Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

868 Over in a corner showing the assistant shine rubber how to throw a “ Big Dick ” with a new wrist snap. No wonder that bird could kick goals before forty thousand people in a wind, like it was as simple as taking a morning shave. Vil. Hatiput kicked another goal in the third quarter, and we had ’em g to o when @ happened. /é¢ came after a scrimmage over a fumbled ball. Players disentangled them- selves to leave three of my boys stiff on the ground. They were out cold, Barnes and Murray, my ends, and Jerry Borden, the quarter. Id rather have lost any two men in the lineup than any one of them. And they were out, too, Barnes with a twisted ankle, Murray with a gashed eye, and poor little Jerry with a dislocated shoulder. All I could do was shove in substitutes and hope for the best. When your three best defensive men go out against a team like Harvard there’s only one thing to do when you're ahead, and I did it. I signaled them to stall for time. On every play somebody or other manufactured a busted shoestring. But it couldn’t last a whole period. Harvard pulled a fake kick from place- ment and Guernsey skirted Bolan on right end for a touchdown. There wasn't a chance in the world, though, for a goal. The wind had freshened until it was sweep- ing across the field in a gale, and although Halloran made a game try, the wind swept the ball so far from the goal it was laugh- able. I don’t think Halibut could have kicked the goal, the wind was that strong. I signaled the boys to stall some more, and they did. The game had eight minutes to go; score: Centerville, 9; Harvard 6. I held my watch in my hand, and was sliding along the bench, nervous as a Cat. If it was only a minute we might have a chance, but nine minutes in football is like the millenium. At seven and a half minutes Benton kicked off for us, and Mallard muffed the ball, the wind taking it out of his hands after he had tried to make a leaping catch and run it back with a flying start. It rolled back to the goal line, and a Harvard man fell on it, my ends being blocked off trving to get it. It was a mighty ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. sweet break, believe me. It meant that they had to kick from behind their line or take a chance on a forward pass to get it out of danger, and a forward pass in the wind was a mighty risky thing. If the boys could keep them from breaking through for a sensational run or pass, and stall cleverly enough, we might eke out a 9 to 6 win. The teams lined up, and Mallard at quarter for Harvard faked a kick and threw a fast low pass just over the line to Tierney, who made fifteen yards before he was pulled down. Morgan got twenty around left end. Tierney went around right end for ten more. Fisher went through center for fourteen. The referee warned my men for stalling. The wind was actually whistling, and it was growing dusk. Morgan tore off twenty yards through right tackle. Harvard was ripping my team to pieces, and I was darned near crazy. ‘** How much time?” says Buck Blaisdell, almost crying at seeing our 9 to 6 win about to be shot full of holes. ** Five and a quarter,” I says. Fisher faked a forward pass and went around left guard for ten yards. Mitchell, my guard, was out cold, and had to be car- ried off the field. The only man I had left to send in was Simpson, a third string quar- terback. Fisher went through him, like water through a sieve, on the very next play, bowled over three tacklers in succession, picked up interference, and while the crowd yelled themselves foolish ran down the field for a touchdown. Score: Harvard, 12; Centerville, 9. I fell forward, chin in my hands, elbows on my knees, Blaisdell was crying and looking at my watch through his blurred eyes; he had worked hard on the team. They tried for the goal and missed by a mile. There wasn’t a chance to get any kind of a goal the way the wind swept across the field. | “We're licked,” 1 says. “Three minutes yet,” says Maloney, peering over Blaisdell’s shoulder. ‘‘ We may tie.” “ Not with that wind,” I says. licked.” You could almost hear the sadness drip- COnnicloooks.e© “ We’re im