Copyright
Text copyright © 1962,1996 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
Illustrations copyright © 1996 Karen Meyer
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: December 2009
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09539-6
To Mike and Jean
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The #1 Sports Series For Kids: MATT CHRISTOPHER®
Matt Christopher®
1
The warm Saturday morning sun beat down on the fans filling the bleachers that lined one side of the eighty-yard football field. It beat down on Freddie Chase’s back as he crouched in position behind right guard and right tackle.
The Sandpipers, dressed in bright yellow uniforms, formed a tight line as they faced the green-uniformed Catbirds. The ball was on the two-yard line, and the Catbirds were trying for the extra point.
“One! Two! Hike!”
The quarterback took the snap, turned, and handed it off to the fullback. The fullback tucked the ball against his chest and charged toward the right side of the Sandpipers’ line. Freddie plunged forward, closing the narrow hole that split open between right guard Harry Lott and right tackle Steve Cook.
But all at once a white helmet with a bird painted on its front hit him on the chest. He bounced back like a rubber ball. A whistle pierced the air, and Freddie saw the boy in the white helmet sprawled over the goal line.
The Catbirds scrambled excitedly to their feet and let out a lusty yell.
“That’s fourteen for them,” Dick Connors said sourly. He was captain and quarterback for the Sandpipers. “What are we going to do — lose every game this year, too?”
Freddie knew exactly how Dick felt. The Sandpipers hadn’t won a game in two years. A very sad record, indeed. The first league games of the season had been played last week, and the Sandpipers had lost theirs to the Flamingos, 21–7.
So far, in today’s game, the Sandpipers had been doing better. Freddie, who played both offense and defense, had set up a touchdown play in the first quarter by intercepting a pass. He had run twenty yards before a Catbird had brought him down. On the next play Dick had faked a handoff to Freddie, at right halfback, then passed to right end Milt Grady. Milt went over for the touchdown, and fullback Dennis Yates bucked for the extra point.
But the Catbirds had one of the speediest fullbacks in the league, Ernie Moody. Every time he carried the ball he gained ground. He had a funny habit. He was always smiling and clapping his hands. Freddie had thought that Ernie was doing this to keep warm, until he realized that after running around so much Ernie really didn’t have to clap his hands anymore. But Ernie kept on doing it, and Freddie knew then that it was just Ernie’s way.
The teams lined up for the kickoff. The referee signaled for the game to start, and Ernie Moody kicked off for the Catbirds.
Dick Connors caught the end-over-end boot on his twenty-yard line and carried it to his thirty-five.
Quick as light he leaped to his feet. “Huddle!” he said.
While they were in the huddle, two players pushed themselves into the group.
Freddie tensed. So far he had been pulled out of the game for only a few minutes in the first quarter. He didn’t know why, except that he knew Coach Hank Sears believed in playing every boy.
“Steve and Dave — out!” one of the substitutes said.
Freddie breathed easier.
“Crisscross buck,” said Dick. “Bucky takes it. On the two!”
The team broke out of the huddle and scrambled to the line of scrimmage. The Sandpipers used the T-formation, a seven-man line with the quarterback directly behind the center, the fullback directly in line behind the quarterback, and the halfbacks on either side of him.
The play skipped swiftly through Freddie’s mind. He wished he carried, though, instead of Bucky.
“Down!” snapped quarterback Dick Connors. “One! Two! Hike!”
Center Stookie Freese snapped the ball. Dick took it and spun around. Freddie shot crosswise in front of him and reached for the ball. Then he pulled his arms against him, as if he had the ball, and rushed through the hole between left guard and tackle.
Right after Freddie did his part, Bucky Jensen raced crosswise in front of Dick from his left halfback position. Dick pushed the ball into Bucky’s arms, and Bucky plunged through the hole between right guard and tackle. He kept going, dodging and leaping just out of reach of would-be tacklers. Then a linebacker pulled him down on the Catbirds’ thirty-nine.
Second down and four yards to go.
Dick grinned as the boys huddled again. “Nice going, Bucky. Let’s try it again. Only this time Freddie carries. On the three!”
Freddie’s heart pounded as the team broke from the huddle. This was what he loved more than anything—running with the ball. It was very seldom that Dick gave him the chance.
“Down!” ordered Dick. “One! Two! Three! Hike!”
The ball snapped. Helmets clattered as they smacked against each other. Yellow and green jerseys mixed like a bowl of tossed salad. And then a marker was dropped and a whistle shrilled.
The referee was striking his hips with his hands.
The offside signal! And it was against the Catbirds!
Freddie leaped happily.
Now the ball was on the Catbirds’ thirty-four-yard line. It was first and ten.
“The same play,” said Dick in the huddle.
Freddie took the handoff from Dick and plunged through the hole in the left side of the line. He ran hard, the football gripped tightly against him. Then he was hit. He went down, and it seemed as if the whole Catbirds line was piled on top of him. When it got off, he rose to his feet.
“Second down and six,” said the referee.
Dick suggested a pass play. On “Hike!” Dick stepped quickly back with the ball. He faked to Freddie, who ran to the left. Then Dick heaved a long, spiraling pass toward the left side of the field. It was intended for Bucky.
Suddenly a player in green pulled the ball out of the air and started running with it the other way!
A bit of fear went through Freddie. The player o was running along the sideline. There was nobody between him and the goal line except Freddie: Only Freddie could get to the Catbird runner and stop him from making a touchdown.
Freddie started to run. He recognized the man in green now. It was Ernie Moody, the Catbirds’ star player. Even now Ernie seemed to be smiling that silly smile of his, and saying, Come on, kid! I dare you to tackle me!
“Get him, Freddie!” a voice shouted. “Get him!”
But as Freddie drew near to Ernie and saw how hard Ernie was running and how high his knees rose with every step, that bit of fear grew into mounta
inous size.
He reached out for Ernie, standing up instead of diving at Ernie’s legs as he should have. Ernie stiff-armed him and drove him back so that he almost went sprawling.
Ernie galloped on for the touchdown.
A roar sprang from the Catbirds’ fans. Then Ernie bucked for the extra point. He didn’t make it.
A moment later a harsh voice snapped at Freddie’s elbow: “Out, Freddie. The coach has something to say to you!”
2
Freddie hardly glanced at Ted Butler, who replaced him. He lowered his head and raced off the field.
Coach Hank Sears met him at the sideline. He towered over Freddie like a skyscraper, his dark hair whipping in the wind.
“Freddie! You let him go by! You didn’t even try to tackle him!”
Freddie made no reply. He kept his eyes at a level with the coach’s belt.
“Freddie!” Mr. Sears’s voice lowered a pitch. “I saw you do that same thing in our game against the Flamingos last week. I thought then that you were afraid to tackle. I wasn’t sure.”
So Mr. Sears had noticed. Now he’d realize that Freddie wasn’t the wonderful backfield man he had expected him to be. What kind of a backfield man was he, if he was afraid to tackle?
“Sit down, Freddie,” said the coach. “Rest.”
From the bench, Freddie watched Ernie boot the ball far into the Sandpipers’ territory. Fullback Dennis Yates caught it and ran it back to his thirty-two.
Freddie wondered if he’d get a chance to go in again. He wouldn’t be afraid to tackle the next time. He promised himself that.
But hadn’t he promised himself that before? Dozens and dozens of times. And just when he’d have to make a tackle, what happened? He’d get scared all over and the runner would race right past him!
If he was going to play defensive linebacker as well as offensive halfback, he’d have to get over that fear — soon.
The half ended. The Sandpipers went off to one side of the field, and the Catbirds went off to the other.
Coach Sears talked to the boys awhile, telling them what they had done wrong and what they should have done. Freddie kept behind some of the bigger boys — the tackles and the guards — so that Coach Sears wouldn’t notice him and say something about his not tackling. He felt sure some of the boys knew, but if Coach Sears broadcast it now — well, he just wouldn’t be able to take it, that’s what.
They returned to the bench and talked to pass the rest of the minutes.
Freddie was still sitting there when the second half started. Dennis kicked off. It was Ernie Moody again who caught the ball on his twenty and ran it back. He got as far as his twenty-eight, where Dick Connors and end Milt Grady smeared him.
The Catbirds gained a first down in three plays. Freddie began to fidget on the bench. He couldn’t forget that he was to blame for the Catbirds’ getting the last touchdown.
And then — on the Sandpipers’ thirty-three — the Catbirds fumbled the ball and the Sandpipers recovered!
Freddie leaped off the bench with joy, practically forgetting why he was there.
“Freddie, get in there,” barked Coach Sears. “Send out Ted.”
Freddie looked up at the coach. “Did you —”
“Will you hurry?” said Coach Sears. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Yes, sir!” replied Freddie. He clipped on his chin strap and raced out onto the field.
He ordered Ted Butler out and saw the looks that came over the faces of the other players. Especially Dick Connors’s, the captain, and fullback Dennis Yates’s.
“Pass to Milt,” said Dick. “On the two! Let’s go!”
They broke from the huddle and went quickly into a T-formation. Dick, his hands stretched down close to center Stookie Freese’s legs, barked signals.
“Down! One! Two! Hike!”
Stookie snapped the ball. Dick took it and went back. He faked a handoff to Dennis, then shot a forward pass across the scrimmage line toward the right side of the field. Milt caught it, went five yards, and was tackled.
“Second and two!” said the referee.
The Sandpipers’ fans began yelling: “We — want — a touchdown! We — want — a touchdown!”
Dick tried a crisscross buck, with Bucky carrying. They lost two yards. Third and four.
“Let me carry it!” said Freddie.
All eyes swung to him, big and wide and unbelieving.
“They — they won’t expect it,” said Freddie timidly.
Ten pairs of eyes kept staring at him.
Then Dick said, “Okay! It might surprise them! If you don’t make it, we’ll still have another down! Number twelve! Block your men, you guys!”
Dick snapped signals. The ball whipped into his hands. He ran with it toward the right side of the line. A tackle broke through and started after him. Dennis blocked him. An end broke through. He reached for Dick. Just then Dick pitched the ball out to Freddie, who was running hard alongside him.
Freddie clamped the ball tightly against his side and raced hard down the field. Coming from his left was the Catbirds’ safety man. Freddie tried to pick up more speed. He was on the fifteen, now … the ten … the five….
The safety man reached him grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him down. Just three yards from the goal line!
“Beautiful run, Freddie!” praised Dick. “Let’s go for it now. I’ll try the sneak.”
Dick tried it, and plunged through for the touchdown.
Dennis bucked from the two. He didn’t make it.
The score: Catbirds 20; Sandpipers 13.
The coach sent in substitutes. One was Ted Butler, who came in again to replace Freddie.
“Nice running, Freddie,” said Coach Sears with a smile. “I think I know what to do with you now.”
Freddie gazed at him with puzzlement, then looked away. What did the coach mean by that?
The third quarter ended, and the teams switched goals. The Catbirds moved into Sandpipers territory. Then Ernie Moody heaved a long forward pass. Fullback Mike Polski, who had gone in for Dennis, intercepted it. He ran it back to the thirty-eight, where he was downed.
“Get in there, Freddie,” snapped the coach. “On the double!”
Freddie ran in.
“Let me take it!” he said in the huddle.
Dick glared at him. “In case you didn’t know,” he said gruffly, “I’m captain.”
Freddie blushed. He wanted to tell Dick and the others that all he wanted was to make up for the touchdown he had given the Catbirds. But there was no way he could say that.
“Pass to Mills,” said Dick. “On the three!”
Dick passed. Left end Joey Mills overran the ball, and it was incomplete.
“Try it to me this time,” pleaded Freddie.
“You heard me!” said Dick, his eyes hot as they pierced the little right halfback’s. “We’ll try it again, but this time to Milt.”
Milt was off at the snap. So was Freddie. He raced down the field, running about two yards inside of Milt. He saw the Catbirds’ linebackers chasing after them. Ahead was their safety man, charging forward.
Suddenly the ball came spiraling through the air like a pointed torpedo. It soared over Freddie’s head. Milt caught it, stumbled, and went on. He was out of danger from the linebackers. But the safety man was almost upon him.
Just as the safety man lunged for Milt, Freddie shouted, “Here, Milt! Behind you!”
Milt flipped the ball behind him. It struck the tips of Freddie’s fingers and almost dropped. Then he pulled it against his side and ran on. The white stripes slipped underneath him, until he crossed the goal line.
Seconds later, Dennis bucked for the extra point, and the score was tied: 20–20.
3
The game ended a little while later with the score locked at 20–20. Freddie took off his helmet and let the wind cool his head. He had started homeward when he heard someone running up behind him.
“Hey, Cuz! See you gu
ys finally tied a game!”
His cousin Mert McGuire came up behind him and clapped him hard on the back.
“At least we didn’t lose,” replied Freddie.
Mert played fullback for the Cardinals, the team that had won the championship the last two years. He was tall and fast and easily the best player in the league. Freddie had to admit that the Cardinals would not be much of a team without him. But Freddie would never tell that to Mert, even if Mert was his cousin.
“You can travel with that ball,” said Mert, “but you have a weakness. I saw it.”
Freddie slapped his helmet against his thigh. The sun was overhead and behind the two boys, so that their shadows walked along in front of them. Freddie’s shoulder pads made his shadow look almost twice as broad as Mert’s, who was wearing a sweater.
“Did Coach Sears tell you?” said Mert.
The shadow of his chin jutted toward Freddie’s wide right shoulder. Suddenly Freddie lifted his shoulder, and his shadow came up and smacked the shadow of Mert’s chin.
Freddie ignored Mert’s question.
“How did the Flamingos make out?” he asked.
The Flamingos had played that morning on the A field, which adjoined the B field, where the Sandpipers had played. This arrangement made it possible for two games to be played every Saturday morning, with one in the afternoon.
“They lost,” answered Mert. “The Owls beat them thirty-one to twenty-six.” A wiseacre smile came over Mert’s face. “You sure have a weakness, Freddie. A very bad weakness. It’s no use hiding it. Everybody knows, especially your coach. Bet he makes some roster changes soon!”
Freddie’s heart throbbed. A car went by and the horn tooted. He recognized some of the boys on the team sitting in the backseat—Dick Connors, Mike Polski, Joey Mills.
“Guys break through you like water,” Mert went on. “You’d better not play when your team plays us. I’d hate to spill you with a stiff-arm.”
Freddie tried to swallow his anger. He looked at Mert. “That’s a long time away. Anything could happen by then.”
“I know,” said Mert, smiling. “You could lose every game! Ha ha! So long, Cuz! This is where I turn offf”
Halfback Attack Page 1