1
Playing Time
M anny was angry. He shifted his weight from his right knee to his left and balled his hand into a fist, wishing there was something to smack. He bit hard on his plastic mouth guard and looked up at the practice field.
Vinnie DiMarco, the quarterback, was rolling out toward the sideline, running almost straight toward Manny and the other subs. DiMarco straight-armed a tackler and wiggled loose, but big Anthony Martin hauled him down and tackled him hard at the sideline.
“Nice hustle, Anthony,” Manny said, leaping to his feet to avoid getting rolled on. Anthony nodded and gave a yawn that stretched his chubby brown face until his eyes were nearly shut. He looked exhausted after an hour of scrimmaging in the hot August sun.
Manny had spent the hour watching the first-string offense battle the first-string defense. He hadn’t been in for even one play. This wasn’t why he’d joined the Hudson City Hornets.
Tired football players stood or kneeled near him, their faces sweaty and their jerseys covered with dirt.
Manny expected to play. So what if he weighed only eighty-seven pounds? He was as tough as anybody out there.
Coach Reynolds walked over near Manny and looked at his clipboard. “You three runts,” he said, pointing at Manny, Donald, and Rico. “Get in there at the linebacker spots after this next play. Show me what you can do.”
About time, Manny thought. He pulled his helmet down over his dark, curly hair and ran in place for a few seconds, then jumped straight up and down a couple of times. He could feel his heart pumping harder. I’m gonna nail somebody.
The next play ended in an incomplete pass, and Manny and the other two trotted onto the field. Manny took his place as middle linebacker. He could hear the defensive linemen panting.
The offense had grinded the ball just over the 50-yard line and had come close to breaking a few long gains. Now DiMarco was calling signals, waiting for the snap. The lone running back went in motion and the ends were split wide. Everything indicated that it would be a pass play.
Don’t get burned, Manny thought. He took a step back in anticipation of a quick pass over the middle. But DiMarco took the snap and immediately rolled out to his right, toward the far sideline.
A lineman raced toward Manny and threw his shoulder into him, but Manny dodged to the side and took only a glancing blow. DiMarco had crossed the line of scrimmage now and was turning downfield, a line of blockers clearing his path.
Manny was fast and he eluded another blocker and angled toward the sideline, sensing that he could catch DiMarco about 30 yards downfield if no one else got there first.
All out, Manny told himself. Show them what you’ve got.
He could feel the dirt kicking up behind him as his cleats drove him toward the ball carrier, tasting the sweat that was trickling off his lip. He was gaining on DiMarco now, cutting down the distance as they raced for the goal line.
DiMarco crossed the 20-yard line, then the 10. Manny was inches away, and he dove, snagging DiMarco’s shin and holding on tight. They crashed to the dirt and the ball shook loose, rolling out of bounds.
Manny leaped up. He’d saved a touchdown. What would the coaches think of that?
But as he looked around he saw that the coaches’ attention was elsewhere. The other players had already started a long, slow lap around the perimeter of the field. No one was even watching.
“Nice tackle,” DiMarco said flatly. “Let’s go.”
“What?” Manny said.
“That’s it. Last play. Coach told us in the huddle. We’ve got five laps to run. Let’s go.”
“You’re kidding me,” Manny said. “I got in for one play ?”
“Tough break, huh?”
Manny stood still as DiMarco jogged off.
One play?
A whistle blew. “Pick up that football, kid,” yelled one of the coaches. “Let’s see some hustle.”
Manny grabbed the football and started to run, his face getting hot with anger. Most of
Playing Time
M anny was angry. He shifted his weight from his right knee to his left and balled his hand into a fist, wishing there was something to smack. He bit hard on his plastic mouth guard and looked up at the practice field.
Vinnie DiMarco, the quarterback, was rolling out toward the sideline, running almost straight toward Manny and the other subs. DiMarco straight-armed a tackler and wiggled loose, but big Anthony Martin hauled him down and tackled him hard at the sideline.
“Nice hustle, Anthony,” Manny said, leaping to his feet to avoid getting rolled on. Anthony nodded and gave a yawn that stretched his chubby brown face until his eyes were nearly shut. He looked exhausted after an hour of scrimmaging in the hot August sun.
Manny had spent the hour watching the first-string offense battle the first-string defense. He hadn’t been in for even one play. This wasn’t why he’d joined the Hudson City Hornets.
Tired football players stood or kneeled near him, their faces sweaty and their jerseys covered with dirt.
Manny expected to play. So what if he weighed only eighty-seven pounds? He was as tough as anybody out there.
Coach Reynolds walked over near Manny and looked at his clipboard. “You three runts,” he said, pointing at Manny, Donald, and Rico. “Get in there at the linebacker spots after this next play. Show me what you can do.”
About time, Manny thought. He pulled his helmet down over his dark, curly hair and ran in place for a few seconds, then jumped straight up and down a couple of times. He could feel his heart pumping harder. I’m gonna nail somebody.
The next play ended in an incomplete pass, and Manny and the other two trotted onto the field. Manny took his place as middle linebacker. He could hear the defensive linemen panting.
The offense had grinded the ball just over the 50-yard line and had come close to breaking a few long gains. Now DiMarco was calling signals, waiting for the snap. The lone running back went in motion and the ends were split wide. Everything indicated that it would be a pass play.
Don’t get burned, Manny thought. He took a step back in anticipation of a quick pass over the middle. But DiMarco took the snap and immediately rolled out to his right, toward the far sideline.
A lineman raced toward Manny and threw his shoulder into him, but Manny dodged to the side and took only a glancing blow. DiMarco had crossed the line of scrimmage now and was turning downfield, a line of blockers clearing his path.
Manny was fast and he eluded another blocker and angled toward the sideline, sensing that he could catch DiMarco about 30 yards downfield if no one else got there first.
All out, Manny told himself. Show them what you’ve got.
He could feel the dirt kicking up behind him as his cleats drove him toward the ball carrier, tasting the sweat that was trickling off his lip. He was gaining on DiMarco now, cutting down the distance as they raced for the goal line.
DiMarco crossed the 20-yard line, then the 10. Manny was inches away, and he dove, snagging DiMarco’s shin and holding on tight. They crashed to the dirt and the ball shook loose, rolling out of bounds.
Manny leaped up. He’d saved a touchdown. What would the coaches think of that?
But as he looked around he saw that the coaches’ attention was elsewhere. The other players had already started a long, slow lap around the perimeter of the field. No one was even watching.
“Nice tackle,” DiMarco said flatly. “Let’s go.”
“What?” Manny said.
“That’s it. Last play. Coach told us in the huddle. We’ve got five laps to run. Let’s go.”
“You’re kidding me,” Manny said. “I got in for one play ?”
“Tough break, huh?”
Manny stood still as DiMarco jogged off.
One play?
A whistle blew. “Pick up that football, kid,” yelled one of the coaches. “Let’s see some hustle.”
Manny grabbed the football and started to run, his face getting hot with anger. Most of
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