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Authors: Matt Christopher
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formation. Chuck had made a wise call, Jim figured.
Mark tried to punt the ball out of bounds down near the five-yard line. It went out near the ten. Not bad, thought Jim.
But the Indians pulled off a long pass, and then a couple of good runs that got them deep into Rams territory again. Before
the quarter was over they scored a touchdown.
Coach Butler sent Jim back in during the middle of the second quarter. The ball was the Rams’ on the Indians’ forty-two-yard
line.
Mark plowed through right tackle for a four-yard gain, then was stopped dead on the scrimmage line on another line-plunging
attempt.
In the huddle, Chuck looked from one face to another as if waiting for someone to offer a suggestion.
“We’ve got to get on the scoreboard, you guys,” he said finally. “How about the scissor pass?”
The pass play struck a chord in Jim’s memory. It called for him to run ahead five yards, then swing to the left. Dick Ronovitz
would run it the same way, only in the opposite direction.
For a few seconds no one reacted to the suggestion. Jim felt a nervous twitch on the side of his jaw, thinking that the guys
weren’t in favor of seeing him in the act.
Suddenly Chuck clapped his hands. “We’ll try it,” he said. “On three.”
They broke out of the huddle. The team lined up in position and Chuck began barking signals. On the three count, Steve snapped
the ball. Chuck took it, faded back, and faked a handoff to Ed. Ed started an end-around run, then got into a pocket formed
by Steve and the tackles. Jim cut across the field and saw Dick running past him.
An Indian guard chased after Jim, but Jim figured there were at least five yards between them, a gap he was sure he could
maintain. He was near theIndians’ ten-yard line when he decided to glance back for Chucks pass. By now the gap between him and his guard had increased
by at least another yard.
But Chuck wasn’t passing to him. He was passing to Dick down the right flat instead!
Dick’s guard was within arm’s reach of him; nothing but a perfect throw would work. A couple feet short and the pass could
be intercepted. A couple feet too far ahead of Dick and he wouldn’t be able to catch it.
The pass was perfect. Dick caught it on his fingertips, pulled it against his chest, and kept out of reach of his pursuer
long enough to cross the goal line.
Jim watched the guys run to Dick, slap him on the back, thump him on the rump.
Anger ignited in Jim and flared for a while, but he tried to control it. It was clear as day that he had been the better choice
for Chuck to throw to than Dick, yet Chuck had neglected him.
Jim shook his head. What was happening? Why couldn’t he feel good that his team had scored? Why was he so uptight?
In front of the Rams fans, the cheerleaders leaped, somersaulted, then led in a cheer:
“R-O-N-O-V-I-T-Z!
Ronovitz! ’Raaayyyyy!”
The teams lined up, and Mark kicked for the point after. It was good. Indians 10, Rams 7.
Jim fought an impulse to complain to Chuck about the play. Why shouldn’t he say something about it? Why not clear the air
with Chuck, get an explanation from him about why he had thrown to Dick instead of to Jim?
No, he decided. Heck, why make things worse? Jim knew why he was being ignored.
Unfair! How many of you have saints for fathers? he felt like yelling at them.
The Indians had possession of the ball on the Rams’ eighteen when the two-minute-warning whistle blew.
“You can bet your boots Enders will try at least a couple of passes to score again before the half’s over,” Chick said in
the huddle. “Cover Slate. Cover him good.”
“We don’t want to forget their other end,” reminded Fred Yates. “He caught a few short passes, too.”
“Lets blitz ’em,” suggested Ben Culligan. “That’ll force him to throw. Maybe before he can find a target.”
“I’ll buy that,” said Steve Newton, playing linebacker on defense.
“Okay. I’ll buy
Mark tried to punt the ball out of bounds down near the five-yard line. It went out near the ten. Not bad, thought Jim.
But the Indians pulled off a long pass, and then a couple of good runs that got them deep into Rams territory again. Before
the quarter was over they scored a touchdown.
Coach Butler sent Jim back in during the middle of the second quarter. The ball was the Rams’ on the Indians’ forty-two-yard
line.
Mark plowed through right tackle for a four-yard gain, then was stopped dead on the scrimmage line on another line-plunging
attempt.
In the huddle, Chuck looked from one face to another as if waiting for someone to offer a suggestion.
“We’ve got to get on the scoreboard, you guys,” he said finally. “How about the scissor pass?”
The pass play struck a chord in Jim’s memory. It called for him to run ahead five yards, then swing to the left. Dick Ronovitz
would run it the same way, only in the opposite direction.
For a few seconds no one reacted to the suggestion. Jim felt a nervous twitch on the side of his jaw, thinking that the guys
weren’t in favor of seeing him in the act.
Suddenly Chuck clapped his hands. “We’ll try it,” he said. “On three.”
They broke out of the huddle. The team lined up in position and Chuck began barking signals. On the three count, Steve snapped
the ball. Chuck took it, faded back, and faked a handoff to Ed. Ed started an end-around run, then got into a pocket formed
by Steve and the tackles. Jim cut across the field and saw Dick running past him.
An Indian guard chased after Jim, but Jim figured there were at least five yards between them, a gap he was sure he could
maintain. He was near theIndians’ ten-yard line when he decided to glance back for Chucks pass. By now the gap between him and his guard had increased
by at least another yard.
But Chuck wasn’t passing to him. He was passing to Dick down the right flat instead!
Dick’s guard was within arm’s reach of him; nothing but a perfect throw would work. A couple feet short and the pass could
be intercepted. A couple feet too far ahead of Dick and he wouldn’t be able to catch it.
The pass was perfect. Dick caught it on his fingertips, pulled it against his chest, and kept out of reach of his pursuer
long enough to cross the goal line.
Jim watched the guys run to Dick, slap him on the back, thump him on the rump.
Anger ignited in Jim and flared for a while, but he tried to control it. It was clear as day that he had been the better choice
for Chuck to throw to than Dick, yet Chuck had neglected him.
Jim shook his head. What was happening? Why couldn’t he feel good that his team had scored? Why was he so uptight?
In front of the Rams fans, the cheerleaders leaped, somersaulted, then led in a cheer:
“R-O-N-O-V-I-T-Z!
Ronovitz! ’Raaayyyyy!”
The teams lined up, and Mark kicked for the point after. It was good. Indians 10, Rams 7.
Jim fought an impulse to complain to Chuck about the play. Why shouldn’t he say something about it? Why not clear the air
with Chuck, get an explanation from him about why he had thrown to Dick instead of to Jim?
No, he decided. Heck, why make things worse? Jim knew why he was being ignored.
Unfair! How many of you have saints for fathers? he felt like yelling at them.
The Indians had possession of the ball on the Rams’ eighteen when the two-minute-warning whistle blew.
“You can bet your boots Enders will try at least a couple of passes to score again before the half’s over,” Chick said in
the huddle. “Cover Slate. Cover him good.”
“We don’t want to forget their other end,” reminded Fred Yates. “He caught a few short passes, too.”
“Lets blitz ’em,” suggested Ben Culligan. “That’ll force him to throw. Maybe before he can find a target.”
“I’ll buy that,” said Steve Newton, playing linebacker on defense.
“Okay. I’ll buy
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