line. He was looking toward the coffin corner. And then he passed.
He was clever. Instead of throwing to the coffin corner, he threw to the right center of the end zone near the goalpost. Jim,
breaking back away from the scrimmage line, sprang a couple of steps toward it, leaped, and caught the ball!
As he came down with it, he saw a bright red helmet with a white stripe through its middle. He saw the bulging shoulders of
a blazing red jersey.
He got panicky. He didn’t want to be hit. He was
afraid
to be hit.
He let the ball drop. The Cadet fell on it. So little time elapsed between the moment Jim caught the ball and dropped it that
the call could’ve been either way—a completed pass or an incomplete pass.
Shreeeeep
! went the whistle. “Incomplete pass!” yelled the ref.
Jim turned and almost bumped into Hook. “What’s the matter, Nardi?” Hook snarled. “That’s the second time you dropped the
ball! I suppose it slipped through your hands this time, too.”
2
T hird and four.
The Cadets’ tight seven-man line looked like a red wall facing the Vulcans. The Vulcan linebackers played up close, intent
on plugging every possible hole. Only the two safety men played deep, watching for a forward pass.
The snap from center. Jason handed off to his fullback. The fullback cut toward right end. For a split second, Jim wondered:
Was this another pass play?
It wasn’t. The fullback plunged aroundend, and Hook Wheeler pulled him down on the five. On the next play, Terry bucked through for a yard. It was close to a first
down. The men with the chain ran out and measured. A first down!
“Hold that line! Hold that line!” shouted the Vulcan fans.
“We want a touchdown! We want a touchdown!” chanted the Cadet fans.
First and goal to go. Four yards for a touchdown.
Terry barked signals. He took the snap, faded back a few steps, and passed. His left halfback caught it on the one-yard line
and plunged over for the score. They tried the conversion and missed.
“See what happened?” Hook bellowed at Jim. “If you had held on to that ball, it would’ve still been seven-oh!”
Right safety man Dil Gorman tappedHook on the shoulder. “Leave him alone, Hook. You ever notice his narrow waist?”
Hook grinned crookedly. “That’s right,” he said. “He hasn’t got room for guts!”
Again Jim saw red, but this time it wasn’t the color of an opponent’s jersey. It was hot, flaming anger. He knotted his fists
and stepped toward Hook, ready to let him have it. Then he stopped. No, he thought. No matter how badly he wanted to make
Hook eat those words, he wasn’t going to fight here. He’d be thrown out of the game. Maybe Hook would be thrown out, too.
The only thing to do—the best thing to do—was to ignore the wise guy.
It was awful to admit that both Dil and Hook were right. But they were. Every time Jim tried to intercept a pass, he would
see an opponent come at him and that terrible fear would sweep through him and rush tohis head and swell as if it were ready to explode. He had to get that feeling out of his system. He had to or he’d never play
football in high school. Doug might not even let him keep playing with the Vulcans after this, their first game of the season.
Someone slapped him on the back. “Did you hear a time-out or something?” It was Bucky.
Jim forced a smile. “C’mon! Let’s go!”
They lined up for the kickoff. The whistle shrilled. The Cadets’ line sprang forward. The fullback booted the ball. It sailed
end over end into Vulcan territory. Hook caught it on the twenty-two and bolted up the field, twisting and dodging.
“C’mon! Give me interference!” Hook shouted.
Jim Nardi fell in front of a Cadet, then got up and blocked another Cadet as he headedtoward Hook. The block helped Hook gain another six yards. He was tackled on the Vulcans’ thirty-four.
The defensive unit trotted off the field. The offense took over.
“What went
He was clever. Instead of throwing to the coffin corner, he threw to the right center of the end zone near the goalpost. Jim,
breaking back away from the scrimmage line, sprang a couple of steps toward it, leaped, and caught the ball!
As he came down with it, he saw a bright red helmet with a white stripe through its middle. He saw the bulging shoulders of
a blazing red jersey.
He got panicky. He didn’t want to be hit. He was
afraid
to be hit.
He let the ball drop. The Cadet fell on it. So little time elapsed between the moment Jim caught the ball and dropped it that
the call could’ve been either way—a completed pass or an incomplete pass.
Shreeeeep
! went the whistle. “Incomplete pass!” yelled the ref.
Jim turned and almost bumped into Hook. “What’s the matter, Nardi?” Hook snarled. “That’s the second time you dropped the
ball! I suppose it slipped through your hands this time, too.”
2
T hird and four.
The Cadets’ tight seven-man line looked like a red wall facing the Vulcans. The Vulcan linebackers played up close, intent
on plugging every possible hole. Only the two safety men played deep, watching for a forward pass.
The snap from center. Jason handed off to his fullback. The fullback cut toward right end. For a split second, Jim wondered:
Was this another pass play?
It wasn’t. The fullback plunged aroundend, and Hook Wheeler pulled him down on the five. On the next play, Terry bucked through for a yard. It was close to a first
down. The men with the chain ran out and measured. A first down!
“Hold that line! Hold that line!” shouted the Vulcan fans.
“We want a touchdown! We want a touchdown!” chanted the Cadet fans.
First and goal to go. Four yards for a touchdown.
Terry barked signals. He took the snap, faded back a few steps, and passed. His left halfback caught it on the one-yard line
and plunged over for the score. They tried the conversion and missed.
“See what happened?” Hook bellowed at Jim. “If you had held on to that ball, it would’ve still been seven-oh!”
Right safety man Dil Gorman tappedHook on the shoulder. “Leave him alone, Hook. You ever notice his narrow waist?”
Hook grinned crookedly. “That’s right,” he said. “He hasn’t got room for guts!”
Again Jim saw red, but this time it wasn’t the color of an opponent’s jersey. It was hot, flaming anger. He knotted his fists
and stepped toward Hook, ready to let him have it. Then he stopped. No, he thought. No matter how badly he wanted to make
Hook eat those words, he wasn’t going to fight here. He’d be thrown out of the game. Maybe Hook would be thrown out, too.
The only thing to do—the best thing to do—was to ignore the wise guy.
It was awful to admit that both Dil and Hook were right. But they were. Every time Jim tried to intercept a pass, he would
see an opponent come at him and that terrible fear would sweep through him and rush tohis head and swell as if it were ready to explode. He had to get that feeling out of his system. He had to or he’d never play
football in high school. Doug might not even let him keep playing with the Vulcans after this, their first game of the season.
Someone slapped him on the back. “Did you hear a time-out or something?” It was Bucky.
Jim forced a smile. “C’mon! Let’s go!”
They lined up for the kickoff. The whistle shrilled. The Cadets’ line sprang forward. The fullback booted the ball. It sailed
end over end into Vulcan territory. Hook caught it on the twenty-two and bolted up the field, twisting and dodging.
“C’mon! Give me interference!” Hook shouted.
Jim Nardi fell in front of a Cadet, then got up and blocked another Cadet as he headedtoward Hook. The block helped Hook gain another six yards. He was tackled on the Vulcans’ thirty-four.
The defensive unit trotted off the field. The offense took over.
“What went
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