SOCKS, IN A faded green sweater and slacks, walked out on the field the next afternoon. He paced off a hundred yards, and then walked back to the cottonwoods that divided the field from the edge of the campus. In a few minutes he saw Muggs, big as a house, coming up, grinning.
“Hi, Coach!” Muggs said. “What do I do first?”
“First we try you for speed,” Socks said. “No use fooling with you if you’re slow.” He pointed. “See that stake down there? That’s an even hundred yards. You go down there, and when I give you the word, shag it up here as fast as you can.”
Muggs shambled down the field, turned and crouched in a starting position. At the barked command, he lunged forward.
Socks clicked the stopwatch as Muggs thundered past him, and looked thoughtful. Thirteen seconds, and there was a lot Kulowski didn’t know about starting.
Barnaby dug out the football from his bag of gear.
He walked over to his pupil.
“You’ve got big hands,” he said, “and long fingers, which is all to the good. But when you take hold of the ball, grip the thing, don’t just let it lay in your hand. Take it between the thumb and fingers, with the fingers along the laces, just back of the middle. Press it well down into your hand with your left. When you pass, throw it overhand, right off the ear. You know all this, but we’re going to work on it until it’s automatic…until you can do it whether you’re self-conscious or not.”
IT WAS ALMOST dark when they left the field. For two hours Kulowski had practiced passing and receiving passes, and he had fallen on the ball until he seemed to have flattened every bit of grass on the field. They walked back toward the field house together, weary but cheerful.
“You’ll do,” Socks said quietly. “Don’t let anything Coach said bother you. You’re big and you’re fast. We’ll have you faster. All you need is confidence, and to get over being afraid of other people looking on.”
Muggs looked at him curiously.
“How come you aren’t playing football?” he asked. “You seem to know plenty about it.”
“Too many other things, I guess.” Socks shrugged. “A man can’t do everything.”
THE HANOVER GAME was three weeks away. Sitting beside Muggs in the stands, Socks saw Eastern outplayed by Pentland, a smaller and inferior team.
It had been pretty bad. Socks glanced at Temple’s face as the big coach lumbered off the field, and he didn’t have the heart to rib him. Kuttner, battered from sixty minutes of play, looked pale and drawn.
One thing was sure, Socks decided. Hanover or State would ruin them. Hanover had an aerial game that was good, and as strong a line as Eastern’s. Unless something happened to develop a behind-the-line combination for Eastern, an awful drubbing was in the cards.
DAY AFTER DAY, Barnaby met Kulowski in the field by the red barn, and worked the big guy and himself to exhaustion. Kulowski grinned when he got on the scales. His big brown face was drawn hard. He had lost almost twenty pounds in three weeks of work.
“Well, the Hanover game is tomorrow,” Socks said, watching Kulowski curiously.
“What d’you think? Want to try it if the coach says yes?”
Kulowski’s tongue touched his lips. “Yeah, I’ll try,” he said. “I can’t do any more than mess it up.”
“You won’t mess it up. You’re plenty fast now. You’ve cut two seconds off that hundred. And you know how to use your hands and your feet. If you get out there, just forget about that crowd. Just remember what we’ve been doing here, and do the same things.”
Kulowski hesitated, staring at Barnaby, one of the most popular men in school. In those three weeks of bitter work, he had come to know him, to like him, and to respect him. He had seen that lean body lash out in a tackle that jarred every bone in his huge body. He had seen passes rifle down the field like bullets, right into his waiting arms.
Time and again Kulowski had missed those passes. They had slipped away, or dropped from his clumsy fingers, yet Socks had never been angry. He had kidded about it in friendly fashion, and encouraged him, flattered him.
Now, Kulowski wasn’t missing the passes. He was taking kicks and coming down the field, and fast. Socks had shown him how to get to full speed at once, how to get the drive into his powerful legs. He had shown him how to tackle. He had taught him to use his feet and his hands.
For the first time, Kulowski felt that somebody believed in him, that somebody really thought he could do something without making a mess of it. Taunted and tormented so long for his size and awkwardness, Muggs had never known what it meant to be encouraged.
On his end, Socks knew that he had actually done little. Kulowski was a natural. All he had ever lacked was confidence. He liked doing things. He was big, and he was rough. Once confidence came to him, he threw himself into the practice with a will, his movements, day by day, became more sharp, more sure.
SOCKS STOPPED COACH Temple outside the field house. “Hi, Coach,” he said grinning. “Why so glum?”
Temple scowled. “You trying to irritate me? How would you feel going into that Hanover game without anything good in the backfield but Kuttner? They’ll beat our ears off!”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“No!”
Socks dodged playfully backward as Temple rounded on him. “Are you willing to take a chance, Coach?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Put Kulowski in there, at half.”
“Kulowski?” Temple exploded. “Are you crazy? Why, that big ox—”
“I said it was a chance,” Socks interrupted. “But I’ve been working with him, and that boy is good.”
“You’ve been working with him? What do you know about football?” Temple sneered, yet in the back of his eyes there was a hopeful, calculating expression.
“I read a book once.” Socks grinned. “Anyway, what have you got to lose?”
Temple shrugged. “You got something there,” he said wryly. “What?”
THE STADIUM WAS jammed when the team trotted out on the field. Sitting on the bench beside Muggs Kulowski, Socks Barnaby talked to him quietly.
“This crowd is so big, it’s impersonal. You just go out there and play a careful, steady game. You’ll have your chance, and if you make good, you’re back in.”
Barnaby knew the huge crowd of fans hadn’t come to see Eastern. There was little hope after the Pentland game that Eastern could win, and playing in Hanover backfield was Pete Tarbell, two hundred pounds of dynamite and twice an All-American. Besides that, in the Hanover line were two tackles said to be likely prospects for the All-American this year, and there was Speed Burtson, at right half, a former high school flash, and one of the most talked-of players in the college game.
Hanover was a star-studded team. Looking at them thoughtfully, Socks found himself wondering if they weren’t a little too star-studded. And he found his eyes going again and again to Tarbell in his red jersey. He had known Pete Tarbell and didn’t like him.
Kuttner kicked off to Hanover and Burtson took the ball on his own twenty yard line and ran it back to the forty yard line before he was downed by DeVries. Then Hanover began to roll.
They came through Hunk Warren, big Eastern tackle, for two first downs. Then Tarbell came over guard for six. Tarbell tried Hunk again, but Kuttner came down fast and Tarbell was stopped dead. They passed on the third down.
The pass was good, plenty good. Speed Burtson, living up to his name, went down the field fast, evaded Kuttner, and took the pass over his shoulder. He went over into the end zone standing up for the first score. Tarbell kicked, and Hanover had a lead of seven to nothing.
The rest of the first quarter was murder. Eastern could hold their opponents in the line, but the Hanover aerial attack was beyond them. Twice Burtson got away for long gains, and Tarbell came around the left end and crashed into DeVries, taking him over into the end zone with him. Hanover missed the kick, but when the play was over, DeVries was on the ground. He got up and limped off t
he field.
Coach Temple paled and he swore under his breath. He looked at Kulowski, then at Socks. “All right, Muggs,” he said grimly. “You go in at full.”
Ryan was at quarterback for Eastern, Kulowski at full, Kuttner at left halfback and Hansen at right half.
Socks glanced up at the stands. President Crandall was there, and the short, fat-jowled man beside him would be Erich P. Wells, head of the Alumni Association. Socks glanced at Temple and saw the big coach was kicking his toe into the turf, his face drawn. Temple had expected defeat, but this was going to be slaughter.
The tension was getting to him. Socks wanted Kulowski to do well but he didn’t have a good feeling about this game. He slid off the bench and took a walk around the stands, he had another thought but it was crazy…the coach would laugh at him.…
When he got back, Temple glowered at Socks.
“Kulowski’s fumbled once already,” the coach growled. “Kuttner made a recovery.”
Socks’ heart sank. Eastern was lining up again. He could see the uncertainty in the big Pole. The ball was snapped and Kuttner started around the end. Kulowski came in, hurled himself halfheartedly at Tarbell’s feet as the big back lunged through. Tarbell merely sidestepped neatly, then launched himself in a tackle that brought Kuttner down with a thud they could hear on the sidelines.
“I’m going to take that big lug out of there!” Temple barked. “He’s yellow!”
“Let me go in,” he suggested. “I can make him work.”
Temple turned, staring.
“You, Socks? Where’d you ever play football?”
“I played against Tarbell,” Socks said. “I was with the Gorman Air Base team.”
Temple looked at him cynically. “Gorman Air Base, eh? You ain’t lyin’? All right, Socks, but you aren’t writing poetry out there. Suit up!”
When Socks trotted out on the field he suddenly felt as Kulowski must. It had been four years and when he looked at Hanover’s big line, he felt his heart go down into his stomach. Those huge guards! And that center, as enormous as a concrete pillbox!
Then, behind the line, Socks saw big Pete Tarbell staring at him. Then the stare changed to a wolfish smile.
“Well, well!” he said, “if it isn’t the bomber boy. What do you think this is, badminton?”
Socks ignored him. He trotted up and grabbed Kulowski. “Listen,” he said, “I’m here now, and I’m going to be playing with you. But you’ve got to focus…let’s play this one just like out behind the barn. You can do it.”
Kulowski flushed, “I’ll try,” he said.
“Crabapples!” Socks grinned. “Turn loose on these guys an’ you can wreck that team. Let’s go out there and bust ’em up!”
He trotted over to Ryan and whispered for a moment. Ryan nodded, looking doubtful.
“Okay,” he said, “if Coach says so.”
KULOWSKI TOOK THE ball. For a wonder, his big fingers clamped on it and he started moving. Behind him he heard Socks’ voice and saw the lean redhead move in ahead of him. Hunk had a hole and Kulowski went through, his big knees lifting high.
Pete Tarbell saw him coming and angled over, but suddenly Socks knifed across and Tarbell hit the ground with a thud. He got up slowly, and looked at Barnaby.
“Hi,” Socks said, grinning, “how’s the badminton?”
Tarbell glowered and his face set. Kulowski had been downed on the thirty yard line. He had made six yards.
KULOWSKI GOT UP grinning. It was the first successful thing he had ever accomplished in front of a crowd. He looked at Barnaby, and as Socks passed Ryan, Socks said, “Give it to Muggs again.”
Ryan barked the signals. Muggs Kulowski took the ball running and hit the line hard. He went through for four yards. Kulowski was getting warmed up. Ryan worked Kuttner on a reverse and he got away for ten yards before he was downed.
Socks had thrown a wicked block into Burtson and as he got up he saw Tarbell rising shakily from the ground and glowering at Kulowski. The big Pole was grinning from ear to ear.
The Eastern team was working now. Kulowski’s face was sweat streaked and muddy, but he was still grinning. He was hitting that line with power and whenever he hit, something happened. He wasn’t missing any passes, and all the fear of the crowd, the fear of being laughed at was gone. He was in there, driving, and his two hundred and twenty pounds was making itself felt.
Eastern worked smoothly and marched down the field. They got to the thirty, and there Hanover smashed them back three times. Hanover was concentrating on Kulowski now, sensing his power and drive.
“You think we ought to pass it?” Ryan whispered to Socks.
“Yeah.” Socks glanced around. “Give it to me in the corner.”
Socks Barnaby slid around end and went down the field fast and took the ball on the three. There Tarbell hit him like a tank, and Socks went down and rolled over. Tarbell got up.
Ryan called for Kulowski. The big Pole tucked the ball under his arm and put his head down and drove. The Hanover line bulged, and then it gave way all of a sudden. Kulowski powered through, and they had the score.
Socks dropped back and kicked the point. The score was 13 and 7 at the half.
TO OPEN THE second half it was Hanover’s choice, and they elected to receive. Kuttner toed the ball. Ammons, Hanover’s big right tackle, took it coming fast, but Kulowski was moving and he drove the bigger Ammons back on his shoulder.
Hanover lined up, Tarbell came plunging through, and Kulowski hit him.
Tarbell got slowly to his feet, and he looked wonderingly at the big guy. Tarbell, twice All-American, had lost a yard on the play!
Tarbell came in again like a battering ram and there was murder in his drive. Hunk was ready this time and he hit Tarbell at the knees, then Kulowski hit him high, and Tarbell went down, hard.
Tarbell had lost two yards, and he was mad clear through. Socks ran back to position, laughing at the puzzled, angry face of the Hanover star.
Then Hanover got tough. Eastern drove at the line three times and made only three yards.
Burtson kicked. He lived up to reputation, booting a low whirler that hit and rolled over and over. The wind helped it, but Socks finally downed the ball on the Eastern sixteen.
They made three first downs, then Hanover got hot and swamped them. Taking Kuttner’s kick, Hanover began to hammer. They sent Tarbell through the line, and ganged Hunk Warren to make the hole. They made it. Tarbell came through, his head down, driving like a locomotive, but Muggs Kulowski was coming in. He had an urge to ruin Tarbell and they both knew it. They hit hard and bounced apart, both of them shaken to the heels.
EASTERN TOOK POSSESSION of the ball on downs and powered it straight down the field as the quarter neared its end. They got to the seven, and Kulowski had been doing most of the work. Socks took the ball off tackle with Kulowski and Ryan clearing the way, and went over the line standing up.
Kuttner missed the point and the score was tied.
THE LAST QUARTER opened and the big Hanover team came out for blood. They were against a team that seemed to be playing way over its head, and it had Hanover desperate for fear the mounting confidence of Eastern would smear them.
Then it happened. It was Eastern’s ball on their own forty yard line. Eastern lined up and Kulowski went off tackle for four. Then Kuttner started around the end, but Sinclair, a Hanover end, cut in for him, and with a quick shift, Kuttner went through the messup at guard, charging the center of the field.
A huge Hanover tackler missed him, got a hand on his leg, and Kuttner spun around, staggering three steps and then went down under a rib-cracking tackle from Speed Burtson.
They lined up and Ryan sent Kulowski through the line for four. The big fellow got up, and he grinned at Socks.
“We’re doin’ it, boy!” he said. “This is fun!”
“We got a chance,” Kuttner said. “We got a good chance. It’s with you, Socks, or Kulowski.”
“It’s Kulowski,
” Socks said. “Listen, Muggs. Remember those long passes out there by the creek? You get away this time and get off down the field, but fast. Go around the left end and when you get down there, angle across the field. Wherever you are, you’ll get that pass.”
Socks glanced at Ryan.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go!” He spun on his heel and said to Muggs, “All right, let’s see the deer in those big feet of yours!”
The center snapped the ball back to Socks, and he dropped back for the pass. Kuttner started around the end, and Burtson, thinking the pass was for Kuttner, started after him. Ryan had gone through the middle, and suddenly, Socks, still falling back, saw Kulowski away off down the field. He was really running. It would be forty yards, at least.
As a big tackle lunged toward him, Socks shot the pass in a rifling spiral that traveled like a bullet, just out of reach of leaping hands. Then Kulowski went up, the ball momentarily slipped through his hands, and a terrific groan went up from the stands, but then he recovered and was running!
Tarbell had been playing far back, and he started slow as Kulowski came toward him. Then the big All-American’s pace changed suddenly, his toes dug in and he hurled himself in a dynamite-charged tackle at Muggs.
Kulowski made a lightninglike cross step, and at the same moment, his open hand shot out in a wicked stiff-arm, backed by all the power of those freight-handling muscles. That hand flattened against Tarbell’s face and the clutching hands grasped only air.
Two men got Kulowski on the two yard line, bringing him down with a bone-crushing jolt.
They lined up again, and Ryan looked at Muggs and Kulowski grinned. They snapped the ball, and he went through the middle with everything he could give. They tried to hold him, but for the first time in his life, Muggs Kulowski was playing with everything he had in him. He put his head down and drove.
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