on out there?” Doug asked when Jim reached the sideline.
“Nothing,” said Jim.
“Did Hook or Dil say something to you?”
Jim unbuttoned the chin strap of his helmet and took the helmet off. The cool air refreshed his sweating head. “Okay. They
made me sore. But I didn’t do anything, did I? I didn’t start a fight, did I?”
Doug looked at him hard. “No, Jim, and I’m glad you didn’t. I’m darned glad.”
Jim met Doug’s eyes evenly. Doug was tall, close to six feet. His steel-blue eyes were steady. They had had their arguments,
with Doug usually winning them. But afterwards,when Jim had a chance to think, he’d always agree that Doug was right. Like the time Doug had warned him about riding the
bike with weak brakes. Jim had been too lazy to fix them and did so only after Doug had started to take the brakes apart himself.
The game went into the fourth quarter with the score still 7 to 6 in the Vulcans’ favor. At the four-minute warning signal,
the Vulcans had the ball on their own nineteen. Chris Howe faked a handoff to right halfback Ken Morris, who started to plow
through right tackle. But it was fullback Ronnie Holmes who took the ball and galloped for eight yards through the left side
of the line.
A wild scramble followed. And loud shouting. Ronnie had fumbled the ball. A red-jerseyed player began jumping up and down.
The Cadets had recovered!
“Oh, no!” cried Jim.
“Get in there!” yelled Doug. “Hold them!”
Terry Jason flung a long pass on the first play. He hit his man perfectly, and the runner carried the ball to the Vulcans’
eighteen before Hook nailed him.
“I think there’s a magnet in that ball and another one in that receiver,” observed Bucky Hayes. “No man can throw a pass that
perfect.”
“I hear he wears telescopic contact lenses,” said Yak Lee, the right linebacker.
“That answers it,” replied Bucky.
In two downs the Cadets moved the ball to the nine. Then Terry tried a quarterback sneak, but lost a yard.
Fourth down and two.
The Cadets called time.
“I’ve got a magnet at home,” said Jim. “I’ll bring it with me next time.”
Dil Gorman looked at him. “A good idea,” he said. “You should’ve thought of it sooner.”
Jim flushed and looked away. He had really opened his trap at the wrong time then.
Time was up. The Cadets went into a huddle, then broke out of it and got into position at the line of scrimmage. Jim saw that
Jason was standing back and that the fullback was a couple of yards behind him. They were going to try a field goal!
“Hup one! Hup two!”
Jason caught the snap and put it in position on the ground. Jim blasted through a narrow hole between center and right guard.
He heard the sound of shoe meeting football and saw the pigskin sailing over his head.
A shout rose, and Jim knew that the ball had gone between the uprights. 9–7.
That was the final score, too.
3
T he Porsche Carrera 6 sped down the straightaway, then zoomed around the turn and along the wall that was almost vertical.
It cut sharply around the second curve, buzzed down the straightaway on the opposite side of the track, and passed the red
Lotus 30 as the cars sped around the 45-degree bend and under the overpass.
Chuckie Gorman laughed. “I’m a lap ahead of you!”
Jim Nardi depressed the plunger of his controller all the way to the bottom for a split second, then quickly let up on it
as theLotus 30 reached the curve on the left side of the track.
“Two more laps to go,” he said after a quick glance at the counter. “Guess you’ll win this race.”
“Well, I have more experience than you have,” Chuckie said, sitting forward in his wheelchair with a wide grin on his face.
“You know what I’m going to be when I get out of this chair, don’t you?”
“What?”
“A race driver!”
Click
!
“There’s the counter!” cried Chuckie. “Ten laps! Want to race again?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They
“Nothing,” said Jim.
“Did Hook or Dil say something to you?”
Jim unbuttoned the chin strap of his helmet and took the helmet off. The cool air refreshed his sweating head. “Okay. They
made me sore. But I didn’t do anything, did I? I didn’t start a fight, did I?”
Doug looked at him hard. “No, Jim, and I’m glad you didn’t. I’m darned glad.”
Jim met Doug’s eyes evenly. Doug was tall, close to six feet. His steel-blue eyes were steady. They had had their arguments,
with Doug usually winning them. But afterwards,when Jim had a chance to think, he’d always agree that Doug was right. Like the time Doug had warned him about riding the
bike with weak brakes. Jim had been too lazy to fix them and did so only after Doug had started to take the brakes apart himself.
The game went into the fourth quarter with the score still 7 to 6 in the Vulcans’ favor. At the four-minute warning signal,
the Vulcans had the ball on their own nineteen. Chris Howe faked a handoff to right halfback Ken Morris, who started to plow
through right tackle. But it was fullback Ronnie Holmes who took the ball and galloped for eight yards through the left side
of the line.
A wild scramble followed. And loud shouting. Ronnie had fumbled the ball. A red-jerseyed player began jumping up and down.
The Cadets had recovered!
“Oh, no!” cried Jim.
“Get in there!” yelled Doug. “Hold them!”
Terry Jason flung a long pass on the first play. He hit his man perfectly, and the runner carried the ball to the Vulcans’
eighteen before Hook nailed him.
“I think there’s a magnet in that ball and another one in that receiver,” observed Bucky Hayes. “No man can throw a pass that
perfect.”
“I hear he wears telescopic contact lenses,” said Yak Lee, the right linebacker.
“That answers it,” replied Bucky.
In two downs the Cadets moved the ball to the nine. Then Terry tried a quarterback sneak, but lost a yard.
Fourth down and two.
The Cadets called time.
“I’ve got a magnet at home,” said Jim. “I’ll bring it with me next time.”
Dil Gorman looked at him. “A good idea,” he said. “You should’ve thought of it sooner.”
Jim flushed and looked away. He had really opened his trap at the wrong time then.
Time was up. The Cadets went into a huddle, then broke out of it and got into position at the line of scrimmage. Jim saw that
Jason was standing back and that the fullback was a couple of yards behind him. They were going to try a field goal!
“Hup one! Hup two!”
Jason caught the snap and put it in position on the ground. Jim blasted through a narrow hole between center and right guard.
He heard the sound of shoe meeting football and saw the pigskin sailing over his head.
A shout rose, and Jim knew that the ball had gone between the uprights. 9–7.
That was the final score, too.
3
T he Porsche Carrera 6 sped down the straightaway, then zoomed around the turn and along the wall that was almost vertical.
It cut sharply around the second curve, buzzed down the straightaway on the opposite side of the track, and passed the red
Lotus 30 as the cars sped around the 45-degree bend and under the overpass.
Chuckie Gorman laughed. “I’m a lap ahead of you!”
Jim Nardi depressed the plunger of his controller all the way to the bottom for a split second, then quickly let up on it
as theLotus 30 reached the curve on the left side of the track.
“Two more laps to go,” he said after a quick glance at the counter. “Guess you’ll win this race.”
“Well, I have more experience than you have,” Chuckie said, sitting forward in his wheelchair with a wide grin on his face.
“You know what I’m going to be when I get out of this chair, don’t you?”
“What?”
“A race driver!”
Click
!
“There’s the counter!” cried Chuckie. “Ten laps! Want to race again?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They
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