Football Stories 2 by American author Dewey Edward Chester. Enjoy your Monday, Yareah friends. Art is everywhere!
Another Sunday. Another game. A scoreboard lighted up. A marching band boomed music.
When Baltimore took the field, I saw my opposition up close: Morgan, Kearn, Big Bubba was on their front line. Baltimore’s men were great players, and would be hard as hell to beat.
When the referee blew the whistle, I was ready to play the game. “Hey big guys!” I challenged my team of men. “There! Over there! The bad guys are waiting for us….So Fight! My fine Princes. Fight for self-esteem.”
And then I whispered smoothly, “Break their backs and bones, my men. Why do you stare at them like that? Never mind the blood and pain ahead for us. Draw your knives and fight, with blades between your teeth.
“That’s it, my men. Now you look ready. My men of steel! Here we go—!” I whispered, “Thirty-Two Trap!”
We lined up and faced our murderous foe. Big Bubba wore evil eyes, as I barked out my signals: “Thirty-five! Red. Ninety-Two!” Instantly my men of steel were in motion.
I scrambled backwards, quickly. There was no time to think; three seconds to throw my ball. Earl Walker was speeding toward the goal. MacArthur had pulled up; drifting to the sideline….But out there was Nik, racing across the middle.
“Perfect, partner,” I whispered to him under my breath, completing a perfect pass.
Back in the huddle, Fletcher was gasping: “I creamed Big Bubba on that one. I’m sure I can trap him again.”
“Okay,” I reasoned, “We’ll hit him in the gut. But Fletcher?” I warned, “Hold him up for two counts—-before you smash him down.”
I walked up to my line of scrimmage and looked straight at the biggest Baltimore bear: “Here we come, you son of a bitch!”
Then I swirled around and placed the football into Nik’s waiting arms. But Big Bubba was closing fast: “WHAM!” Fletcher had peeled around for two big counts then crashed Bubba to the ground. Nik gained nine tough yards.
“Quiet in my huddle!” I barked out: “Red right fire wing down.” I squinted at MacArthur. “Can you catch the ball this time?”
And Mac responded by slicing through Baltimore’s Zone…..and when my ball arrived, he took it dead on the run.
“Great catch!” I told him later. The thrill was always on the field…the essence of the game!
“Green left roll right, sideline.” I rolled toward the Zone again and spotted Mac, standing in the hole. I got the ball there quickly, but Big Bubba popped it free and….Baltimore’s men recovered our fumble.
Now the great Baltimore Quarterback, Charlie Bell, came prancing out on the field. Bell’s men were, Blitzig at Flanker, Morgan at End, and Pascoe, Thursday and Tillow, up front. A very tough group. There was no doubt they were quick and smart, but my defensive teammates were just as quick, smart and tough.
Of course we were outweighed, but we would never quit. Linebacker Billy Blake had experience. He possessed pride and valor.
When Baltimore broke their huddle, their Tight End flanked out wide. Charlie Bell was going to ignite a power play, with his fullback running through the middle.
But Billy Blake attacked the guards, allowing Nik to make the hit.
Baltimore’s gain was seven. They knew power was their bet. So they came again that way, and made a first down.
Charlie Bell began faking hand-offs, here and there, then he took it through the middle himself for eight, which put him inside our twenty.
The Old Gipper called time out: “Montgomery! Take Fletcher’s place on the field and see what you can do,” he hollered. Fletcher was taking a beating out there, the coach reasoned; and perhaps Monty could hold the line.
Fletcher came running back to the bench and gasped aloud: “Coach, they’re coming straight ahead.”
“Straight ahead and right over you!” the old man groaned. “You must get lower, Fletcher, like I told you.”
But Baltimore kept their plan intact—-running, with all that power.
I was tense, standing on the sideline, watching it all. Could we hold Baltimore back? I needed an edge to beat them in the fourth.
Baltimore broke their huddle and Bell began the count. At his snap, he faked a run then dropped straight back and slammed a completed pass to Morgan, in the flat.
Monty began chasing him, gaining on him, even tackled him—-but Baltimore made the score, just the same.
“They got smart,” said the Old Gipper. “We must stop that sort of play.”
But Charlie Bell was a crafty Quarterback, a leader of great men. So the Old Gipper now spoke directly to me: “You’re tough, son. Take the kickoff back then see what you can do.”
“Right!” I replied. I had returned balls in college and was familiar with technique. I strapped on my armor. I was going back into the game.
Big Bubba was watching when I pranced onto the field. He grinned wickedly at me, behind his black facemask.
Baltimore kicked off, and as Earl Walker returned the ball instead, Big Bubba rushed in. But I crunched him down, hard.
“Learnin’ something, aren’t you?” I heard Bubba remark.
Back inside my huddle, I barked out: “Forty-Four Red, count Orange,” and Eric Crabtree went into motion, Earl Walker moved wide, while MacArthur stayed in close.
At the snap, Fletcher opened a hole. So I churned through, my legs preparing for Bubba’s blow…but Mac was there first, breaking me free to run.
Then, from an angle, came Baltimore’s attack. So I changed direction—-sweeping down the sideline where Earl Walker threw a block for me. There was one last man to beat.
I fought with that man, struggled with him…until he brought me down at the one.
Back inside my huddle, I winked at Nik, then whispered to the rest of the team: “We go up the gut this time!”
We marched into formation. I faked a pitch to Nik, put my head down and followed Fletcher on a slant off tackle. But Bubba was there, too! He stopped me for no gain.
“Six on Green, boy Blue!” I barked. But across the line of scrimmage, was Big Bubba getting ready….So I steadied myself, fading backwards when the ball was snapped…then suddenly, I jumped high up in the air and threw it….to MacArthur, who caught it to win the game.
All in a day’s work, I thought.