Halfback Attack (2 page)

“They — they won’t expect it,” said Freddie timidly.

Ten pairs of eyes kept staring at him.

Then Dick said, “Okay! It might surprise them! If you don’t make it, we’ll still have another down! Number twelve! Block your
men, you guys!”

Dick snapped signals. The ball whipped into his hands. He ran with it toward the right side of the line. A tackle broke through
and started after him. Dennis blocked him. An end broke through. He reached for Dick. Just then Dick pitched the ball out
to Freddie, who was running hard alongside him.

Freddie clamped the ball tightly against his side and raced hard down the field. Coming from his left was the Catbirds’ safety
man. Freddie tried to pick up more speed. He was on the fifteen, now … the ten … the five….

The safety man reached him grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him down. Just three yards from the goal line!

“Beautiful run, Freddie!” praised Dick. “Let’s go for it now. I’ll try the sneak.”

Dick tried it, and plunged through for the touchdown.

Dennis bucked from the two. He didn’t make it.

The score: Catbirds 20; Sandpipers 13.

The coach sent in substitutes. One was Ted Butler, who came in again to replace Freddie.

“Nice running, Freddie,” said Coach Sears with a smile. “I think I know what to do with you now.”

Freddie gazed at him with puzzlement, then looked away. What did the coach mean by that?

The third quarter ended, and the teams switched goals. The Catbirds moved into Sandpipers territory. Then Ernie Moody heaved
a long forward pass. Fullback Mike Polski, who had gone in for Dennis, intercepted it. He ran it back to the thirty-eight,
where he was downed.

“Get in there, Freddie,” snapped the coach. “On the double!”

Freddie ran in.

“Let me take it!” he said in the huddle.

Dick glared at him. “In case you didn’t know,” he said gruffly, “I’m captain.”

Freddie blushed. He wanted to tell Dick and the others that all he wanted was to make up for the touchdown he had given the
Catbirds. But there was no way he could say that.

“Pass to Mills,” said Dick. “On the three!”

Dick passed. Left end Joey Mills overran the ball, and it was incomplete.

“Try it to me this time,” pleaded Freddie.

“You heard me!” said Dick, his eyes hot as they pierced the little right halfback’s. “We’ll try it again, but this time to
Milt.”

Milt was off at the snap. So was Freddie. He raced down the field, running about two yards inside of Milt. He saw the Catbirds’
linebackers chasing after them. Ahead was their safety man, charging forward.

Suddenly the ball came spiraling through the air like a pointed torpedo. It soared over Freddie’s head. Milt caught it, stumbled,
and went on. He was out of danger from the linebackers. But the safety man was almost upon him.

Just as the safety man lunged for Milt, Freddie shouted, “Here, Milt! Behind you!”

Milt flipped the ball behind him. It struck the tips of Freddie’s fingers and almost dropped. Then he pulled it against his
side and ran on. The white stripes slipped underneath him, until he crossed the goal line.

Seconds later, Dennis bucked for the extra point, and the score was tied: 20–20.

The game ended a little while later with the score locked at 20–20. Freddie took off his helmet and let the wind cool his
head. He had started homeward when he heard someone running up behind him.

“Hey, Cuz! See you guys finally tied a game!”

His cousin Mert McGuire came up behind him and clapped him hard on the back.

“At least we didn’t lose,” replied Freddie.

Mert played fullback for the Cardinals, the team that had won the championship the last two years. He was tall and fast and
easily the best player in the league. Freddie had to admit that the Cardinals would not be much of a team without him. But
Freddie would never tell that to Mert, even if Mert was his cousin.

“You can travel with that ball,” said Mert, “but you have a weakness. I saw it.”

Freddie slapped his helmet against his thigh. The sun was overhead and behind the two boys, so that their shadows walked along
in front of them. Freddie’s shoulder pads made his shadow look almost twice as broad as Mert’s, who was wearing a sweater.

“Did Coach Sears tell you?” said Mert.

The shadow of his chin jutted toward Freddie’s wide right shoulder. Suddenly Freddie lifted his shoulder, and his shadow came
up and smacked the shadow of Mert’s chin.

Freddie ignored Mert’s question.

“How did the Flamingos make out?” he asked.

The Flamingos had played that morning on the A field, which adjoined the B field, where the Sandpipers had played. This arrangement
made it possible for two games to be played every Saturday morning, with one in the afternoon.

“They lost,” answered Mert. “The Owls beat them thirty-one to twenty-six.” A wiseacre smile came over Mert’s face. “You sure
have a weakness, Freddie. A very bad weakness. It’s no use hiding it.
Everybody knows, especially your coach. Bet he makes some roster changes soon!”

Freddie’s heart throbbed. A car went by and the horn tooted. He recognized some of the boys on the team sitting in the backseat—Dick
Connors, Mike Polski, Joey Mills.

“Guys break through you like water,” Mert went on. “You’d better not play when your team plays us. I’d hate to spill you with
a stiff-arm.”

Freddie tried to swallow his anger. He looked at Mert. “That’s a long time away. Anything could happen by then.”

“I know,” said Mert, smiling. “You could lose every game! Ha ha! So long, Cuz! This is where I turn offf”

Why do I have to have a cousin like him? thought Freddie. He wished he had poked Mert’s chin shadow once more while he had
had the chance.

He arrived home and found his mom busily vacuuming the living room rug. She was tall, and pretty, even with her hair in curlers.
Since his dad had died, she worked during the week in an office and used Saturday to do her housecleaning.

She saw him walk in the door and smiled. She stepped on a lever on the vacuum cleaner, and it whirred to a stop.

“Well!” she said. “Who won?”

“
We
tied,” Freddie replied. “Twenty-twenty. I’m hungry, Mom. Got anything to eat?”

“In a minute,” she said. “Change your clothes and wash up.” She frowned then. “Your uniform looks pretty clean. Didn’t you
play?”

He looked away and felt himself blush. “I played some,” he mumbled, and walked to his bedroom, where he started to change
out of his uniform.

She wouldn’t have said that if she’d gone to the game. Hadn’t he made some long runs with the ball? Hadn’t he scored that
last touchdown?

He showered and changed.

Mom was unplugging the electric cord when he came out. “Put this away for me, will you, Freddie? I’ll get lunch for us.”

He wound the long cord around the cleaner, then put the cleaner away in a closet.

“I just remembered,” said Mom. “Jimmie Rose was here a little while ago. He wants you to play with him.”

Freddie’s brows arched. “Jimmie Rose?”

She smiled. ≴Yes. He wants to play football with you.”

“But I just got through playing football!” murmured Freddie.

“I know. But after lunch, can’t you play with him just a little? He likes you a lot, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Freddie.

And then he thought, Maybe I can tackle Jimmie. He’s a lot younger than I am. And a lot smaller.

After lunch, Mom told Freddie he’d better rest awhile before going to Jimmie’s.

“Don’t want you to get a stomachache,” she said.

He put on his tan windbreaker and his cap, went out, and sat on the front porch. The sun shone like a thousand glittering
diamonds through the tall elm tree standing inside the curb. It speckled him with shadows.

He got to thinking. He didn’t especially care about playing with Jimmie; Jimmie was too small. Still, he’d never seen a boy
quite like Jimmie. Jimmie had more “pep, zip, and vinegar” than anybody Freddie knew.

When he decided that his food had digested enough, he got up and went to Jimmie’s. Jimmie lived half a block down the street.

Freddie walked around the large, white house to the backyard. Sure enough, a little boy with very wide shoulders and big numbers
on the back of his green jersey was playing with a football. The boy was also wearing a black football helmet with a white
stripe through the middle of it, and a face guard.

“Hi, Jimmie,” Freddie said.

Jimmie turned. A grin spread like sunshine across his face.

“Hi, Freddie!” Then disappointment wiped away the smile. “Where’s your uniform and helmet?”

Freddie shrugged. “Took them off. I played this morning.”

Jimmie came up to him, the football pressed under his arm. “Will you still play with me, please? In the park across the street?
There’s more room there.”

Freddie thought about it a minute. Jimmie was so little! Why didn’t he ask some kid his own size?

“I just finished eating,” he said, making an excuse.

“That’s all right,” replied Jimmie. The disappointment faded quickly from his face. “You don’t have to run much. Come on!”

Jimmie raced ahead of him out of the yard. Near the street he stopped, watched for cars, then ran across to the park. Freddie
shrugged. What could he do? He trotted after Jimmie.

He was glad that the park was empty.

Jimmie passed the football to him, then ran in the opposite direction, waiting for Freddie to throw. Freddie tossed a spiral,
and Jimmie caught it over his shoulder.

That kid! thought Freddie. He’s small, but great!

“Let’s play tackle,” Jimmie suggested after a while.

“Tackle?” Freddie echoed. “Who — you and me?”

“Sure!” said Jimmie seriously. “You hike and I’ll run. If I don’t make a TD in four downs, then it’s your turn.”

Freddie stared. “A TD?”

“Of course!” replied Jimmie. “A touchdown! That big tree there is the goal line.” That Jimmie was just fantastic!

Then all at once Freddie remembered some of the things that had happened in the game that morning, and a strange feeling came
over him.

“Let’s play touch tackle,” he suggested. “Then nobody will get hurt.”

“Get hurt?” Jimmie frowned as if that was the last thing he would think of. “Not me! I have my shoulder pads on, and my helmet!
Want to go home and get yours?”

Listen to him! thought Freddie. I’m making him think I’m afraid! I can’t do that!

He forced a smile to his lips. “No, never mind,” he said. “Okay. You call signals.”

Jimmie tossed him the ball. Freddie held it on the ground, and Jimmie began yelling signals: “Four! Two! Five! Hike!”

At the word “Hike!” Freddie centered the ball to Jimmie. Jimmie caught it and started running past Freddie. He tried to stiff-arm
Freddie. Laughing, Freddie reached out and pulled Jimmie gently to the ground.

“Gained a little!” said Jimmie. “Second down!”

Suddenly loud applause sounded behind them. “Way to go, Freddie! Nice tackle!”

Freddie spun. Coming toward them were two of his teammates, Harry Lott and Steve Cook. Freddie’s face turned tomato red.

“See who he picks on?” Harry said. “Little kids!”

“Naturally,” said Steve. “He doesn’t dare tackle anybody his size.”

They both roared with laughter.

Freddie stood frozen. Now he knew he should not have come here with Jimmie.

“Go home,” said Jimmie. “Leave us alone.”

Harry chuckled. He played right guard and was a first-stringer on the team. “Let me see that ball, kid.”

Jimmie wrapped both arms around the ball. “I will not. You heard me. I said go home!”

Harry chuckled again. He went up to Jimmie. Jimmie backed away, then quickly passed the ball to Freddie. Steve jumped in front
of it and caught it. He and Harry began throwing it back and forth, teasing Jimmie and Freddie.

“Give me back my ball!” cried Jimmie angrily. “Help me, Freddie!”

Freddie’s heart pounded. Those bullies, he thought.

Both Harry and Steve laughed at the way they teased the two smaller boys. The more Freddie and Jimmie tried to get the ball,
the louder the boys laughed.

Then, just as Steve passed the ball again to Harry, Jimmie ran across the ground and dived at Harry’s legs.

Down went Harry, the ball squirting from his hands!

Quickly Freddie picked it up. He pulled it firmly against him, then stepped back and looked at Steve. But Steve wasn’t moving.
He was looking directly at the two boys on the ground, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Jimmie got up. And then slowly Harry got up. He brushed the dirt from his pants.

“Come on, Steve,” he said, his face a little red. “Let’s go.”

Freddie stared at their backs as they left. Then he stared at Jimmie … at the little kid who had tackled big Harry Lott.

Ms. Daley, Freddie’s teacher, gave the class an arithmetic test on Monday morning. Freddie enjoyed arithmetic. He liked to
figure out problems, but this morning he just could not concentrate on what he was doing.