Tough to Tackle Page 4

  “What’s happened, Boots?” asked Coach Dekay. “You lose your gumption somewhere during the week?”

  Boots shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.

  “You had a lot of spirit and enthusiasm on Monday,” Coach Higgins chipped in. “Each day since then Coach Dekay and I noticed that you were slacking off. You feel okay?”

  “Yes. I feel fine.”

  But he didn’t. He realized now that he was feeling the same as he had felt in the beginning, when he had gone out for football and the coach had put him at the tackle position.

  Why play a position he didn’t like? A position he didn’t fit into? Wasn’t that like trying to put a round peg into a square hole?

  Maybe it was just luck that he did so well in practice on Monday, he thought. He would never be a good tackle. Never.

  11

  Boots started in the game against the Argonauts, who had won a game and tied one. Lynn Giles was their quarterback, a lefty who could throw as far as any kid Boots had ever seen. They looked sharp in their bright orange uniforms and were bigger, man for man, than the Apollos.

  The Apollos won the toss and Bud Davis chose to receive. Jackie Preston caught fullback Smokey Mills’s long kick and carried it back to the Apollos’ forty-two-yard line. Duck burrowed the left side of the line for a three-yard gain, then took a handoff from Bud and went around right end for two more yards.

  Boots kept his man from plunging through both times, but he wished he were in Duck’s place on those runs. He was the ball carrier. He and Bud and Leo and Jackie. Next in order of importance were the receivers, ends Pete and Eddie.

  The rest of us are like the bottom men of a totem pole, thought Boots. All we do is to try to keep the enemy from busting through when we’re on offense, and try to break through and bring down the ball carrier on defense. We’re the workhorses.

  In the huddle Bud called for seventeen flare, a pass play to Eddie behind the line of scrimmage. Boots felt more like going for a bicycle ride than playing football.

  “Down! Seven! Four! Twenty-one! Hut! Hut! Hut!”

  One moment the Argonaut tackle was looking directly into Boots’s eyes, the next he was sweeping past Boots so fast that Boots didn’t know what had happened. He turned and saw that the tackle had knocked down Bud’s pass.

  Bud glared at him. “What were you doing, Boots? Taking a nap?”

  Boots walked reluctantly into the huddle.

  “We’ve got to kick,” said Bud. “Kick it a mile, Leo.”

  Leo Conway punted the ball close to the Argonauts’ twenty-yard line. One of their safety men caught it and carried it back to their thirty-nine. Smokey Mills hit the line on Boots’s side, but Boots knocked his man aside and stopped the fullback cold before he could reach the line of scrimmage. A loss of two yards.

  “Nice going, Boots,” said Bud. He chewed you out when you goofed, but praised you when you did well.

  Second and twelve. A halfback took a handoff from Lynn and crashed through the other side of the line for four yards.

  On the next play Boots lunged forward a fraction of a second before the ball was snapped. The quarterback handed off to the right halfback, who sprinted toward his left side of the line. Boots flung his man aside and bolted after the ball carrier. He tackled him for a loss of three yards, but when he got up he saw Duck pointing at a red flag lying on the ground.

  “Yeah,” admitted Boots. “I know. I was offside.”

  The Argonauts accepted the penalty. The ref paced off five yards against the Apollos and spotted the ball on the Argonauts’ forty-six.

  Third and three.

  They’ll probably throw a short pass, thought Boots, to get a first down. He listened to the signals, then moved at the snap. He bumped his man aside then stood there, waiting to calculate Lynn Giles’s move. But Lynn was fading back … back. He was looking at a receiver down the field.

  Boots dug his cleats into the ground and sprinted forward, realizing now that he was too late to stop the quarterback.

  Lynn threw. The pass was a long spiraling bomb that hit his receiver perfectly near the left sideline. The man raced the remaining twenty some yards for a touchdown. Smokey Mills kicked for the extra point and it was good. 7 to 0.

  The Argonauts kicked off and once again Jackie Preston caught the ball and ran it back, driving almost to midfield before he was tackled. The Apollos moved the ball into Argonaut territory and got it to the twelve when again the Apollos were penalized five yards for being offside. This time Neil Dekay, the left guard, was the offender.

  “Watch it, Neil,” pleaded Bud. “Let’s not goof things up now.”

  Second and fifteen. Bud called for a pass play. Boots, concentrating on the tackle opposite him, never saw the Argonaut linebacker come tearing through the line past him. He hit Bud. The ball squirted from Bud’s hands. The Argonaut scooped it up and raced down the field to the Apollos’ forty-three before Bud, himself, pulled him down.

  “Boots! Richie!” cried Bud. “That guy busted through as if nobody was on the line at all!”

  “Sorry, Bud,” said Richie. “My man blocked me but good.”

  Boots said nothing. His eyes met Bud’s and he knew that Bud was expecting him to mutter an excuse, too. But Boots looked away and headed toward his position at the line of scrimmage. Just then the horn blew, announcing the end of the first quarter, and the teams exchanged goals.

  The game resumed, and Boots realized that something was missing. He couldn’t get excited about the game. He just crouched there on the scrimmage line because it was a job he had to do. He looked his man eye to eye and listened for the snap call. At the call he tried to brush his man aside and go after the quarterback, but he found himself pushed back to the ground.

  He felt the same way during the next play and the next. He just couldn’t get going, and he didn’t care. The Argonauts moved down to the four-yard line without giving up the ball, and every now and then Boots heard Bud yelling to the guys — “Tighten up the line!” and “Block your man!”

  Tony Alo rushed onto the field and patted Boots on the shoulder. “Take off, Boots,” he said.

  Boots trotted off the field.

  “Come on, Boots! Move!” rasped Coach Bo Higgins’s harsh voice.

  He ran hard until he crossed the sideline, then stopped, took off his helmet, and sat beside a sub on the bench.

  A shadow crossed in front of him and he recognized the coach’s pants and shoes. “You all right, Boots?” asked the coach.

  Boots didn’t raise his eyes higher than the coach’s knees. “I’m okay,” he said softly.

  “Look at me, Boots.”

  Boots looked up. Coach Higgins’s eyes were mild but curious. “Are you telling me the truth, Boots?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m okay.”

  “Then something’s on your mind. What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That didn’t look like you out there during those last few plays. You looked like a kid who had never played ball before.”

  Boots flushed. “I don’t have any excuse, Coach, except that —” He broke off.

  “Except what?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I just can’t get excited about playing. This must be one of the times.”

  “You know what that sounds like, Boots?” said the coach. “Like a fat excuse. You know you don’t mean that and I know you don’t mean it. Something else is bothering you and I’m going to let you sit on that bench till you get it out of your system.”

  It was almost at that very moment that Lynn Giles went over on a quarterback sneak. Then Smokey Mills kicked the extra point, putting the Argonauts even farther in front, 14 to 0.

  12

  The Argonauts kicked off. This time the ball sailed end over end to Duck Farrell in the left corner. He ran the ball back up the field, weaving and dodging would-be tacklers, and was downed on the thirty-eight.

  Bud pulled off a pass play first thing, heaving a bomb to left end Eddie Baker.
Eddie caught it past the fifty-yard line and ran it all the way. An Argonaut safety man was less than two yards behind him but never could catch him. Leo kicked the extra point and the score was Argonauts 14, Apollos 7.

  The cheers of the Apollo fans rang out loud and clear, but the quarter went by with the score unchanged. Twice Tony Alo tore through the line and tackled an Argonaut ball carrier for losses of two yards and four yards each. Boots tried to ignore him, telling himself he didn’t care how well Tony played. For all he cared Tony could play every minute of every game.

  During halftime Duck asked him how he felt. He thought Boots was sick. Jackie, Leo, and Eddie wondered, too. “I’m okay,” he told them. “I’m fine.”

  Coach Higgins and Coach Dekay had the boys assemble with them just beyond the north goal. The coaches of the Argonauts had their boys assemble with them just past the south goal. Here we go, thought Boots. A talk from the coaches: Now, listen men! You played like a bunch of clowns that first half! I want you to go out that second half and blah, blah, blah …

  But it wasn’t like that at all. All Coach Higgins said was, “You did fine, boys. They just played a little better than you did, that’s all. You know how to play football. Do the best that’s in you. That’s all Coach Dekay and I ask.”

  Five minutes before the second half started both teams got on the field and did jumping exercises to limber up their arms and legs. At last the whistle blew to start the second half and Boots put on his helmet and snapped the button. He was ready to go.

  “Hold it, Boots,” said Coach Higgins. “Tony’s starting at right tackle. The rest of the lineup remains the same.”

  Boots stared at him. He couldn’t believe it. Sure, he hadn’t felt like playing that first half. But he felt like playing now. He wanted to, now.

  Duck was beside him. They looked at each other.

  “I don’t understand it, Duck,” said Boots. “I’ve always started.”

  Duck smiled. “Maybe one of these days you’ll find out that you just can’t have your way all the time, Boots. You think that Coach doesn’t know you’re sore because you can’t play in the backfield? Don’t be a lunkhead. Just because you’re a big kid and can knock any one of us on his can whenever you feel like it has made you think you’re King Tut. Well, on the football field you’re just Boots Raymond. You’ve got a job on the line, and whether you’re good at it or not depends on you. Nobody else. And if you don’t give it your best, Coach Higgins will give somebody else a chance to do it. And you know what? Tony Alo isn’t doing bad at all. If I were you I’d watch out for him. He just might take over your position permanently.”

  By the time Duck got through talking, Boots’s face was almost as red as a beet. A couple of times he wanted to tell Duck to shut up his big mouth, but he didn’t. He knew Duck was right. Every word the guy said was just as true as day.

  The third quarter went by with him watching it from the bench. Tony played pretty good ball. Now and then Smokey Mills or one of the Argonaut halfbacks zipped by him, but he made a few tackles and hustled every minute. He didn’t have the weight that Boots did, though. Nor the speed.

  He’s got the fight, the spirit, thought Boots. And I don’t.

  The Argonauts scored again in the fourth, but failed to kick the extra point. 20 to 7. They kicked off to the Apollos and Bud ran it back to the Argonauts’ forty-eight. His first signal call was for an end-around run by Jackie Preston. On the next play Jackie took the handoff from Bud, started toward left end, then handed off to Duck Farrell. The play momentarily fooled the Argonauts who were going after Jackie till they were almost upon him. By then Duck had crossed the scrimmage line and had picked up another first down before a safety man nailed him.

  First and ten and the ball was on the Argonauts’ twenty-six. Boots rose from the bench and looked at Coach Higgins. He hoped to catch the coach’s eye, hoped that the coach would tell him to go in and send out Tony Alo even though Tony was playing excellent ball.

  Leo Conway picked up three yards on a through-tackle run, and the two-minute warning signal was called. Two minutes, thought Boots. Maybe time enough to score a touchdown, but not time enough to win the ball game.

  He got to thinking about his poor playing during the first half and could have kicked himself. If any one guy was to blame for losing the game it was he.

  Leo plowed through the line for another gain, this time for four yards. Third and three. Again Leo plunged through right tackle. This time he was stopped cold. Fourth and three.

  Bud passed. Pete Ellis caught it just beyond the scrimmage line and was downed almost instantly. But it was another first down and the Apollo fans shouted like crazy.

  The seconds ticked off. One minute to go. The ball was on the Argonauts’ fifteen-yard line. Leo crashed through left tackle for two yards, then Duck ran deep around left end and was tackled on the eight. Third and three.

  Bud smashed through on a quarterback sneak and scored. Then Leo kicked the extra point. Argonauts 20, Apollos 14.

  Thirty seconds to go. Leo kicked off. The Argonauts carried the ball back to their twenty-nine. They moved it across midfield when the whistle blew. It was over.

  “I suppose you’d like to pound the heck out of me, wouldn’t you?” said Duck as he and Boots started off the field.

  Boots grinned. “Why? For what you said to me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I don’t. But you got guts telling me all that. Nobody else has. Except Bo Higgins and Mr. Dekay, but they might not say it the way you did.”

  “It isn’t guts,” said Duck.

  Boots frowned. “Oh, no? What is it, then?”

  “Being friends, that’s what. I would never have said that to you if I didn’t like you, Boots. You’re a nut, but I like you.”

  “I like you, too, Duck. I must be nuts. But I do.”

  Mom and Dad and Gail received letters from Tom during the week. Both were short, hardly filling one page. Both were very much the same. “I’m thinking of you all the time,” he wrote in Mom and Dad’s letter. “When I get home I’m going to eat hot-dogs and hamburgers and listen to my favorite records till both my stomach and eardrums burst. See you. Soon, I hope.”

  In Gail’s letter he wrote: “Hi, Gail. How’s my favorite girl? You know what I’m hungry for? Hotdogs and hamburgers. I’m going to stuff myself with them when I get home. And keep the CD player in prime condition. I haven’t heard good music since I left …”

  “He’s homesick,” said Mom. “He doesn’t say it but it’s in every word he writes.”

  “All the boys over there are,” said Dad. “Heck, it’s natural.”

  Boots didn’t think it was natural, though, when no letters came the next week. And none the week after that. Mom and Dad got worried. And so did he and Gail.

  13

  Boots tried not to think about what might have happened to Tom by reading over Tom’s letters and doing the best he could in football practice.

  What Duck had said to him that day stuck in his head, too. On the football field you’re just Boots Raymond. You’ve got a job on the line, and whether you’re good at it or not depends on you.

  Well, he’d see to it that he’d be good at it. As good as he could be.

  He hadn’t started in the game against the Flyers on October 9. Tony Alo had. After Tony had let a runner slip by him twice and made a couple of foolish moves — one was grabbing a face mask and the other was blocking a guy from behind, a clipping violation (and each cost a fifteen-yard penalty) — Coach Higgins had sent in Boots. That was during the middle of the second quarter. Boots played the rest of the game and the Apollos came off the field with a victory in their pockets.

  He kept writing letters to Tom every other day. Mom and Dad and Gail kept up their regular pace, too. Sometimes Gail wrote a letter in the morning and another one before supper so that it would go out in the evening mail.

  “Bet no one’s getting as much mail as Tom is,” said Boots one day.


  “Let’s hope so,” said Dad. But he said it as if probably Tom weren’t receiving any mail at all. As if he weren’t there to receive it.

  Mom was pretty affected by not having heard from Tom in a long time. She looked worried and was silent most of the time.

  It was cold on October 16, the day the Apollos played the Starbirds. The Apollos won the toss of the coin and chose to receive. Charlie Haring, the Starbirds’ hefty fullback, kicked off and Bud Davis caught the ball and carried it back to his twenty-nine.

  “Thirty-two,” said Bud in the huddle. Thirty-two called for Leo to carry the ball through the two hole.

  They broke out of the huddle. “Down!” yelled Bud. “Twenty-one! Twenty-eight! Nineteen! Hut! Hut! Hut!”

  The snap. Bud took it, turned and handed off to Leo. The fullback charged through the line between center and right guard and was pulled down on the thirty-three. Boots, tangled up with the man he had blocked, untangled himself, bounded to his feet and trotted to the huddle, feeling light and peppy.

  “Twenty-eight option,” said Bud.

  The play called for Duck Farrell to either run with the ball or pass to Pete Ellis.

  Boots slapped Duck on the leg. “Surprise ’em, pal,” he said.

  Duck did. He took the handoff from Bud, started to run toward the eight hole at the far end of the line, then chucked a forward pass that looked like a soft balloon floating through the air. Pete jumped, caught it, pulled it into his arms and bolted down the field. He whisked past the safety man by a thread and galloped on for a touchdown. Leo’s kick for the extra point missed.

  Three and a half minutes later, after the Starbirds failed to keep the ball, Bud hurled a long spiraling pass to Eddie Baker. The little left end caught it on his thirty and ran to the Starbirds’ two-yard line. Bud carried it over on a quarterback sneak for the Apollos’ second touchdown. Again Leo’s kick for the extra point failed. Apollos 12, Starbirds 0.