boy!" he said. "This is fun!"
"We got a chance," Kuttner said. "We got a good chance. It's with you, Socks, or Kulowski."
"It's Kulowski," Socks said. "Listen, Muggs. Remember those long passes out there by the creek? You get away this time and get off down the field, but fast. Go around the left end and when you get down there, angle across the field. Wherever you are, you'll get that pass."
Socks glanced at Ryan.
"Okay," he said. "Let's go!" He spun on his heel and said to Muggs, "All right, let's see the deer in those big feet of yours!"
The center snapped the ball back to Socks, and he dropped back for the pass. Kuttner started around the end, and Burtson, thinking the pass was for Kuttner, started after him. Ryan had gone through the middle, and suddenly, Socks, still falling back, saw Kulowski away off down the field. He was really running. It would be forty yards, at least.
As a big tackle lunged toward him, Socks shot the pass in a rifling spiral that traveled like a bullet, just out of reach of leaping hands. Then Kulowski went up, the ball momentarily slipped through his hands, and a terrific groan went up from the stands, but then he recovered and was running!
Tarbell had been playing far back, and he started slow as Kulowski came toward him. Then the big All-American's pace changed suddenly, his toes dug in and he hurled himself in a dynamite-charged tackle at Muggs.
Kulowski made a lightninglike cross step, and at the same moment, his open hand shot out in a wicked stiff-arm, backed by all the power of those freight-handling muscles. That hand flattened against Tarbell's face and the clutching hands grasped only air.
Two men got Kulowski on the two yard line, bringing him down with a bone-crushing jolt.
They lined up again, and Ryan looked at Muggs and Kulowski grinned. They snapped the ball, and he went through the middle with everything he could give. They tried to hold him, but for the first time in his life, Muggs Kulowski was playing with everything he had in him. He put his head down and drove.
With four men clinging to him, he shoved through. The ball was over.
The rest was anticlimax. Socks Barnaby dropped back and booted the ball through the goal posts, and the whistle blew.
It was 20 to 13!
"Well," Barnaby said to Temple as the big coach stood waiting for them, "what did I tell you?"
"You tell me?" The Coach grinned. "Why, I knew that you were all brains an' he was all beef. What d'you suppose I needled you for? Don't you suppose I knew that thesis of yours was on the sense of inferiority?"
"Crabapples!" Socks scoffed. "Why, you couldn't--!"
"Listen, pantywaist," Temple growled. "D'you suppose I'd ever have let you an' Muggs on that field if I didn't know you could do it? Don't you suppose I knew you an' him were down behind that red barn every night? What d'you suppose I kicked him off the field for? I knew you were so confounded contrary you'd get busy an' work with him just to show me up!"
"Well," Socks grinned, "it wasn't you who got showed up. It was Hanover."
"Yeah," Temple agreed, "so go put that in theLantern . And you, Kulowski. You get out for practice, you hear?"
"Okay," Kulowski said. Then he grinned. "But first I got to write an article for theLantern ."
Coach Temple's eyes narrowed and his face grew brick red.
"You? Writing for theLantern ? What about?"
"Coaching methods at Eastern," Kulowski said, and laughed.
He was still laughing as he walked toward the field house with his arm across Barnaby's shoulders.
-
From The Listening Hills (ss) (2004)
Anything for a Pal
TONY KINSELLA LOOKED at his platinum wristwatch. Ten more minutes. Just ten minutes to go. It was all set. In ten minutes a young man would be standing on that corner under the streetlight. Doreen would come up, speak to him, and then step into the drugstore. Once Doreen had put the finger on him, confirming that he was, in fact, the man they sought, the car would slide up, and he, Tony Kinsella, Boss
"We got a chance," Kuttner said. "We got a good chance. It's with you, Socks, or Kulowski."
"It's Kulowski," Socks said. "Listen, Muggs. Remember those long passes out there by the creek? You get away this time and get off down the field, but fast. Go around the left end and when you get down there, angle across the field. Wherever you are, you'll get that pass."
Socks glanced at Ryan.
"Okay," he said. "Let's go!" He spun on his heel and said to Muggs, "All right, let's see the deer in those big feet of yours!"
The center snapped the ball back to Socks, and he dropped back for the pass. Kuttner started around the end, and Burtson, thinking the pass was for Kuttner, started after him. Ryan had gone through the middle, and suddenly, Socks, still falling back, saw Kulowski away off down the field. He was really running. It would be forty yards, at least.
As a big tackle lunged toward him, Socks shot the pass in a rifling spiral that traveled like a bullet, just out of reach of leaping hands. Then Kulowski went up, the ball momentarily slipped through his hands, and a terrific groan went up from the stands, but then he recovered and was running!
Tarbell had been playing far back, and he started slow as Kulowski came toward him. Then the big All-American's pace changed suddenly, his toes dug in and he hurled himself in a dynamite-charged tackle at Muggs.
Kulowski made a lightninglike cross step, and at the same moment, his open hand shot out in a wicked stiff-arm, backed by all the power of those freight-handling muscles. That hand flattened against Tarbell's face and the clutching hands grasped only air.
Two men got Kulowski on the two yard line, bringing him down with a bone-crushing jolt.
They lined up again, and Ryan looked at Muggs and Kulowski grinned. They snapped the ball, and he went through the middle with everything he could give. They tried to hold him, but for the first time in his life, Muggs Kulowski was playing with everything he had in him. He put his head down and drove.
With four men clinging to him, he shoved through. The ball was over.
The rest was anticlimax. Socks Barnaby dropped back and booted the ball through the goal posts, and the whistle blew.
It was 20 to 13!
"Well," Barnaby said to Temple as the big coach stood waiting for them, "what did I tell you?"
"You tell me?" The Coach grinned. "Why, I knew that you were all brains an' he was all beef. What d'you suppose I needled you for? Don't you suppose I knew that thesis of yours was on the sense of inferiority?"
"Crabapples!" Socks scoffed. "Why, you couldn't--!"
"Listen, pantywaist," Temple growled. "D'you suppose I'd ever have let you an' Muggs on that field if I didn't know you could do it? Don't you suppose I knew you an' him were down behind that red barn every night? What d'you suppose I kicked him off the field for? I knew you were so confounded contrary you'd get busy an' work with him just to show me up!"
"Well," Socks grinned, "it wasn't you who got showed up. It was Hanover."
"Yeah," Temple agreed, "so go put that in theLantern . And you, Kulowski. You get out for practice, you hear?"
"Okay," Kulowski said. Then he grinned. "But first I got to write an article for theLantern ."
Coach Temple's eyes narrowed and his face grew brick red.
"You? Writing for theLantern ? What about?"
"Coaching methods at Eastern," Kulowski said, and laughed.
He was still laughing as he walked toward the field house with his arm across Barnaby's shoulders.
-
From The Listening Hills (ss) (2004)
Anything for a Pal
TONY KINSELLA LOOKED at his platinum wristwatch. Ten more minutes. Just ten minutes to go. It was all set. In ten minutes a young man would be standing on that corner under the streetlight. Doreen would come up, speak to him, and then step into the drugstore. Once Doreen had put the finger on him, confirming that he was, in fact, the man they sought, the car would slide up, and he, Tony Kinsella, Boss
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