JERRY BELL braced himself and looked directly into the blue eyes of the guard opposite him.
“One! Two! Hip!” Quarterback Dave Wheeler’s voice snapped like a whip.
At the cry, “Hip!” the lines lunged at each other. Jerry pushed forward and felt himself thrust aside. The next instant he was sprawled on the ground, his brown and white helmet cocked slightly on his head.
All around him was a tangle of brown and green uniforms. The pileup was behind him. He got to his feet as quickly as he could.
The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and the pile unscrambled. At the bottom was Mike Towns, fullback for the Browns. His helmet was pushed over his eyes. Dirt smeared his cheeks.
“Huddle,” snapped Dave Wheeler.
In the huddle Mike looked dagger-eyed at Jerry. “That guard busted right through you,” he said. “That’s the second time. Can’t you stop him?”
Jerry blushed. “I tried,” he said timidly.
“Okay,” said Dave. “We’d better try a pass. Twelve flair.”
Twelve flair meant the pass would be either to right end Fred Jones or left end Bert Buck.
The huddle broke. The teams lined up with the Browns in T formation. The Indians formed a five, four, two defense. The ball was on the Browns’ thirty-eight-yard line. It was third down and thirteen to go.
“Twelve! Nine! Green!” barked Dave.
The center snapped the ball. Dave took it and handed it to right halfback Jim Philips. Jim faded back, yanked the ball to his shoulder and heaved it. The ball shot across the field but wobbled and fell short almost in the hands of an Indians player.
“Pass incomplete,” yelled the referee.
“We have to kick,” said Dave in the huddle. “Okay, Mike. It’s up to you.”
Mike caught the snap from center and booted it hard down the field. The pigskin soared high for twenty-five yards. An Indians player caught it and carried it back to their forty-one.
The Indians moved down the field steadily, picking up first downs as if there were nothing to it. Jerry felt helpless. He was the tallest on the team and the most awkward. This was the Browns’ first game of the season and Jerry’s second year as a football player—if you could call him that.
Coach Ward had tried Jerry at tackle, guard, and end during practice sessions. Jerry didn’t seem to click at any position. His feet did not lift when he wanted them to, nor did his body move the way he wanted it to go. There was no use trying him in a backfield spot. You had to be fast to play in one of those positions.
The Browns stopped the Indians for a while. Then before the first quarter was over, the Indians scored a touchdown. They kicked the extra point to give them a 7 to o lead.
Coach Ward put in substitutes during the second quarter. Jerry warmed the bench, wondering whether he would go back in again.
With four minutes to go, the coach put Jerry in at right tackle. Jerry’s man was too quick for him. He slipped past Jerry like an eel whenever the Browns had the ball. He blocked Jerry like a brick wall when the Indians had possession.
I’m just a scrub, thought Jerry. I’m no good here at all. But I can’t quit; I love to play football.
On the Browns’ twelve-yard line, the Indians tried a pass. The throw was too high. Defensive right halfback Jim Philips intercepted it and raced all the way down the field for a touchdown. Mike kicked the extra point, and the score was tied 7 to 7.
The cheerleaders sprang in front of the fans and gave three cheers for Jim. Seconds later the half ended.
In the locker room Coach Ward talked to his boys a bit, pointing out their errors and their good plays. Then the team went out on the field to pass a couple of footballs among themselves.
Jerry mingled with the others. He got the ball often and heaved it far out to whomever called for it. His throws were like bullets and accurate almost every time. He enjoyed this. At least he could throw a football and throw it well.
The Indians showed their strength again at the start of the third quarter. Within two minutes they scored a touchdown. Their try for the extra point missed, and the score was Indians 13, Browns 7.
Late in the quarter, the Indians threatened to score again, but the Browns held them.
In the fourth, quarterback Dave Wheeler tried almost every play the Browns knew to gain yardage. Yet, at the end of each series of downs, they would always have to punt to put the ball as far away as possible from their goal line.
Jerry was on the bench. Suddenly, Coach Ward looked at him.
“Jerry, go out in Jim Philips’ place. Tell Dave to call the twelve flair play. I saw you throw that ball during the half. Let me see you throw it the same way in the game.”
Jerry’s eyes widened. His mouth became dry.
“I’ll try, Coach.”
Jerry ran in. Dave and all the players stared unbelievingly at him as he repeated what the coach had said.
The ball was on the Browns’ twenty-three-yard line. It was first and ten.
“Twelve! Two! Blue!”
The ball snapped from center. Dave faked to Mike, then stepped back and handed the ball to Jerry. Jerry took it, faded back, and looked at the two men, Fred Jones and Bert Buck, who were running out for the pass.
Bert was farthest away and in the clear. Jerry heaved the ball to him. It sailed high and long. Then it came down right into Bert’s arms. He pulled it to him and raced on down the field for a touchdown.
The Browns’ fans sprang to their feet and yelled lustily. What a beautiful throw! What a magnificent catch!
Mike kicked the pigskin between the uprights for the extra point, putting the Browns ahead, 14 to 13.
The Indians couldn’t do much after that. Their spirit seemed broken by the Browns’ unexpected score. Soon the game was over. Dave, Mike—they all pounded Jerry on the back and shook his hand.
Coach Ward came over, his face covered with a big grin. “I know where there’s a spot for you now,” he told Jerry happily.
