Tackle Without a Team by Matt Christopher

play? On a first down?”
    A whistle shrilled.
    “Delay of game,” the ref snapped, runningforward and taking the ball from the sub who had just replaced Carl Trokowski. “Five-yard penalty.”
    “Oh, no,” Zane Corbett moaned. “Now we
do
need something like a pass.”
    The ref placed the ball on the Cougars’ forty-six yard line, trotted to the side, and blew his whistle again.
    The Cougars scrambled to the line of scrimmage, where the Tigers were already waiting for them. Fly Thirty-eight, Scott reminded
     himself, was a pass from left halfback Arnie Patch to right end Mitch Bartell. They had worked on it a few times in practice.
    “Down! Set! Hut! Hut! Hut!” Zane barked as he stood behind the substitute center, Bob Touse.
    Bob centered the ball. Zane faded back, handed the ball off to Arnie, and Arnie started to fade to the left, his attention
     focused toward the far left side of the field to divert the Tigers’ backfield.
    Scott knew his job was to block Sammy Colt, then bolt past him and take out the middle linebacker. But he never got past Sammy.Sammy had thrown himself down against Scott’s legs, blocking Scott from going past him at all.
    The play never got off. Arnie, not able to find Mitch free, hung on to the ball and was thrown for a fourteen-yard loss.
    Once again the coach sent in a substitute for Scott.
    “Scott,” he said, looking intently into Scott’s eyes. “I don’t know what happened out there, but you sure fouled up the works.
     That play would’ve gone for a touchdown if you had stood on your feet and done your job.”
    Scott froze. He looked away and stared at the worn grass in front of him, his heart thumping. He had nothing to say. The coach
     was right. He hadn’t done his job.

E IGHT

    Five minutes before the half ended, Coach Zacks put Scott back into the game. The Tigers had racked up another touchdown while
     he’d been warming the bench. It was now Tigers 13, Cougars 0.
    The ball was on the Tigers’ thirty-three yard line, and it was the Tigers’ ball. Scott saw that another kid was playing opposite
     him in Sammy Colt’s place now.
    Bill Fantry, the Tigers’ quarterback, barked signals. Scott scrambled forward on the snap, bounced a shoulder off the Tigers’
     tackle, and tried to see the oncoming play. Fantry was fading back, looking for a receiver. But, from his right, the left
     halfback was racing toward him.Scott, judging from the running back’s move, headed toward Fantry’s left side.
    His judgment was perfect. The back took a handoff from Fan try and was heading toward his left side of the line when Scott
     smeared him.
    A fumble!
    Scott, seeing the ball bouncing deeper into Tigers territory, sprinted after it, picked it up, and raced all the way to the
     end zone!
    Touchdown!
    The Cougars’ fans—what few there were—applauded and cheered.
    “Great play, Scott!” Scott recognized Kear’s voice. He turned and saw his friend sitting in the bleachers. Scott grinned and
     waved. Kear waved back.
    Behind him sat a kid wearing a pith helmet and dark sunglasses. In front of him sat three other Greyhawks players: Monk Robertson,
     Elmo George, and Lenny Baccus. All three raised their fists in a salute to him and he smiled. He missed them. Even Monk, irascible
     as he was at times.
    “I don’t believe it,” Lance Woodlawn said, asthe teams formed at the scrimmage line for the point-after play.
    Scott grinned. “Well, believe it,” he murmured.
    Barney kicked the ball between the uprights. Tigers 13, Cougars 7.
    The Tigers had the ball on the Cougars’ twenty-two when the first half ended.
    “Hey! You were on your toes on that play, Scott!” Coach Zacks said, as the teams trotted off the field, and he ran alongside
     Scott. “Good work!”
    “Thanks,” Scott said, carrying his helmet to let a cool breeze freshen his sweat-soaked head.
    “Yeah! Nice play, Scott!” Carl Trokowski said, running up along the other side of Scott and breathing hard.