From his wheelchair, Michael looked on with disbelief. What a run! he thought. If Kip is a smart quarterback, he’ll try that play again.
And Kip did! This time Abe chewed up eighteen yards before Angie, in the left linebacker position, brought him down.
You’ve got to sew up that hole, Tom! Michael’s mind screamed. You’ve got to sew it up, or Abrams will keep driving through it till he scores!
Charlie Jarvis, the Cheetahs’ left halfback, carried the ball next. Instead of trying to plow through right tackle, though, he sprinted around right end and got thrown for a two-yard loss.
Kip tried a pass that went incomplete. Then he tucked the ball into Abe’s gut again, and Abe bulldozed into the line. He kept going, dodging the linebackers and then beating Tom to the goal line by just a step.
It was a touchdown.
Kip booted the ball between the uprights for the point after to put the Cheetahs on the scoreboard: 7-0.
Michael socked his knee with his fist. Less than two minutes had gone by and the Cheetahs had already drawn blood. The way they looked, and the way Abe Abrams was taking charge, that seven-point lead was sure to grow.
It did. And within the next two minutes, too.
The Cheetahs’ tall, high-jumping right end, Don Falls, had snared a pass intended for Bob Riley and galloped all the way down the field for the Cheetahs’ second touchdown. The try for the extra point was good, stretching the lead to 14-0.
Michael saw Tom standing as if in stunned surprise, his hands on his hips and his head lowered. He couldn’t seem to believe that his first pass of the game could have been intercepted and then run for a touchdown.
Buck up, Tom! Michael tried to tell his brother through his extrasensory powers. Don’t let it get you down. It’s still early in the game.
The score remained 14-0 going into the second quarter. The ball was on the Eagles’ forty-one-yard line. It was second and seven, Eagles’ ball.
“Four! Six! Nine! Hip! Hip! Hip!” Tom barked.
He took the snap from center, fumbled it, picked it up, stumbled back.
Fumbled again! Luckily, Vince was right there to land on the ball, but the play went for a loss of yardage all the same.
C’mon, Tom, you’re losing your concentration out there! Let me in, and give yourself time to get your head together, Michael thought desperately. As if he had heard him, Tom shook his head.
But suddenly, the decision was taken out of both their hands.
“Kirk!” Coach Frank Cotter’s voice boomed. “Get out there and take Tom’s place!”
Kirk Tyler, the Eagles’ backup quarterback, pulled on his helmet as he sprinted out to the field.
Tom saw Kirk going in and started off the field, head down.
“I hope he’s not too bummed out,” a voice near Michael’s elbow murmured.
He looked at the speaker. It was Vickie Marsh. Next to her stood the ever-present Carol Patterson.
“So do I,” said Michael.
“Is Kirk any good?”
“I don’t know. He’ll be playing under pressure. That’s the worst time.”
As Tom approached, his eyes met Michael’s. They looked tired and worried.
“Have a seat, Tom,” Coach Patterson said. “You need a break.”
If only he had let me give him that break! Michael thought dismally. Then one of us would still be in the game.
He caught Tom’s eye again. The worried look was still there.
What are we going to do? Michael read Tom’s thoughts. Kirk isn’t good enough to handle the team. I think you’re better than he is, Michael. But are you strong enough to play for the rest of the game? And even if you are— how are you going to get in?
10
It was the Eagles’ ball on their own thirty-six-yard line. It was third down and twelve to go. Michael looked on helplessly as the team broke out of the huddle and trotted to the line of scrimmage. Some of the guys walked as if the spirit of playing had been drained out of them.
Kirk called signals, took the snap, and faded back to pass. He threw a long bomb to Stan down the left side of the field. But it sailed far over Stan’s head, and was incomplete.
Vince punted on the fourth down and managed to get the ball down near the Cheetahs’ twenty-five-yard line.
Michael looked at Tom, saw him sitting with his helmet in his hands and his elbows on his knees. His hair was rumpled, and sticky with sweat.
We’ve got to do something, Tom. We can’t just sit here like a couple of dummies.
But what else could they do? Michael wondered. He certainly couldn’t just get out of his chair. And Tom was sitting on the bench, probably for the rest of the game.
Maybe, Michael reflected, the guys on the field had a lot to be dispirited about, at that.
But that was like giving up. And you cannot give up. Ever.
Out on the field the Cheetahs were moving again like a formidable herd. Charlie Jarvis had just bolted around left end for a first down.
“I think it’s just terrible,” Vickie said at Michael’s elbow.
“What is?” asked Michael, startled briefly by the sound of her voice.
“Tom’s being taken out, just because he made one or two mistakes.”
“I think he should be able to get in again. That is, I think so,” Michael said emphatically.
“I sure hope so,” said Vickie.
“Come on, Vick,” Carol broke in, grabbing her arm. “Let’s get back to our seats. I’m getting tired standing.”
“Okay. See you, Michael.”
“Sure,” said Michael.
He looked around at her a minute, wondering how she and Carol— as different as day and night— could get along so well together. Maybe it was what they needed, he thought; their differences made life interesting.
He turned his attention back to the game, and noticed that Kip Stanley had just clicked with a pass to Chuck Philips for another first down. Oh, man.
The ball was now on the Eagles’ forty-two-yard line. Wasn’t there anything the Eagles could do to stop the rampaging Cheetahs?
Abe bolted through right tackle for four yards, then again for two.
“Button up that line!” Michael yelled. “Close it up tight!”
The linemen didn’t hear him, of course. If they had heard, they didn’t pay any attention to him. Maybe buttoning up the line would not help, anyway.
Then one of the Cheetahs was caught offside. The five-yard penalty helped the Eagles a little, but hardly enough. Abe made it up, and one extra yard, as he cross-bucked the line before Angie Costello brought him down.
Then, for a while, the Eagles held the Cheetahs and managed to get possession of the ball on the Eagles’ twenty-four.
“Now, move it!” Coach Cotter yelled as he stood up from the bench, clapping hard. “Move it up that field! You can do it!”
They did it for eighteen yards, then lost the ball as Kirk heaved a sloppy pass that Kip intercepted. Kip made it to the Eagles’ thirty-one, where Lumpy Harris hit him with one of his big shoulders, dropping him on the spot.
In just three plays the Cheetahs scored again, failing only to get the point after. Cheetahs 20, Eagles 0.
The half ended a few minutes later. Michael met Tom’s eyes as Tom got off the bench to head with the pack down the field to the west goal, where they would sit and listen to Coach Cotter telling them what they had done wrong and what they had to do right. As if the guys didn’t know, thought Michael despairingly.
“Tom, come here a minute,” Michael called to his brother.
Tom came forward. “Yeah?”
“Think you can get back in?”
“I don’t know. It’s up to Coach. He’s pretty steamed about that interception I threw, and that fumble didn’t help, either. I’m not sure he’s going to give me another chance— and I don’t know if I even want one, tell you the truth. I’m afraid I’ll do something worse if he does.”
“Worse than what Kirk’s doing out t
here now? C’mon, Tom, you and I both know that you’re better than he is. And anyway, it’s not just you the coach would be letting back in the game, right?”
Tom’s eyes brightened as he looked at Michael hopefully.
“All you have to do, Tom, is convince the coach to sub you in again.”
Tom’s face fell. “How do I do that?”
Just then, Coach Cotter yelled for Tom to hustle on over.
“Leave it to me!” Michael said as Tom stood up. “Switch places with me after half-time and I’ll coax Coach into putting me in.”
Tom studied his brother for a moment, then gave a halfhearted shrug. “Okay. I gotta go now. See you in a bit.”
Michael watched his brother’s slumped shoulders as he joined the other Eagles. A sad look came into his eyes.
I wish Tom wouldn’t doubt himself like that, he thought. What’ll it take to prove to him once and for all that he’s a great quarterback?
11
The third quarter began with Kirk still in the game. It was hardly under way when it became evident that the Cheetahs were on the move again. Although Kip’s passes were not always on target, Abe Abrams’s bucks through the line more than made up for the incompletions.
They were in Eagle territory, eating up yardage in big chunks, and the Eagles could not seem to do much about it.
Michael looked at Tom, but Tom was staring at his shoes.
Tom! Hey, Tom, for crying out loud! his thoughts rang out almost as if they were audible.
Still Tom didn’t turn around.
Then Michael began the other tack— wishing and concentrating on his thought-energies. Seconds went by— and then a minute— as he wished and concentrated harder and harder to make the exchange with Tom.
But, if Tom wasn’t wishing and concentrating, too—
Suddenly, it happened! Michael was sitting on the bench in the exact spot where Tom had been sitting! On his left was Rick Howell, on his right, Coach Cotter. He glanced at Tom in the wheelchair, caught Tom’s fleeting smile, and winked.
Good luck! Tom formed the words with his mouth.
His heart began to pound as he started to gather up courage to ask Coach Cotter to put him in the game. He could not waste much time.
On the field the Cheetahs had the ball on the Eagles’ thirty-one-yard line. The down marker one of the linesmen was holding read two. There were about seven yards to go.
On the next play, Abe plowed through for two yards. Now it was third and five. A not-so-hard-to-get five the way the Cheetahs were going.
Then Kip took the snap and faded back to pass. Suddenly he went down, the ball squirting out of his hands. Somebody had gotten the jump on him. It was Lumpy! Good old Lumpy! Lumpy stayed on the ground, his arms wrapped around Kip like the strong jaws of a trap.
For a moment the ball bounced around freely. Then a guy in an Eagle’s uniform pounced on it like a cat, smothering it. The whistle shrilled. It was the Eagles’ ball!
Now was the time to go in, thought Michael. Now. While the guys were going into a huddle.
His lips trembled as he looked at the coach. “Coach, put me in there. I’m okay now. Please let me go in.”
Coach Cotter looked at him. For a moment his eyes narrowed slightly, and fear sliced through Michael. He looked away, lifted his helmet, and started to put it on, hoping with all his might that the coach would just put him in without question.
“Are you sure your head is together now, Tom?” Coach asked. “You seem to have been drifting out there today.”
“I know, Coach, but I’m sure you’ll see an improvement in my playing.” Michael finished putting the helmet on and faced the coach. “I— I’m a new man. I promise.”
The coach crossed his arms and blew out his breath. “Okay. Run in there. Hurry. And don’t forget to send Kirk out.”
Michael’s heart leaped. “Thanks, Coach!” he cried, and dashed out on the field.
He reached the huddle just as it began to break up. “Sorry, Kirk,” he said to the alternate quarterback.
Kirk looked at him. Without a word he spun and ran off the field.
“Huddle!” Michael commanded.
Quickly they got back into a huddle.
“T-forty-three drive,” Michael snapped. “On three!”
In an instant they were out of the huddle and hurrying to the line of scrimmage. The ball was on the Eagles’ thirty-seven.
Michael called signals. The ball was snapped. Michael took it, faked a handoff to Vince, then shoved the ball into Jim Berry’s gut as he came running by. Jim plunged through for four yards.
“Power sweep left,” said Michael in the huddle.
Vince stared at him. “You’re going to run it?”
“We have to work on surprises from now on,” Michael said tersely. “On two! Let’s go!”
With Vince, Jim, and Angie cutting to the left side of the line, then blocking their men, Michael found his path around the left end clear sailing. The play caught the Cheetahs by surprise all right, for it was the first time that an Eagles quarterback had attempted a run since the start of the game. Michael crossed the fifty and just had one man between him and the goal line. That man was Kip, who doubled as quarterback and safety man, too, the same as Tom (or now, Michael) was doing.
Michael tried to sidestep Kip, but Kip dived at him and tackled him around the waist. He went down on the Cheetahs’ twenty-eight.
Not since the game had started had the Eagles’ fans cheered so loudly and lustily.
First and ten.
“Flat pass,” said Michael in the huddle.
He got the snap, faded back, and shot a quick pass to Bob Riley in the flat to the right of the field. Bob sprinted for eight yards and was smeared.
Second and two.
“The same play,” said Michael.
This time it didn’t work. The pass was too short. It went incomplete.
Third and two.
“Let’s try the drive again,” said Michael.
They did, and the play went for five yards and another first down.
“T-forty-three,” said Michael in the huddle.
Angie took the handoff and plowed through a hole on the right side for three yards. He ran again, and was stopped dead on the line of scrimmage.
“What now?” Vince asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead as they crouched in the huddle.
“You’re driving again,” Michael told him. “They’ll be expecting a pass.”
Michael took the snap from center, faded back as if to pass, then handed off to Vince. Vince went through a huge gap in the right side of the line, knocked over a linebacker, and bolted toward the right side of the end zone. He crossed it inches ahead of Kip, who had been about to tackle him, then had changed his mind.
Six points.
“Tired, Vince?” Michael asked him.
“Boy, am I,” replied Vince, breathing hard.
“Okay. We’ll pass,” said Michael. No one disagreed.
Vince got into kicking position. Jack centered the ball to Michael. Michael started to put it down on the ground, then quickly lifted it to his shoulder and whipped it across the field to Stan. Nobody was near him, and he galloped down for a two-point conversion!
Cheetahs 20, Eagles 8.
Vince kicked off. Kip caught it on his thirty and went to the forty-two, where Butch Bogger nailed him.
Again the Cheetahs began their move. But only to the Eagles’ forty-one. Again Lumpy’s tackle caused Kip to lose the ball, and the Eagles recovered it.
In three plays the Eagles moved it to the Cheetahs’ thirty-eight. Then the whistle shrilled, announcing the end of the third quarter. The teams changed goals.
Michael took off his helmet as he trotted across the fifty-yard line. Sweat beaded his forehead. Suddenly he realized that one of the guys had run up beside him. It was Vince.
“I don’t know what happened on the sidelines, but it’s like you’re a different person since you got back in the game!” V
ince said breathlessly.
The words hit Michael like a shot. Was the way he and Tom played so different? He wanted to know.
“What do you mean, Vince?” he asked.
Vince shrugged, his shoulder pads lifting. “I don’t know, it’s like you’re more sure of yourself. You don’t hesitate when you decide what play to run. Earlier this game, when we’d huddle up, you’d sort of look around to make sure we all agreed with what you’d called. Now you don’t. The plays usually come off okay either way, but me and the guys kind of like it when you take charge. When you’re confident in what you’re doing, it makes us confident. I think we play better, too.”
Somehow, Michael wasn’t surprised by what Vince was saying. Tom’s slumped shoulders at halftime had spoken volumes. He hadn’t been confident in his playing in the two quarters of the game— and if what Vince was saying was true, then that attitude had affected the rest of the team.
As Michael lined up for the play, he realized that up until now, TEC had done two things for the twins: it had given Tom a chance to rest and Michael a chance to play. But now Michael saw that it could do one more thing. It could give Michael a chance to tell Tom what his teammates were thinking.
And what they were thinking was that Tom was the best quarterback their team had. That they respected him and wanted him to be a leader.
And that’s just what I’m going to let him be, Michael thought.
Michael broke into a faster trot. “Come on. Time’s a-wastin’,” he said.
The Eagles moved the ball to the Cheetahs’ sixteen-yard line. Then a terrible thing happened. Abe Abrams busted through the line and tackled Michael for a twelve-yard loss. Not only that, but Michael fumbled the ball, too, and Abe recovered it!
“What lousy luck!” Vince cried, socking the air with his fist. “And we had them on the run!”
“Don’t give up,” said Michael, trying hard to keep cool over the loss. “Just don’t give up.”
In three plays the Cheetahs gained only six yards. They punted on the fourth. The kick went to their forty-six, where Michael grabbed it out of the air and carried it to the Cheetahs’ thirty-one.
The Great Quarterback Switch Page 5