formed at the line of scrimmage. They were pulling a play that he had
never heard of. Why were they doing this? To offend him? To show him how tough they were? How high and mighty?
He glanced at Lance Woodlawn crouched beside him, right hand braced against the turf. Lance’s attention was directed straight
ahead. Serious determination showed on his face.
“What’s the play?” Scott asked him.
“Weirdo Fourteen. You heard him,” Lance said, not looking at him.
Zane barked signals. The ball was snapped on the second “Hut!” and Scott bolted forward.Like a cue ball, he bounced his left shoulder against Sammy Colt’s left, then his right shoulder off Tony Moss’s right. At
the same time, he looked beyond the line of scrimmage at the Tigers’ backfield defense and saw the two safeties running toward
the right corner. A second later a green uniform came into his line of vision, and he recognized the short, husky figure of
Barney Stone sprinting down the field.
He realized then that Weirdo Fourteen was nothing but a pass play from the quarterback to the fullback. Why didn’t Zane just
say so?
Scott saw the ball land in Barney’s hands just as somebody struck him from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground. A
flag went down.
Scott leaped to his feet, whirled around, and saw Sammy Colt standing before him, looking hard at him.
“What was that for?” Scott demanded.
“My mistake,” Sammy replied.
“That mistake cost you fifteen yards,” the referee snapped.
Sammy stared at him. “For what?”
“Clipping, that’s what,” the referee answered glibly.
The pass had netted the Cougars twenty-one yards. They had the choice of accepting that or the fifteen-yard penalty. He must
be kidding, Scott thought, but the ref was quite serious when he asked Zane to decide.
“We’ll take the gain,” Zane answered just as seriously. He glanced at Scott and grinned. “Now you know what Weirdo Fourteen
is, right?”
“Yeah,” said Scott. He didn’t appreciate Zane’s teasing. But he didn’t want to make matters worse, either, by talking back
to him.
First and ten. Cougars’ ball on the Tigers’ thirty-eight yard line.
“Line buck,” Zane said in the huddle. “Forty-eight, on three. Let’s go!”
They broke out of the huddle, lined up on the scrimmage line, and Zane shouted signals. On the third “Hut!” Carl snapped the
ball. Scott and the other linemen proceeded to do their jobs as Barney broke from his position behind right tackle and took
the handoff from Zane.
The play failed. No one had counted on the Tigers’ strategy, a seven-man Red Dog. Two ends, the two tackles, and three backfield
men charged through the line in a burst of strengthand speed that not only surprised the Cougars, but also resulted in Barney’s getting tackled the instant he had the ball.
It was a three-yard loss.
In the huddle, Zane glared at one lineman and then another. “What happened to you guys?” he snarled, loud enough for the Tigers
to hear him. “They went through you like an armored truck!”
“They Red-Dogged us,” Carl complained.
“I know what they did!” Zane snorted. “But you guys let ’em!” He paused as he looked from one lineman to another again. “Okay.
We’ve got three downs to make thirteen yards. Let’s try another pass. You ends, keep your eyes peeled. It’ll be to one of
you. And, look, you tackles and guards: do your jobs, okay? If you haven’t got the guts, say so. Zacks doesn’t want gutless
guys.” He stared at Scott as he said it. “Okay! On two!” he finished, and the huddle broke.
Scott’s temper flared up for a moment. He was sure now he was on no ordinary football team. These guys were out to win. No
matter how.
N INE
Scott made sure he did a good job of blocking Sammy Colt, then gave him a hard, final shove before turning to block Al Johnson,
the other tackle.
Suddenly Scott saw J. J. Whipple, the Tigers’ center
never heard of. Why were they doing this? To offend him? To show him how tough they were? How high and mighty?
He glanced at Lance Woodlawn crouched beside him, right hand braced against the turf. Lance’s attention was directed straight
ahead. Serious determination showed on his face.
“What’s the play?” Scott asked him.
“Weirdo Fourteen. You heard him,” Lance said, not looking at him.
Zane barked signals. The ball was snapped on the second “Hut!” and Scott bolted forward.Like a cue ball, he bounced his left shoulder against Sammy Colt’s left, then his right shoulder off Tony Moss’s right. At
the same time, he looked beyond the line of scrimmage at the Tigers’ backfield defense and saw the two safeties running toward
the right corner. A second later a green uniform came into his line of vision, and he recognized the short, husky figure of
Barney Stone sprinting down the field.
He realized then that Weirdo Fourteen was nothing but a pass play from the quarterback to the fullback. Why didn’t Zane just
say so?
Scott saw the ball land in Barney’s hands just as somebody struck him from behind, sending him sprawling to the ground. A
flag went down.
Scott leaped to his feet, whirled around, and saw Sammy Colt standing before him, looking hard at him.
“What was that for?” Scott demanded.
“My mistake,” Sammy replied.
“That mistake cost you fifteen yards,” the referee snapped.
Sammy stared at him. “For what?”
“Clipping, that’s what,” the referee answered glibly.
The pass had netted the Cougars twenty-one yards. They had the choice of accepting that or the fifteen-yard penalty. He must
be kidding, Scott thought, but the ref was quite serious when he asked Zane to decide.
“We’ll take the gain,” Zane answered just as seriously. He glanced at Scott and grinned. “Now you know what Weirdo Fourteen
is, right?”
“Yeah,” said Scott. He didn’t appreciate Zane’s teasing. But he didn’t want to make matters worse, either, by talking back
to him.
First and ten. Cougars’ ball on the Tigers’ thirty-eight yard line.
“Line buck,” Zane said in the huddle. “Forty-eight, on three. Let’s go!”
They broke out of the huddle, lined up on the scrimmage line, and Zane shouted signals. On the third “Hut!” Carl snapped the
ball. Scott and the other linemen proceeded to do their jobs as Barney broke from his position behind right tackle and took
the handoff from Zane.
The play failed. No one had counted on the Tigers’ strategy, a seven-man Red Dog. Two ends, the two tackles, and three backfield
men charged through the line in a burst of strengthand speed that not only surprised the Cougars, but also resulted in Barney’s getting tackled the instant he had the ball.
It was a three-yard loss.
In the huddle, Zane glared at one lineman and then another. “What happened to you guys?” he snarled, loud enough for the Tigers
to hear him. “They went through you like an armored truck!”
“They Red-Dogged us,” Carl complained.
“I know what they did!” Zane snorted. “But you guys let ’em!” He paused as he looked from one lineman to another again. “Okay.
We’ve got three downs to make thirteen yards. Let’s try another pass. You ends, keep your eyes peeled. It’ll be to one of
you. And, look, you tackles and guards: do your jobs, okay? If you haven’t got the guts, say so. Zacks doesn’t want gutless
guys.” He stared at Scott as he said it. “Okay! On two!” he finished, and the huddle broke.
Scott’s temper flared up for a moment. He was sure now he was on no ordinary football team. These guys were out to win. No
matter how.
N INE
Scott made sure he did a good job of blocking Sammy Colt, then gave him a hard, final shove before turning to block Al Johnson,
the other tackle.
Suddenly Scott saw J. J. Whipple, the Tigers’ center
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