Parker. If everything went right, there would
be a hole in the line just off center on the right for Parker to break through.
Parker knew that the guys wouldn’t let him forget the helmet story. The best he could do now was show them that he really
cared about playing ball. He hunched down and got ready for the handoff.
“Three! Two! Hut! Hut!” called Spike.
As Spike called the signals, Parker thought about Melissa’s bike. So he forgot to tell her he didn’t take it to school. It
wasn’t that long a walk home. It wasn’t as though she was going to be late for something.
Suddenly he felt the ball slap against his chest. Instinctively he wrapped one arm around it and leapt forward toward the
hole in the line.
But he was too late. The hole wasn’t there. Recovering from their blocks, the defense had formed a solid wall. Parker came
up against a mound of flailing arms and legs. Someone landed on top of him, and a whistle blew.
When they unscrambled the pileup, Parker still had the ball in his hand. He put it down and joined the huddle a few yards
away.
“Still got your helmet, Parker?” joked Cris.
“Okay, guys, let’s get off Parker’s case and play some ball,” grumbled Moose Brogan, the tight end. “I want to catch some
passes.”
“Me, too,” said Stacy Fishburne, the other wide receiver. “How about Seventeen Red?”
Spike nodded, and they lined up for the next play. All Parker had to do was block his man. That would help give Spike time
to throw.
It worked. Stacy took an easy fifteen-yard pass and ran it offside for a gain of twenty.
“Nice pass,” called Coach Isaac. “Okay, let’s mix them up. I want to see some running, too. And you linemen, how’s about opening
a few holes for the runners?”
But Spike tried another pass, this time to Moose. He hit for a gain of ten yards.
His next pass, to Cris Muldoon, was right on the mark, too.
“Okay, Spike,” called Coach Isaac. “Let’s see some running plays.”
Crouched down in the huddle, Fabian deRosa, the rugged fullback, muttered, “Give me the ball. I’ll show him some running.”
“Naw, that’s what they’re expecting,” said Spike. “Let’s try Thirty-two Grind again.”
Putting me on the spot, thought Parker. Okay, why not?
They lined up, and Huey snapped the ball to Spike. The fake pass was followed by the hand-off. This time the hole was right
where it was supposed to be. Parker sped through it into the open field.
If this were a real game, I’d see some points on the scoreboard, he thought as he trotted across the goal line.
Excited but a little tired when he came off the field, Parker sat down on the bench. Coach Isaac was standing a few yards
away, talking to Rook Stubbs, the trainer. Parker could just make out the coach’s words.
“That Parker,” said the coach, nodding over his shoulder toward the bench. “Sometimes, you just have to hand it to him.” He
quickly added, “I mean the football.”
The rest of the scrimmage went pretty well. Parker made a few more good plays and hadsome nice runs. When he concentrated on what he was doing, he was a strong offensive runner.
On the way to the locker room, a few players stopped at the drinking fountain.
Mitch asked Parker, “What was with your little sister, anyhow?”
“Who knows?” Parker shrugged. “Kids!”
“Sisters!” said Moose.
“Girls!” said Cris.
Everyone laughed.
Parker quickly showered and got into his school clothes. Then he took his pads and dirty practice uniform to the equipment
room around the corner.
“Where’s your helmet?” asked Rook Stubbs. In addition to his job as trainer, Stubbs took care of just about everything else
— except coaching.
Parker blinked. “I guess I left it near my locker. Wait a minute — I’ll go get it.”
Stubbs shook his head. “Take a break, Parker. I have it right here.”
“Where’d you get it? Somebody must have tried to steal it again,” Parker
be a hole in the line just off center on the right for Parker to break through.
Parker knew that the guys wouldn’t let him forget the helmet story. The best he could do now was show them that he really
cared about playing ball. He hunched down and got ready for the handoff.
“Three! Two! Hut! Hut!” called Spike.
As Spike called the signals, Parker thought about Melissa’s bike. So he forgot to tell her he didn’t take it to school. It
wasn’t that long a walk home. It wasn’t as though she was going to be late for something.
Suddenly he felt the ball slap against his chest. Instinctively he wrapped one arm around it and leapt forward toward the
hole in the line.
But he was too late. The hole wasn’t there. Recovering from their blocks, the defense had formed a solid wall. Parker came
up against a mound of flailing arms and legs. Someone landed on top of him, and a whistle blew.
When they unscrambled the pileup, Parker still had the ball in his hand. He put it down and joined the huddle a few yards
away.
“Still got your helmet, Parker?” joked Cris.
“Okay, guys, let’s get off Parker’s case and play some ball,” grumbled Moose Brogan, the tight end. “I want to catch some
passes.”
“Me, too,” said Stacy Fishburne, the other wide receiver. “How about Seventeen Red?”
Spike nodded, and they lined up for the next play. All Parker had to do was block his man. That would help give Spike time
to throw.
It worked. Stacy took an easy fifteen-yard pass and ran it offside for a gain of twenty.
“Nice pass,” called Coach Isaac. “Okay, let’s mix them up. I want to see some running, too. And you linemen, how’s about opening
a few holes for the runners?”
But Spike tried another pass, this time to Moose. He hit for a gain of ten yards.
His next pass, to Cris Muldoon, was right on the mark, too.
“Okay, Spike,” called Coach Isaac. “Let’s see some running plays.”
Crouched down in the huddle, Fabian deRosa, the rugged fullback, muttered, “Give me the ball. I’ll show him some running.”
“Naw, that’s what they’re expecting,” said Spike. “Let’s try Thirty-two Grind again.”
Putting me on the spot, thought Parker. Okay, why not?
They lined up, and Huey snapped the ball to Spike. The fake pass was followed by the hand-off. This time the hole was right
where it was supposed to be. Parker sped through it into the open field.
If this were a real game, I’d see some points on the scoreboard, he thought as he trotted across the goal line.
Excited but a little tired when he came off the field, Parker sat down on the bench. Coach Isaac was standing a few yards
away, talking to Rook Stubbs, the trainer. Parker could just make out the coach’s words.
“That Parker,” said the coach, nodding over his shoulder toward the bench. “Sometimes, you just have to hand it to him.” He
quickly added, “I mean the football.”
The rest of the scrimmage went pretty well. Parker made a few more good plays and hadsome nice runs. When he concentrated on what he was doing, he was a strong offensive runner.
On the way to the locker room, a few players stopped at the drinking fountain.
Mitch asked Parker, “What was with your little sister, anyhow?”
“Who knows?” Parker shrugged. “Kids!”
“Sisters!” said Moose.
“Girls!” said Cris.
Everyone laughed.
Parker quickly showered and got into his school clothes. Then he took his pads and dirty practice uniform to the equipment
room around the corner.
“Where’s your helmet?” asked Rook Stubbs. In addition to his job as trainer, Stubbs took care of just about everything else
— except coaching.
Parker blinked. “I guess I left it near my locker. Wait a minute — I’ll go get it.”
Stubbs shook his head. “Take a break, Parker. I have it right here.”
“Where’d you get it? Somebody must have tried to steal it again,” Parker
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