QSP ACTION

TWENTY-TWO

^{tense,eageryoung}

men

crouched, ready to spring into instant action on the hard- packed green turfof thegridiron.

The

ballwassnapped.

A

wiryyouth wearing an orange jersey caught the pass from his center.

He

faded back, seekinga target astheopposingorange andpurplelinesclashedinastruggling, shouting melee.

Doug Camden

feintedtohisleft,the palm of his hand jolting against the bright yellow helmet of a rival player

who

had stormed through the battling clusterof linesmen.

He

saw Bill Reilly streaking down-

field, being pursuedbya purple-shirted opponent.

Doug

side-stepped still an- otherfranticallygrasping

Lawton

High tackier and cocked his right

arm

for the throw.

Before he could launch the forward pass,ahugered-hairedbackstruckhim with the force of a runaway express train, hurtlingboth of them earthward.

The

force of the head-on tackle sent thepigskin poppingfrom Doug'sgrasp.

The

ball barely touched the ground

when

itwasburiedbeneath an avalanche offlailing,scramblingplayers.

When

the refereeuntangled the pile, a broadly grinning youth wearing a purplejersey satup, clutching thefum- bled pigskin closeto his chest.

Moose Munson

chuckled, climbing to his feet. "You, uh, dropped some- thing,

Camden,"

he

boomed

inahearty voice that must have carried all the

way

tothecrowdedstands. "Teh! Teh!

Two

fumblesinonegame!"

An

embarrassed flush

warmed

the Baxter High quarterback's lean fea- tures.

Doug

was angry

—

not at the

taunting,smirking redheadedgiant

who

was strolling back towards the huddle where histeammates were gathering

—

at himself, for not measuring up to what was expected of him by his co- playersandthe

hometown

fans

who

had

made

thelong journeytosee thecham- pionship-decidinggame.

Jogging slowly into position,

Doug

grimaced as he glanced at his friends.

"Sorry, fellows," he said quietly. "I guess this just isn't

my

afternoon for football."

Don

Bartel, the husky blond Baxter High center, twisted his head to grin

By Noel

C.Neitzel

.onous Defeat

TheNational

FUTURE FARMER

"For Pete's sake,stop ringing the bell and

come

in!"

at Doug. There wasa

mouse

forming beneath Don's lefteye, and hisorange jersey was streaked with grass stains and dirt, as were all of the uniforms.

It had been a rugged session.

Now,

going into the final quarter, Baxter trailed thesmaller

Lawton

school team by a touchdown, 7-13.

An

upsetwas in themaking!

"We

aren't finished yet!"

Don

de- clared.

"We

still have 10 minutes!" shouted

Hank Thompson,

therangydark-haired fullback.

"Time

enough to take the ball

away

fromthem andget inacouple of T.D.'s."

"We won

from Middletoninthefinal 60 seconds,

remember?"

called Bill Reilly, shakinghis fist as he dug in at right end. "That last play misfired be- cause I was slow getting downfield,"

he toldDoug. "If anyoneis toblame for^thatfumble, Ihavetobe included!"

Doug

stoodinhissecondaryposition, his hands on his hips.

How

could a fellow lose

when

^he had that kind of support?

He

crouched, ready for action as the confident

Lawton

team trotted briskly into formation.

Doug

was watching

Moose

Munson, the purple- jerseyedfullback.

He

waspositive that

Moose

was going to carry.

From

the

way

the

Lawton

line was bunched to theright,

Doug

wasequally certainthat the play wasgoing to be over theleft side of theline.

He

was right!

The

huge

Lawton

fullback tucked theball firmlybeneath his

arm

and plowed^straight through a narrow hole between left guard and tackle.

He

got aboutonesteppast the scrimmageline

when Doug

crashed into him.

Legs

pumping

powerfully, the burly ball carrier staggered, struggling des- perately to free his ankles; but

Doug

held on grimly until

Hank Thompson

andJerry Zieglercooperatedin abone- crunchingtackle, downingthe bigfull- back.

Moose Munson

bounced to his feet, (Continued on Page46) October-November,1962

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45

Victorious

Defeat

{Continued from Page 45) grinning widely. "Never send a boy to doaman's work!" hepanted,wink- ing at Doug.

"I'll

—

^try

—

^to dobetter

—

next time,"

Doug

promised,rubbingat hisshoulder.

It felt

numb

where oneof the brawny redhead's driving kneeshadstruck.

JerryZiegler,Baxter'srighthalfback, assisted

Doug

to hisfeet. Jerry'sdark eyes flashedas heglared at the oppos- ing player. "Size isn't everything,

Munson!"

Jerry flared. "I don't see any advantage in having a swelled head!"

"Shhh!"

Doug

grabbed his team- mate's

arm

and led him away.

"We

don'thave any squawks coming, Jerry.

They

play rough, but they play fair,"

hesaid evenly.

Grudgingly, the tall, square-jawed halfback nodded, managing a rueful grin. "They are good," he admitted, walking to his position. "But

we

can

stillbe better!

We

have to."

On

the next play, a well-executed quarterback sneak,

Lawton

gained five yards. Moose's line plunge on first

down

hadnetted three yards.

The

ball rested onthe Baxter34-yard line.

"Let's hold 'em!"

Doug

yelled,bang- ing his hands together as the

Lawton

centersnapped theball.

BillReilly did evenbetter thanthat!

He

whizzed into the backfield and

downed

the left halfback for an 11- yardloss!

Lawton

gambled on an un- expected short pass play for fourth down.

They won

the gamble.

A

tri-

umphantly grinning Lawton back

gezt/H'tiZtfr'

'You'llprobably imaginealittleexcru- ciating pain on tinsmolar . . ."

stepped out ofbounds ontheBaxter 30!

Relentlessly, steadily, the

Lawton

team

marched

theballcloserandcloser to the twin white stripes.

Doug

and hiscomrades dugin on their

own

five- yard line and halted the advance, tak- ing possession after a center plunge failed to yield the required yardage.

"We'llhavetopunt!"

Sam

Bohrman, thelefthalfback, whisperedin thehud- dle. "We're

down

to about five min- utesplaying time."

"We

can't afford tohavethem score onusagain,"

Hank Thompson

muttered in agreement.

All eyes were on Doug, waiting for his decision.

The

only intelligent play to call wasfora punt.

Doug

called it that way. Back in the shadowsof the goalpost.

Doug

tookthe passfromcen- ter.

He

was going tokick, but before he could put his toe to the ball, the fired-up

Lawton

line tore through the defenses and rushed him.

Doug

quickly veered to his right, tucking the pigskin under his armpit and galloping upfield withevery ounce of speed he could muster.

He

out- distancedtwo would-betacklersattempt- ingtocuthim ^off.

He

stopped almost inmid-stride, pivoted, and changed di- rection as another

Lawton man

dived vainly and sprawled ingloriouslvon the field.'

They

finally did knock

Doug

out of bounds, but he grinned as hesquinted blearily at the yard marker and saw that he had carried the pigskinalmost to the

Lawton

40!

The

firstplay netted agenerouseight yards! It had been a left-end run by

Sam

Bohrman.

Doug

broughtsurprised gasps from his teammates

when

he called forarepeat inthe huddle.

"They won'texpectitsosoonagain,"

he explained. "This time, though,

bunch

toward the right side of the line

—

not

much —

^{just enough sothey'll}

think we'regoingto try areverse."

"Say! I thinkthat will work!" Jerry Ziegler whispered, his dark eyes filled withadmiration ashe winked at Doug.

It

worked

to the tune of 22 yards!

The Lawton

team had been

com-

pletely fooled. They'd gone afterJerry Ziegler and

Hank Thompson

while

Doug

led

Sam Bohrman

for the beauti- ful romp!

Only a minute remained on the scoreboard. Once, ^twice, three times, thevaliantly fightingBaxterteamhurled itself against the concrete-likedefensive wallof the

Lawton

11

.

With only seconds left and fourth

down

coming up. the ball rested on the

Lawton

three-yardline.

Doug

sel-

dom

carried theballhimselfbecausehe waslight foreven a quarterback.

He

almost never carried in line plunges.

Yet,that wasthe play hedecided had

"Dad,ibisisBill

He

playsfootball."

the best chance ofwinning the game.

He

calledhis

own number

inthehuddle.

His teammates looked startled for a

moment;

theneveryone grinnedasthey brokeeagerly and joggedinto position.

Across the line

Mouse Munson

glow- ered, hisbigroundfaceadirt-smeared, determined mask.

Yelps ofastonishment were

drowned

asthelinesconverged, and

Doug Cam-

den raced into the sprawling sea of threshing bodies.

He

bent low.hugging theball closeto his chest. Therewas a tinyhole!

Doug

sawitbetweenright tackle and end.

He

dived for it. his heart

hammering

furiously.

He

was goingto score!

Then,just a step from thegoal line,

Doug

saw the prostrate form of a purple-jerseyed player on the ground, directly inthepath ofhiscleated shoes.

Doug

stumbled, breaking stride.

The

flashing cleats just grazed the fallen youth'scheekas

Doug

trieddesperatelv toretain hisbalance,tokeephis feet.

A ^Lawton

player snagged

Doug

around the waist, hurtling him to the ground, just as the final gun went off.

Baxterfans groaned as thepile-up un- tangled,revealing theoutstretched foot- ball in Doug's graspwas inches onthe

wrong

side of the twin white stripe!

Doug

feltpowerfularmshoistinghim to his feet as excited players and fans

swarmed

over the field.

Doug

looked at the sober, thoughtful features of

Moose

Munson. "Thanks forthelift,"

Doug

^saidquietly.

Moose

was holding out his massive right hand.

"Thank

you for passing upa touchdown in favor of preserving

my

good looks," hesaid sincerely.

They

shook hands, grinning at each other. Bothyoung

men

andtheirteam- mates

knew

^that there hadn't been a defeated team on the field that after- noon.

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