toughest positions on defense is the middle linebacker,
Yancey Foote had written in one of his letters.
You must be able to go in either direction, left or right.
Mick Bartlett, the Whips’ quarterback, barked signals. The ball was snapped. Mick backpedaled a few steps, then handed off
to J. J. Jackson. Jackson plowed through the line where a hole had opened up wide enough to drive a truck through.
Larry’s eyes met J. J.’s squarely as the fast-running back came toward him. Then, just as Larry reached out to grab him, J.
J. made a lightning dodge to the left. Larry’s fingers barely brushed against J. J.’s crimson shirt as J. J. burst by him,
plunging to the forty-five, where Jack O’Leary pulled him down.
“Come on, you guys! Plug up that hole!” Jack yelled, straightening up his helmet and backing up to his position. Larry admired
him. That was an excellent tackle.
Second and three.
J. J. carried again. This time he dashed through a hole on the right side of the line, picking up four yards and a first down
before Rick Baron and Steve Harvey brought him down.
Pete Monroe, the Whips’ burly fullback, tried to duplicate J. J.’s run up through the middle. The hole was there, but so was
Larry. His feet planted squarely under him,Larry followed Pete’s every move, determined not to be outfoxed this time.
Pete tried to stiff-arm him, dodging to his left in an attempt to evade Larry’s reaching hands. He wasn’t as quick as J. J.,
though, and Larry tackled him, pulling him down on the Digits’ forty-eight. A three-yard gain.
Second and seven.
J. J. carried the ball again, sprinting around left end for a long gain and another first down. The Whips were moving, taking
huge bites of precious yardage, and they seemed unstoppable.
In three more plays they hit pay dirt, J. J. going over for the touchdown. Then Pete swung around right end for the extra
point. Whips 7, Digits 0.
Coach Ellis sent in his offensive team, keeping in Larry, Manny Anderson, and Billy James, all of whom played defense andoffense. Larry played center on offense; Coach Ellis had told him he had the size for both a center and a middle linebacker.
Larry didn’t know whether to be proud of that or not. Were he, Manny, and Billy expected to play every minute of the game?
With twelve minutes in a quarter that added up to forty-eight minutes. A guy could absorb a lot of beating in that time if
he were lucky enough to live through it.
Omar Ross, the Whips’ hefty middle linebacker, kicked off. The boot was a beauty, flying end over end deep into Digits territory.
Doug Shaffer, the Digits’ wing-footed fullback, caught it and ran it up to his thirty-three, where two Whips downed him.
“Eighteen,” quarterback George Daley said in the huddle.
“Eighteen?” Doug echoed. “Man, you want to pass right off the bat?”
“They won’t expect it,” said George.
“But nobody ever starts off with a pass. Okay, you called it. Let’s go.”
“No. Wait a minute. Let’s change it to twenty-eight.”
Larry glanced from George to Doug.
Who’s quarterbacking this team, anyway?
he wanted to ask.
“Right,” said Doug. “Let’s get ‘em, guys.”
They broke out of the huddle and hustled to the line of scrimmage. Larry felt an elbow nudge him on the arm. It was Greg.
A questioning look was in his eyes. He hadn’t heard what that exchange was about, but he could tell that it was not something
pleasant.
Larry got over the ball, put his hands around it.
“Hut one! Hut two! Hut three!”
Larry snapped the ball, then threw a block on Omar as the linebacker tried toplunge through the line. Omar fell over him, regained his balance, and started after George. George backpedaled a few steps,
turned, and handed off to Billy James, the right halfback. Billy grabbed the ball and sprinted toward the right side of the
line. The Whips’ defense went after him, caught him, and threw him for a three-yard
Yancey Foote had written in one of his letters.
You must be able to go in either direction, left or right.
Mick Bartlett, the Whips’ quarterback, barked signals. The ball was snapped. Mick backpedaled a few steps, then handed off
to J. J. Jackson. Jackson plowed through the line where a hole had opened up wide enough to drive a truck through.
Larry’s eyes met J. J.’s squarely as the fast-running back came toward him. Then, just as Larry reached out to grab him, J.
J. made a lightning dodge to the left. Larry’s fingers barely brushed against J. J.’s crimson shirt as J. J. burst by him,
plunging to the forty-five, where Jack O’Leary pulled him down.
“Come on, you guys! Plug up that hole!” Jack yelled, straightening up his helmet and backing up to his position. Larry admired
him. That was an excellent tackle.
Second and three.
J. J. carried again. This time he dashed through a hole on the right side of the line, picking up four yards and a first down
before Rick Baron and Steve Harvey brought him down.
Pete Monroe, the Whips’ burly fullback, tried to duplicate J. J.’s run up through the middle. The hole was there, but so was
Larry. His feet planted squarely under him,Larry followed Pete’s every move, determined not to be outfoxed this time.
Pete tried to stiff-arm him, dodging to his left in an attempt to evade Larry’s reaching hands. He wasn’t as quick as J. J.,
though, and Larry tackled him, pulling him down on the Digits’ forty-eight. A three-yard gain.
Second and seven.
J. J. carried the ball again, sprinting around left end for a long gain and another first down. The Whips were moving, taking
huge bites of precious yardage, and they seemed unstoppable.
In three more plays they hit pay dirt, J. J. going over for the touchdown. Then Pete swung around right end for the extra
point. Whips 7, Digits 0.
Coach Ellis sent in his offensive team, keeping in Larry, Manny Anderson, and Billy James, all of whom played defense andoffense. Larry played center on offense; Coach Ellis had told him he had the size for both a center and a middle linebacker.
Larry didn’t know whether to be proud of that or not. Were he, Manny, and Billy expected to play every minute of the game?
With twelve minutes in a quarter that added up to forty-eight minutes. A guy could absorb a lot of beating in that time if
he were lucky enough to live through it.
Omar Ross, the Whips’ hefty middle linebacker, kicked off. The boot was a beauty, flying end over end deep into Digits territory.
Doug Shaffer, the Digits’ wing-footed fullback, caught it and ran it up to his thirty-three, where two Whips downed him.
“Eighteen,” quarterback George Daley said in the huddle.
“Eighteen?” Doug echoed. “Man, you want to pass right off the bat?”
“They won’t expect it,” said George.
“But nobody ever starts off with a pass. Okay, you called it. Let’s go.”
“No. Wait a minute. Let’s change it to twenty-eight.”
Larry glanced from George to Doug.
Who’s quarterbacking this team, anyway?
he wanted to ask.
“Right,” said Doug. “Let’s get ‘em, guys.”
They broke out of the huddle and hustled to the line of scrimmage. Larry felt an elbow nudge him on the arm. It was Greg.
A questioning look was in his eyes. He hadn’t heard what that exchange was about, but he could tell that it was not something
pleasant.
Larry got over the ball, put his hands around it.
“Hut one! Hut two! Hut three!”
Larry snapped the ball, then threw a block on Omar as the linebacker tried toplunge through the line. Omar fell over him, regained his balance, and started after George. George backpedaled a few steps,
turned, and handed off to Billy James, the right halfback. Billy grabbed the ball and sprinted toward the right side of the
line. The Whips’ defense went after him, caught him, and threw him for a three-yard
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