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Authors: Matt Christopher
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infraction.
“Offside!” he yelled. “Number eighty-eight! Five yards!”
Jim couldn’t believe it. Dumbfounded, he watched the ref pace off five yards from the line of scrimmage against the Rams,
and spot the ball on the Indians’ thirty-nine.
“First down!”
“Nice going, Cort,” said a disgusted voice at Jim’s elbow.
It was Pat.
Jim felt a pair of eyes probing him from the other side. “I said to watch Slate,” Chick said indignantly, “not red dog him
before the ball is snapped.”
Jim said nothing. He had no excuse for doing what he had done.
The Indians tried two running plays, and gained a total of two yards. There was no doubt now in Jim’s mind that their next
play would be a pass. He prepared thoroughly for it, listening to the signals,waiting to move the instant he saw the opponents move.
In the back of his mind he remembered the offside call on him. He had to be careful not to repeat that costly error.
“Hut one! Hut two!”
The Indians charged. Jim dodged the opposing end, lost his footing, then got up and sprang after Slate, who was sprinting
down his left side of the field into Rams territory.
Jim bolted after him, closing the gap fast. It was when Slate looked back and started to reach up and out that Jim, thinking
that he was ready to pull down a pass, dove at the speeding back.
He got one hand on Slate’s shirt and yanked. The garment ripped off Slate’s back, the pull slowing him down just enough so
that the ball sailed past his out-reaching hands.
A flag dropped. Then another.
Jim stopped running, his eyes staring at the bouncing football.
“You crazy, man?” a soft voice grated at him. “I got to be near that ball first before you can tackle me.”
Jim looked at Slate, met the tall athletes eyessquarely, then looked away as he realized what he had done.
Chick picked up the ball and tossed it to the ref, who was standing in the exact spot where Jim had grabbed the intended receiver.
Jim watched the official put the ball down on the turf, then listened to him announce the infraction.
“Number eighty-eight! Pass interference! First down!”
A voice barked, “Cort! Take off!”
Jim looked at Chick, then saw Barry Delaney come running in from the bench. Silent, he ran off the field. He saw an empty
space on the bench and sat down.
The cheerleaders began to chant:
“CORT! C-O-R-T!
’RAAYYYYY!”
There was no reason to cheer him, Jim knew. He pulled off his helmet, caught a towel a kid tossed to him, and wiped his perspiring
face.
Coach Butler came over and stood in front of him. His thick biceps stretched the short sleeves of hisgreen shirt. The brim of his baseball cap, with the letters
PL
on it, was pulled down low, shading his piercing blue eyes.
“You don’t tackle a receiver until he has the ball,” Coach Butler said tersely.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Jim said.
“Also, if you had looked back over your shoulder for just a second when you saw Slate reaching for the ball, you might have
been able to make an interception,” the coach went on. “Or knock the ball down, anyway.”
Jim said nothing. But he had to admit that he had not thought of doing either of the things the coach mentioned.
The Indians kept surging and were stopped on the Rams’ twenty-one. Their attempted field goal clicked for three points.
Indians 3, Rams 0.
Ed Terragano got to their own thirty-three-yard line on the kickoff. In four plays the Rams got the ball on the Indians’ twenty-five.
The Indians held them there for three downs, and Jim wondered if Chuck would call for a field-goal attempt or a punt.Mark was the Rams’ kicker, but he had never attempted to kick more than a twenty-yard field goal before. With the ball on
the twenty-five, the holder would take the snap about seven yards farther back, anyway, meaning that the kick would have to
go more than forty-two yards to clear the uprights.
The Rams broke out of the huddle and went into punt
“Offside!” he yelled. “Number eighty-eight! Five yards!”
Jim couldn’t believe it. Dumbfounded, he watched the ref pace off five yards from the line of scrimmage against the Rams,
and spot the ball on the Indians’ thirty-nine.
“First down!”
“Nice going, Cort,” said a disgusted voice at Jim’s elbow.
It was Pat.
Jim felt a pair of eyes probing him from the other side. “I said to watch Slate,” Chick said indignantly, “not red dog him
before the ball is snapped.”
Jim said nothing. He had no excuse for doing what he had done.
The Indians tried two running plays, and gained a total of two yards. There was no doubt now in Jim’s mind that their next
play would be a pass. He prepared thoroughly for it, listening to the signals,waiting to move the instant he saw the opponents move.
In the back of his mind he remembered the offside call on him. He had to be careful not to repeat that costly error.
“Hut one! Hut two!”
The Indians charged. Jim dodged the opposing end, lost his footing, then got up and sprang after Slate, who was sprinting
down his left side of the field into Rams territory.
Jim bolted after him, closing the gap fast. It was when Slate looked back and started to reach up and out that Jim, thinking
that he was ready to pull down a pass, dove at the speeding back.
He got one hand on Slate’s shirt and yanked. The garment ripped off Slate’s back, the pull slowing him down just enough so
that the ball sailed past his out-reaching hands.
A flag dropped. Then another.
Jim stopped running, his eyes staring at the bouncing football.
“You crazy, man?” a soft voice grated at him. “I got to be near that ball first before you can tackle me.”
Jim looked at Slate, met the tall athletes eyessquarely, then looked away as he realized what he had done.
Chick picked up the ball and tossed it to the ref, who was standing in the exact spot where Jim had grabbed the intended receiver.
Jim watched the official put the ball down on the turf, then listened to him announce the infraction.
“Number eighty-eight! Pass interference! First down!”
A voice barked, “Cort! Take off!”
Jim looked at Chick, then saw Barry Delaney come running in from the bench. Silent, he ran off the field. He saw an empty
space on the bench and sat down.
The cheerleaders began to chant:
“CORT! C-O-R-T!
’RAAYYYYY!”
There was no reason to cheer him, Jim knew. He pulled off his helmet, caught a towel a kid tossed to him, and wiped his perspiring
face.
Coach Butler came over and stood in front of him. His thick biceps stretched the short sleeves of hisgreen shirt. The brim of his baseball cap, with the letters
PL
on it, was pulled down low, shading his piercing blue eyes.
“You don’t tackle a receiver until he has the ball,” Coach Butler said tersely.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Jim said.
“Also, if you had looked back over your shoulder for just a second when you saw Slate reaching for the ball, you might have
been able to make an interception,” the coach went on. “Or knock the ball down, anyway.”
Jim said nothing. But he had to admit that he had not thought of doing either of the things the coach mentioned.
The Indians kept surging and were stopped on the Rams’ twenty-one. Their attempted field goal clicked for three points.
Indians 3, Rams 0.
Ed Terragano got to their own thirty-three-yard line on the kickoff. In four plays the Rams got the ball on the Indians’ twenty-five.
The Indians held them there for three downs, and Jim wondered if Chuck would call for a field-goal attempt or a punt.Mark was the Rams’ kicker, but he had never attempted to kick more than a twenty-yard field goal before. With the ball on
the twenty-five, the holder would take the snap about seven yards farther back, anyway, meaning that the kick would have to
go more than forty-two yards to clear the uprights.
The Rams broke out of the huddle and went into punt
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