JOE FOLLOWS THE BALL
That evening Joe sought out Rusty in his room in the village. “I guess
I might as well quit,” he said. “I’m no good at it, Rusty, and there’s
no sense in my taking the place of some fellow who can play better.
You and Gus have been mighty decent, but I said when I started that I
didn’t want the job if I couldn’t earn it, and I haven’t. I’ve heard
more or less talk, too. Some fellows say I’m on just because I’m
rooming with Gus, or because I’m baseball captain. Well, I’d rather
they didn’t think that.”
“What are you trying to do?” asked Rusty. “Resign?”
“Yes.” Joe smiled and added: “Before I’m fired.”
“Well, your resignation isn’t accepted, Kenton.”
Joe observed the coach doubtfully. “But――but I’m in earnest,” he
protested. “It’s fine of you to be willing to put up with me, Rusty,
but I――I don’t want you to think that you’ve got to――that is, that
you’re under any obligation to find a place for me on the eleven.”
“Obligation be blowed,” said Rusty. “What are you talking about,
anyway? I don’t get you, Kenton.”
“Why, what I mean is――look here, Rusty. You know that if I wasn’t
baseball captain I’d have been let out two weeks ago. Well, I don’t
want to play football enough to keep my place by favor, and so――”
“Oh, that’s it,” interrupted Rusty. “I get you now. So you think I’m
nursing you along because you’re baseball captain, eh?”
“Well,” answered Joe, smiling, but uneasy because of a sudden setting
of Rusty’s face, “it’s done, isn’t it?”
Rusty shook his head, his mouth drawn to a grim line.
“Not this fall, Kenton,” he said.
Joe stared back a moment, and then, as Rusty said no more, laughed
perplexedly. “Well――” he began vaguely.
“When you aren’t any more use to the team, Kenton,” announced the coach
quietly, “I’ll tell you. But you wait until I do. If every one of
that bunch who played ragged this afternoon came to me and resigned I
wouldn’t have any team to-morrow. Good night.”
Joe, still perplexed although greatly relieved, went back and reported
the conversation to Gus. Gus called him a moron.
A week later Holman’s came back and played a very decent game against
the State Aggies team of husky, rangy veterans. She was beaten, but
only by a matter of two inches. Which is to say that if Brill’s second
attempt at a goal after touchdown had sent the pigskin two inches
higher it would have bounded over the bar instead of under. As it was,
the final score was 14 to 13, and as Holman’s had never hoped for
better than a tied score the result was accepted philosophically. Joe
played fairly well during the twenty-odd minutes that he was in; rather
better on defense than on attack, although he did get away once for a
twelve-yard run that for the moment made him look almost like a real
football player. One thing he did to the King’s taste――and Gus’s――was
to follow the ball, which accounted for the fact that he had several
fine tackles to his credit. Joe was not a little set up that evening,
although he tried not to let the fact be known. Gus, who was in a
jovial and expansive mood as a result of having more than outplayed
his opponent, insisted that Joe was every bit as good as Hearn and “a
blamed sight better than all the other subs!” Joe was pleased, but
sprinkled quite a quantity of salt on the avowal.
There was a week of extremely hard work before the Wagnalls game. Rusty
called always for speed and more speed. You simply couldn’t satisfy
him, it seemed, and when practice was over the walk to the gymnasium
was ten miles long! But the Light Green certainly showed improvement by
the end of that week. Plays went off more smoothly and a lot faster,
and it did seem as though the team had at last really found itself. In
the Wagnalls game Joe made his first touchdown, slipping around his own
right end behind the entire backfield and getting free when Sawyer,
playing right half, dumped the opposing end. Joe started his run from
the enemy’s twenty-seven and had no opposition, once past the line,
save from the Wagnalls quarter. Joe outguessed that youth very neatly
and eluded a desperate tackle, taking the ball over for the second
score of the game to the plaudits of the Holman’s rooters. The game was
one-sided from the start and the home team hung up five touchdowns for
a grand total of 34 points while Wagnalls was scoring 7. Joe stayed in
a full half and, save that he once got his signals twisted, comported
himself very well. Even his one lapse went unpenalized since, more by
luck than skill, he got enough ground to make it first down again.
Then, almost before any one realized it, it was Thursday and the last
practice was over and nothing was left to do save sit tight and wait
for the big adventure.
Of course there were drills on Friday, both in the afternoon and
evening, but they were designed more to keep the fellows from getting
“edgy” than to impart instruction. Friday evening Rusty turned from the
blackboard, dusted the chalk from his hands and spoke for ten minutes
very earnestly. What he said was about what all coaches have said on
the eve of big games since coaches and big games have been. Followed
some rather hysterical cheering and then twenty-six lads went back to
the dormitories and wooed slumber. Needless to say, a good many of the
number found slumber not easily won. Rather to his surprise, however,
Joe fell asleep soon after his head touched the pillow, beating Gus by
a good half-hour.
Munson came in numbers, waving blue-and-gold pennants and cheering
lustily as they took possession of the village. The invaders appeared
very certain of themselves, Joe thought, and his own confidence
lessened appreciably. Even when Gus, viewing the enemy from the steps
of Puffer, scathingly disposed of them as “a bunch of morons” Joe
couldn’t quite get back his last night’s serenity.
Munson kicked off promptly at two o’clock and Sanford fumbled the ball
on Holman’s sixteen yards, where an enemy end fell on it. It took
Munson just seven plays to put the pigskin over and hang up six points
to her credit. Holman’s was so overcome by the initial disaster that
her efforts to stop the enemy’s charges were almost pathetic. Munson
missed the goal by inches, and Holman’s, taking what comfort she
could, cheered long and loud. Joe watched that first half of the game
from the bench, Dave Hearn playing left half, and Leary right. After
that first score neither goal line was seriously threatened until the
second period was well along. Holman’s, recovering from her shock,
beat back two invasions of her territory short of the thirty-yard line
and finally started one of her own. It looked good until it approached
the opposite thirty. Then it slowed and faltered and, after Brill
had failed to get the ball to Ted Lord on a forward pass, Sanford
sacrificed two yards to get the pigskin in front of the Munson goal.
Brill tried a placement from the thirty-three, but the ball went far
short. Munson didn’t force the playing after that, but kicked on second
down and was content to let the score stay as it was until half-time.
Twice, however, Holman’s started off for the enemy goal and made good
going until well past midfield. There the attack invariably petered
out, for the Munson line was strong and steady. Barring that first
misadventure and its result, the opposing teams played very evenly. If
Munson’s backfield was as slow as Gus had predicted――and hoped――the
fact was not very evident in that half of the contest. Nor was the
Light Green backfield at all dazzling in its movements. An unbiased
observer would probably have said that neither team was playing within
thirty per cent of its best, and he would have been close to the facts.
The second quarter ended with the ball in Munson’s possession on her
own forty-four yards.
In the locker room at the gymnasium, above the _slap-slap_ of the
rubbers, Rusty’s voice dominated everything, save, perhaps, the pungent
odor of rubbing alcohol and linament, during the last three minutes
of half-time. Rusty had finished with criticism and instruction. Now
he was talking straight from the shoulder. It was old stuff, but it
sounded new and wonderful, and some of the younger fellows choked
while they listened and clenched their hands and set their young
mouths sternly. Rusty didn’t get “sloppy,” but he certainly had them
swallowing hard toward the end and sent them back fighting hot.
As I’ve said before, there was more in it for Rusty than a mere victory
over the hereditary enemy, and any man who won’t fight hard for his job
doesn’t deserve to hold it!
Joe took Hearn’s place at left half and Sawyer went in at right end
instead of Leary. Slim Porter, who had been removed in the first period
after some one had stepped ungently on his nose, was reinstated, well
taped of countenance. Otherwise the line-up was the same as had ended
the first half. It took four minutes for Holman’s to recover the
pigskin after the kick-off. Then Sawyer pulled down a punt and was
toppled over on his twenty-one yards after a six-yard dash. Holman’s
played better ball then and played it faster. Sanford abandoned his
safety first policy and called for plays that were ordinarily held back
for desperate moments. For a time they went well, for Munson found it
hard to realize that the enemy had really cut loose from the former
old-style “hit-the-wall” plays. When she awoke Holman’s was on her
thirty-five-yards and still coming. But nothing came of that advance in
the end. Some one was caught off-side and the invader was set back five
yards. Then Hap Ferris made a low pass to Sawyer and the best Sawyer
could do was make it safe for an eight-yard loss. In the end Brill
again tried a place-kick and again failed, and the ball was Munson’s on
her twenty.
Joe had taken his share of the work and had been as successful as
Sawyer, but his gains had been short. Getting away from the Munson
secondary defense was not an easy feat. Always he was nabbed after
three yards or four, or, as on one memorable occasion, seven. The third
quarter wore toward its end without more scoring. Once Munson tried
a desperate drop-kick from the thirty-two yards, but it went wide.
With four minutes of that third period left, however, the unexpected
happened.
Munson had slipped in two substitutes, a right guard and a left
half-back, and, not to be outdone, Rusty had responded by replacing
Ferris with Halliday at center. Hap had been used rather roughly, if
one judged by appearances! Munson had the ball on Holman’s forty-two
yards on second down when the unexpected came to pass. She had made
a scant two past Captain Gus and now she was evidently aiming at the
same place. But the new half-back, fresh from the bench, a rangy,
tow-headed lad just oozing enthusiasm, muffed the pass. There was a
frenzied shriek of “_Ball!_ _Ball!_” and a wild scramble at the left of
the enemy line. Then Joe ducked through on the other side, past a guard
whose attention had momentarily strayed, gathered the trickling oval up
from under the feet of the enemy and――went back again!
Going back again was a masterpiece of subtle strategy, for he was aided
by the selfsame guard who, finding an enemy inside his territory,
promptly thrust him toward whence he had come, failing to observe
until too late the fact that the enemy was taking the ball with him!
Once free from the guard’s attentions, Joe dug his cleats and left
the locality just as fast as his legs would let him, which was quite
fast. When the lost ball was at last discovered, which was within a
much shorter period of time than has been consumed in telling it, it
was well on its way toward the Munson goal line. Joe had cleared the
enemy right end unchallenged. Confusion and pandemonium reigned, and
twenty-one players and at least two officials did their level best to
catch up with Joe. But that was rather a hopeless undertaking, for Joe
had secured a fine start. When he crossed the goal line, after a brisk
dash of fifty-odd yards, he was practically unattended. There was a
great deal of shouting going on as Joe breathlessly placed the pigskin
on the ground and draped himself about it.
Various green-stockinged youths pounded or squeezed from Joe’s body what little
breath remained in it, and then Gus had his go and babbled something about
“following-the-ball-I’ll-say-so-what-do-you-know-about-it-you-old-thief-eh!”
And all the while he whanged Joe on the back and grinned from ear
to ear. Then comparative silence fell while Brill tried to boot the
pigskin over the bar for the much-needed one point and the Munson
crowd came charging through and spoiled the whole business! That was
disappointing, but at least the score was even and there was still
another period. Joe was glad when the quarter ended a minute later,
for he could rinse out his mouth at the water pail and get some air
back into his lungs.
Ten minutes later, or maybe eleven――I am speaking of playing and
not elapsed time――it had become generally accepted that 6 to 6 was
to be the final score of that game. Each side was trying hard to be
philosophical and keep in sight the fact that a tied score was better
any day than a defeat. One thing had been shown very conclusively,
which was that, eliminating accidents, neither team was able to score
against the other. Each might advance the ball to its opponent’s
thirty-five or even thirty, but beyond that point there was no going.
Of course accidents had happened and might happen again, but one
couldn’t depend on them. Since the last period had started there had
been several fumbles and near fumbles, for each team was now leavened
with second and third-string players, but the resultant advantages to
the opponent had been slight. There had been penalties inflicted, too,
but they had been inflicted impartially. So far as present results
went, Holman’s and Munson were just where they had been when they
started, absolutely even. Some fifty-five minutes of playing time had
brought advantage to neither the Light Green or the Blue and Gold.
Joe was still in, and so was Sawyer, but Brill had gone and Sanford had
gone and there were two substitutes on the ends and three strange backs
between them. Both teams were still fighting hard and desperately, but
they were slowing up fast. Under Clinker’s leadership Holman’s lacked
its former aggressiveness and even Gus’s husky imploring couldn’t put
speed into the Light Green. There was a good deal of punting now and
many rather hopeless attempts at forward passes. Most of the latter
grounded, but finally Clinker did get a short heave over the center
of the line to his right end and the latter made a half dozen strides
before he was obliterated. That put the ball on Munson’s forty-eight.
Joe tried a run outside his own left tackle and was stopped and
Sawyer got three through the center. Then Sawyer failed to gain and
Norman, who had taken Brill’s job, punted over the goal line. Some one
proclaimed three minutes to play as Munson lined up on her twenty. One
easily stopped plunge at the left of center, and Munson booted from her
ten-yard line. It was a short punt and it went out at the thirty-seven.
The Holman’s stands came to life again with a hoarse cheer of triumph.
Norman got a scant yard and Sawyer took two. Then Joe scampered wide
around his right and added two more before he was run out of bounds.
It was fourth down and, since Norman was no field-goal kicker, he
punted from near the forty. By some freak of fortune the ball went the
whole way and again fell behind the goal line, and again Munson touched
it back and brought it out to her twenty. The time keeper said one
minute and forty seconds.
Well, much may happen in one and two-thirds minutes, and in this
particular one and two-thirds minutes much did. Munson decided to take
no risk and her left half went back to kicking position. Very, very
desperately Holman’s strove to break through and block that punt,
but just as desperately the Blue-and-Gold line held her off. Yet the
Holman’s determination had its effect. The enemy center passed low
and the punter was hurried. The ball went high in the air and there
a vagrant breeze took it and wafted it back toward the Munson goal.
When it descended it was no further from where it had begun its flight
than the twenty-five-yard line. It was Norman who claimed it, although
half the Holman’s players might have caught it as easily. The Munson
ends, indeed most of the Munson team, were waiting to down the catcher.
Which was friend and which was enemy was very hard to determine in that
moment. Then the ball came down, lazily, turning end over end. Norman
stepped back a foot or so, ready to seize it and plunge ahead. Perhaps
he thought too much of the plunge and not enough of the catch, for
the ball came down not into his hands but against his shoulder. From
there it arched to the left, well out of the congested district, on a
ten-yard flight.
Joe had been watching the ball quite as attentively as any one, perhaps
more attentively since watching the ball had become something of a
habit with him, but he had not pushed into the mêlée. Instead, he was
well to the left of it, and from there he was better able to follow
the ball’s supplementary flight. Consequently, when he saw it coming
in his direction he met it half way. He didn’t have to fight for its
possession, for the nearest claimant was fully three yards distant
when he wrapped his hands about it. Between him and the goal lay
some twenty-seven yards and, theoretically speaking, eleven enemies.
Actually only about half that number were in position to dispute his
passage, but they were earnest and determined, and Joe’s work was cut
out for him. He sidestepped one, and then another. One of his own team
disposed of a third and then Joe was dodging this way and that, now
perilously close to the side line, but always going ahead and putting
one white streak after another behind him.
He was close to the ten when disaster almost overtook him in the shape
of a hurtling Munson Lineman. If the enemy had come at him in less
haste the result might have been different. As it was, the Munson
fellow’s idea appeared to be to knock Joe flat by the force of the
concussion and make his tackle afterwards. That is where he made his
mistake, for, although they met and Joe staggered from the impact, the
latter avoided more than half the force of the other’s body by spinning
on his heel. There was one second of suspense after that when Joe felt
a hand at his ankle, but he was able to pull away before the clutching
fingers found a hold. Then the enemy was all about him, it seemed, and
he had the ball against the pit of his stomach, his head down and his
feet pushing the last few yards of trampled turf behind him. The truth
is that, at the end, there were far more friends than foes around him,
and that Joe’s final heroic effort to cross the line was made with Gus
Billings fairly butting him on! But cross it he did, and that is the
main thing!
And while Holman’s went crazy with joy and flocked, dancing and
cavorting, along the side line, while Joe fought for breath that
wouldn’t come, while cheers for the Light Green assaulted the sky,
Norman, who had seldom if ever kicked a goal in all his life, now, just
because no one cared whether he succeeded or didn’t, sent the pigskin
over the bar as prettily as if the game depended on it!
There were many happy persons around school that evening. There was the
whole student body in general, and there were the members of the team
in particular. And then there was Gus, who declared a great many times
that any one who had ever said that Joe wasn’t a great football player
was nothing more or less than a moron! Because, no matter how good a
guy was, if he didn’t follow the ball――
And, of course, there was Joe himself, who, while giving Luck its due,
still dared to take a little credit for what had happened.
And then there was Rusty.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text――this
e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Obvious printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were
silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.