Tackle Without a Team by Matt Christopher Page A

Sweat beads were
     rolling down his cheeks. “Boy! Am I bushed!”
    Scott grinned. Carl could lose twenty pounds and still be a big kid.
    After a ten-minute intermission—which seemed like only ten seconds to Scott—the teams returned to the field for the start
     of thesecond half. Coach Zacks had delivered a short speech to the squad, directing most of his statements to a few of the players:
     “Jim, you went out after that pass telegraphing your move like a kid from Western Union. Don’t keep waving your arms, okay?
     Arnie, on a handoff, put both arms over the ball. It’s not a loaf of bread you’re carrying. Scott, tackling that runner and
     then scooping up the ball and going for the touchdown was a great play. But you’re not getting your head and shoulders down
     on the blocks. Hit your man solid, then make your next move, okay?”
    The third quarter was only two minutes old when Zane released a long pass to Mitch Bartell from the Cougars’ eighteen yard
     line. Bill Fantry, playing safety, leaped and practically took the ball out of Mitch’s waiting hands on the thirty-eight.
     Hiding the ball under his left arm, he bolted down the left side of the field. Five yards … ten … fifteen …
    Scott was the closest to him as Fantry started to reach the twenty. Scott dove at him, got a hand on him …
    Fantry stiff-armed him, breaking loose Scott’shold, and raced on down the field for a touchdown. Scott was sick.
    “Hey! Don’t look so sad!” Carl said to him, patting him on the head. “At least you got a hand on him! Nobody else was close!”
    “I had him and lost him,” Scott said, not wanting to meet any of the other players’ eyes. Surely every one of them would show
     disgust.
    Rod Holland, the Tigers’ fullback, tried the point-after kick and missed it by inches. Tigers 19, Cougars 7.
    The Tigers’ fullback kicked off. The end-over-end kick was high and short and went directly to running back Don Albright.
     He caught the ball against his chest and raced up the field to the Cougars’ forty-three, where he was tackled.
    “Forty-eight,” Zane said in the huddle.
    Barney took the handoff from him, bolted up through the line behind Scott, and was thrown for a two-yard loss. Sammy Colt
     had faked Scott out and plunged through a hole to nab him before he could make a move. Nobody had to remind Scott of that.
     He knew it and blamed himself for it.
    Nevertheless, in the huddle, Zane glared at him through his face mask. “Come on, Scott,” he rasped. “Get on the stick. All
     right?”
    “Maybe he can’t,” Lance said. “Maybe his brain has been damaged by you-know-what.”
    Scott bristled. Now Lance was acting just as bad as those two Tigers, referring to the rumor that Scott smoked pot.
    Even so, Scott wondered if Lance wasn’t right in a way. Maybe he couldn’t play like the Cougars did: rough and dirty. Buck
     with your head… use your elbows… your fists… trip ’em up. Anything to get your man or gain as many yards as you can if you
     have the ball. That kind of football, Scott knew, had been drilled into their heads by their strong-willed coach, Joe Zacks.
    I believe in winning, too, Scott thought. But I’m not here to break anybody’s bones. I’m here to play clean, hard football.
     And to have fun. Mainly, to have fun. That’s all. Say what you want to, Zane, Lance, and the rest of you guys, but that’s
     the only way I’m going to play. And if Coach Zacks doesn’t like it and wants to boot me off the team, let him. I’ve been a
     playerwithout a team before. I can be a player without a team again.
    “Weirdo Fourteen,” Zane said. “On two!”
    Scott stared at him. “Weirdo Fourteen?”
    “What’s the matter? Haven’t you heard of that play before? Let’s go!”
    “No! What is it?” Scott said, as the team broke out of the huddle.
    “You’ll see,” Zane said. “Just do your job. Stop Colt and Moss.”
    Scott glared at him as the ends, guards, and tackles