struck him just above the knees, and he went down like a chunk of lead. His shoulders and head struck the ground. Stars flickered and he clamped his eyes shut. From a distance he heard a whistle. He felt a weight lift from his legs. He looked up and saw Rogers grinning face.

  “You okay?” asked Roger.

  “Yeah,” he answered automatically. He didn’t know whether he was or not.

  He started to get up and saw Ronnie Holmes, the fullback, grinning at him too.

  “Hi, Jim,” he said. “Look what I found.”

  He was holding the football.

  5

  After supper Jim took the Lotus 30 back to Chuckie. The paint had dried, and the car looked brand-new.

  “Looks great,” said Chuckie, smiling. “Thanks, Jim. Want to race awhile?”

  “No, thanks, Chuckie. I have homework to do.”

  “How are you feeling?” asked Chuckie.

  “I feel fine. Why?”

  “Dil said you got hurt practicing football. He said you might quit.”

  Jim’s face colored. “I didn’t get hurt. And I’m not going to quit.”

  A warm smile spread over Chuckie’s face. “That’s what I told him, Jim. I said you wouldn’t quit. I said that you and I were a lot alike. You won’t quit football and I won’t quit trying to walk. Heck, Jim, what fun is it if we don’t try? You’ve got to try, you know it?”

  If there ever was a guy who could buck up a fellow, it was Chuckie Gorman.

  Jim tried to keep Chuckie’s encouraging words in mind during the game against the Astrojets the next day. But it wasn’t always easy.

  “You’d better check your pants,” said Bucky Hayes to left end Ben Trainor. “I think you’ve got both legs
in one pant-leg. You were running too much in one spot.”

  “Listen to roadrunner here,” replied Ben, buckling his chin strap as he got into the huddle.

  “Pipe down and listen,” said Hook Wheeler, the right safety man and captain of the defensive unit. “They’re on our seventeen-yard line and might want to try another pass. Let’s red-dog ’em.”

  They broke out of the huddle and hurried to the line of scrimmage. The ground was a little soft, but the game was too young yet for either team to have gotten their uniforms soiled. Only Tom Willis, the Astrojets’ quarterback, had smudged his shoulder, spoiling the neatness of his black and white uniform.

  “Seventeen! Thirty-two! Hike! Hike! Hike!”

  The ball was snapped. Jim charged. He zipped past Bucky, who was trying to push his man aside, and saw the start of a crisscross play. The two halfbacks were running toward the middle where they’d meet Willis, from whom one of them would take the ball. Jim sprinted to reach the quarterback ahead of the halfbacks.

  An Astrojet fell in front of him. Jim leaped. At the same time, he saw the right halfback take the handoff and scissor toward the left side of the line. Jim reached out for him, hoping to grab the guys shoulder. The halfback looked his way, and Jim’s fingers circled the top bar of the face mask. The guy’s head jerked, and Jim let go. But it was too late. The whistle shrilled.

  Jim stopped dead and stared at the ref. The ref was showing the foul: grabbing the face mask.

  “Boy, you pulled a good one then!” Hook stormed. “A fifteen-yard penalty puts them on our two!”

  “I can count,” said Jim lamely.

  Bucky slapped him on the back. “Forget it and let’s hold ’em.”

  Jim glanced at Hook, anxious to redeem himself. “Hook, let’s red-dog ’em again.”

  Hook frowned, thinking hard. “Okay,” he agreed. “Red dog!”

  They blasted through the line like fearless commandos and broke up Tom Willis’s quarterback sneak. The ref placed the ball on the four-yard line. It was second and goal.

  Willis took the snap and faded back. The red dog wasn’t on now. Jim, breaking toward the line, cut back sharply as he saw the fullback swing around right end and buttonhook in behind the line of scrimmage. Willis passed just as Jim moved. The ball came floating through the air. Jim caught it on the run, bolted toward the left side of the line, and ran as he had never run before. No one was near him.

  Seconds later he crossed the goal line for the touchdown. Bucky was the first to jump on him for the team hug. From the stands the Vulcan fans were whooping it up.

  Hook kicked the conversion. Seven to nothing.

  6

  Hook Wheeler kicked off. The Astrojets’ left safety man caught the ball on the twenty-two, and Marv Wallace brought him down on the twenty-eight.

  “Seventy-eight yards!” Bucky grinned at Jim. “You ran like a scared jackrabbit along that sideline!”

  “I wasn’t going to let anybody get me,” said Jim, smiling. Boy, scoring that touchdown at the crucial moment made him feel great. That ought to shut up Dil and Hook for a while. Chuckie Gorman had seen it, too. He was sitting near the stands among the other Vulcan fans.

  “Nineteen! Thirty-four! Twenty-one! Hike! Hike! Hike!”

  Tom Willis faded back, then handed off to his fullback, and the guy plowed through left tackle for four yards. On the next play, Marv Wallace got too anxious and was offside before the ball was snapped. The five-yard penalty put the ball on the Astrojets’ thirty-seven.

  Second and one.

  Willis bucked for two yards and a first down.

  A double reverse gave the Astrojets five more yards. They were moving. A red dog on the next play held them to a two-yard gain. Then the fullback took a pitchout and raced down the right sideline. Left end Ben Trainor chased after him. The runner tried to stiff-arm Ben and crept closer to the white line. He took two steps out of bounds. Then Ben nailed him.

  Shreeeeek! The ref stood on the spot inside the boundary line where the runner had stepped out of bounds and signaled the personal foul sign.

  Ben sprang to his feet and stared at him. “Personal foul?” he shouted. “Why?”

  “For tackling him out of bounds,” explained the ref. He stepped off fifteen yards and placed the ball on the sixteen. “First and ten!” he yelled.

  The Astrojets lost two yards on a line buck, and a whistle shrilled, announcing the end of the first quarter. The teams exchanged goals, and the ball was put on the Vulcans’ eighteen.

  Second and twelve.

  Tom Willis barked signals. The ball was snapped. Willis faked a handoff to his left halfback, then faded back. Jim pushed aside a blocker on his way after the quarterback, but stopped on a dime as he saw Willis pull back his arm and wing a pass. The ball was a high looping spiral to his left side, and intended for a receiver button-hooking in. The receiver was running between Jim and the ball. He was about to catch it when Jim leaped and batted it down.

  “Way to go, Jim!” yelled Bucky Hayes.

  “My eye. He could’ve caught it.”

  Jim turned. Dil Gorman was walking away, kicking the sod with his heels. Jim looked back at the spot where he had knocked down the ball. There had been no one in front of him, no one near him except the intended receiver. Yes, he could’ve intercepted the pass. Could’ve made a good gain. And it would’ve been the Vulcans’ ball.

  Ronnie Holmes came in. Jim went out.

  “No one was near you that time,” said Doug coldly. “You could’ve run a long way. Maybe all the way.”

  Jim’s heart pounded. “I didn’t think,” he said.

  “You weren’t scared of being tackled?”

  Jim stared at him. His pulse raced. “No.” So Doug knew. He had probably known all along.

  A roar burst from the Astrojet fans. Jim saw a player in a black-and-white uniform in a corner of the Vulcans’ end zone. He had tossed the football up into the air and was jumping madly, as if he had just scored a touchdown. Which he had.

  They tried the conversion, and missed.

  Jim chewed his lips. “I suppose you won’t let me go in again.”

  “Sure, I will,” replied Doug. “Something tells me that you need to play until you get that feeling knocked out of you, one way or another.”

  7

  Jim went in during the four-minute time period. The Astrojets had the ball on their thirty-eight. It was second and eight.

  So Doug knew about me, Jim thought. Yet he hasn’t bawled me out. He really wasn’t mad at me when he told me I’ll play until that feeling gets knocked out of me. I guess I don’t understand my own brother.

  The Astrojets tried an off-tackle play and picked up a first down.

  “We better stop ’em,” said Hook, “or we’ll blow that seven to six lead.”

  The Astrojets pulled a surprise pass on the first down that took them to the Vulcans’ eighteen. It was an eleven-yard gain and another first down. A line buck and then a double reverse got them six more. Then they tried a pass. It was a wobbly one, falling far short of the intended receiver. Hook Wheeler pulled it down, dodged an Astrojet tackle, and sprinted down the sideline for thirty-four yards before he was bumped out of bounds.

  The offense took over, but they couldn’t get the ball past the Astrojets’ ten-yard line before the first half ended.

  The Vulcans kicked off to start the second half. The kick was poor. The ball hit the ground on the forty-yard line and bounced to the thirty, where an Astrojet scooped it up and carried it back to the Vulcans’ thirty-eight. Jim hit him there like a tank.

  “What a funny one you are,” Hook said to Jim, cracking a grin, a sight almost as rare as hen’s teeth. “You tackle like nobody’s business. But when you have the ball, you’re scared stiff of somebody tackling you. I can’t figure it.”

  Jim shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”

  “You think so?”

  Jim started away. “I think so,” he said over his shoulder.

  The
teams formed at the line of scrimmage. Tom Willis barked signals. Jim shifted back and forth in the middle linebacker slot, anxious to burst through and haul down the ballcarrier. Hook was right. He wasn’t afraid to tackle. As a matter of fact he enjoyed it.

  The snap from center. Jim tore through the line. Amid the loud noise of shouts and of helmets thudding against helmets and shoulder pads, Jim heard a shrill sound. But he was springing forward. And suddenly he was falling on Tom Willis, falling on him hard.

  Phreeeeep!

  Jim rolled off Tom and looked up at the ref, who was crouched above him, finger pointed at him like the tip of a sword. “Fifteen yards! Didn’t you hear the whistle?”

  Jim stared. “No! What did I do?”

  “You were piling on, son.”

  “Oh man, oh man!” cried Hook, stamping his feet.

  The ref picked up the ball, stepped off fifteen yards from where the violation took place, and spotted the ball on the Vulcans’ twenty-six.

  “Jim,” said Bucky Hayes, “how do you get the knack of always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time?”

  “Guess I’m just plain lucky,” Jim answered, then frowned in bewilderment. “But I still don’t know what happened, Bucky!”

  “You don’t? Willis had fumbled the ball. And then you jumped on him. That’s what happened, man.”

  First and ten. The Astrojets tried an end-around run and picked up two. Then the fullback found a hole through right tackle and gained seven.

  “They need a yard for a first down,” said Bucky. “Think they’ll try a sneak?”

  “Who knows?” said Hook.

  It was a forward pass to their left end. And it was a good one. Their end caught the ball on the run and went over easily for their second touchdown.

  “Guess they pulled a sneak, all right,” said Bucky sourly. “A sneaky pass.”

  “Yeah,” grumbled Hook.

  This time the kick was good. Astrojets 13, Vulcans 7.

  The third quarter ended with the Vulcans in possession of the ball on their own eighteen.

  Fourth quarter. Chris Howe faded back to pass but couldn’t find a receiver and was tackled on the twelve.