I leaned back against the locker-room wall and slid slowly down to the floor. I felt too beaten up even to get a drink.
"How slow is that linebacker?" I asked Neiman.
He didn't appear to hear me. He had his head back against the wall and his eyes closed.
"Lennie," I said. "Are you with it?"
"Slower than shit," Lennie mumbled.
"Is he ready to be plucked?"
"I'll drink to that." Lennie still didn't open his eyes and he was still mumbling the words.
"How'd you like to play for the Vikings?"
"Shit."
"What the hell are you doing in Des Moines?"
"Earning a living," he said.
"You can make more teaching gym in a high school."
"I hate teachers. My mother was a teacher."
"Imagine playing in the Superbowl."
"Scallen, you're washed up."
"I'm just a dreamer."
"Nope: A complete horse's ass."
"Are we going to beat these guys?"
"You're going to. Some bastard out there is killing me," Lennie groaned.
"I need this game."
"Quit dreaming, Scallen. You need a new asshole."
Reed and Binks came over. They started telling me what to do. I listened to them. Reed said he would call the plays in the second half.
He was crazy. He didn't know what was going on out there. Christ, a quarterback can see the whole thing. The entire field is laid out there for a quarterback once you get behind the center. Maybe Paul Brown could do it with the Cleveland Browns. He'd been a quarterback. Reed was crazy. He'd been a Hanker all his life. Not that I would turn down suggestions from somebody in the press box, but in this league the coach didn't have any assistant sitting in the press box.
I took off my helmet, dropped it on the ground.
"Get yourself another quarterback," I said.
"You pull that and you'll never play anyplace again," Binks said.
"Maybe Vakos will wake up for the second half."
"Reed will call," said Binks.
"Reed will play if he calls the plays," I said.
"Screw it," said Reed. "Let him call it. Let him cut his own throat."
They walked away. Dick Allen, the defensive line coach, was yelling across the room: "Square off! Square off!" Then: "Jensen, are you going to pinch or. aren't you?"
Schaeffer came over. He looked beat, his face was pale. I sat down slowly. I felt as if I'd been kicked all over by a horse.
"Do me a favor," Schaeffer said. "Don't run me over right tackle."
"What's wrong?"
"Smiley isn't blocking and their tackle. Sixty-four. He's tearing my head off."
"I'll talk to Smiley."
"Just don't run me there."
"Hell, I ran it myself."
"Maybe Smiley blocked for you."
"You can do it."
"Don't give me that Reed crap."
"Hustle, baby. Hustle."
Then everybody started shouting. I wanted to go to sleep. Reed was yelling something. I picked up my helmet and started to move out.
We kicked off. The ball carrier made it to the twenty-five before Neiman hit him and Baston sat on his head. Beebe reared back on the first down and tossed the bomb and hit the spread end in mid-field. Bayfield didn't catch him until he was on our thirty. Beebe fumbled on the next play and Neiman recovered.
Flip right, flex side.
We got a little ground game going. Damn little. We punted. Decatur took over on a fair catch. Their thirty, Beebe burned us for. twelve yards on a first-down screen pass right. Our free safety picked off their third-down pass. On first down I threw a spot pass to Leighton for eleven yards.
Schaeffer got sacked. On a roll-out right I got creamed. I saw stars. Then somebody was helping me up and I was kneeling in the huddle. All the cheering sounded far away.
B-Right-50 Trap I bootlegged and faked away. The fullback went straight ahead as though blocking the tackle on a wide play. Schaeffer took the hand off. The double team block went in. The off-guard pulled, trapped the middle linebacker coming through the zero hole. Schaeffer was through the hole, running like hell. I called the same play again and somebody hit me. I went down. My head was whirling. The back end of my skull pounded. I got into the huddle. "First down," a voice said in the huddle. I couldn't see any receivers on the next play. The blitz nailed me. Decatur returned the punt to their forty-five.
Beebe started passing again. I started thinking about Mary Cassidy. I knelt on the sideline, trying to remember something Neiman had said to me in the dressing room. We stopped the passing and Beebe went to the ground. Klobuchar sat beside me on the bench.
"You don't know what day it is, do you? What city is this? How old are you? Who's your girl?"
"What did Neiman say to me?"
"He's out cold."
"Who's slow?"
Beebe had this one setback, thirteen, high knees and twisty, faster than he looked, and he was knocking out the yards, short, long, short, long. Beebe was getting us up for a pass. I thought about Mary Cassidy. Crawford came out. His face looked like he'd been in a meat grinder. One eye was closed. Beebe pulled a quarterback draw and picked up eleven yards to our twenty.
Neiman was walking back and forth in front of the bench, mumbling.
Our defense stopped them on the fourteen. They tried a field goal and Crockett blocked it with one hand. I put on my helmet and jogged across the field. I ached all over.
B-Right-Flip 8 Their linebackers looked overanxious. They had a six-man rush going. I could see the inside safety watching my eyes. They were going to rush three linebackers. No pass coverage responsibility. I could smell it. The ends would have to pick up for the middle linebacker. But if the defensive ends didn't draw a block from the tackles, their blitz wasn't worth a crap. The outside linebackers wouldn't get near me. Well, I'd have to keep two backs back to block. No other way to stop that blitz. Then it would be three receivers against four deep men. Leighton could run a good individual pass route and shake his man. I called an audible at the line.
They were going to give me a seven-man rush. Left end and flanker in a four-step hook. I knew Leighton would. start fast. He could spin out and run, too.
Leighton caught the ball and spun out for five yards. I called the same play again. I was going to gamble. The left halfback and full back were going to have to fire out fast.
"Faster than hell," I said in the huddle to Schaeffer and Hoke. "Fast. Fast. Fast."
Hook and Go I was counting on that slow linebacker to try to pick off a short hook pass. I went back fast to set up. I saw Leighton hook and then go, running to beat hell. I pushed off hard. Leighton veered off to the left. The pass was soft, over him. I watched as he gathered it in and cut for the sidelines. The crowd roared. It was a hell of a gamble for a cheap touchdown. Neiman was right. He had picked the slow man. Leighton went straight in for a touchdown. Everybody was yelling and jumping up and down. Leighton was jumping up and down, holding the ball up high. The sound of the band came, thudding through the noise of the crowd. Somebody slapped me on the shoulder. Bower Hawthorne kicked the extra point. I sat down on the bench. Reed came over.
"You got 'em moving," he said. "You got 'em moving."
"I think I'm going to throw up."
"Easy. Easy."
I threw up and felt better after a drink of cold water.
Hawthorne kicked off. Number thirteen caught the ball on the five. Then, coming straight up the middle, he picked up two blocks and a lane opened and thirteen really turned on the speed. I started to stand up. He made two cuts, dropped his shoulder, head faked the deep safety, went in standing up in the end zone.
I felt lousy suddenly. I could feel the whole team droop right there on the bench. They kicked the extra point, and then we returned the kick-off to the twenty-seven where Hoke almost fumbled. Neiman was carried off again.
"He's dead," somebody said.
"No way," said Klobucher. "He doesn't even know he hurts." 1 Right X 99 Screen Right to Strong End Hoke was pass blocking. He threw himself at the rusher. This was stupid. This big bastard, sixty-six, threw Hoke aside. He had a clear shot at me. I retreated fast. He swung an arm at my face. The screen was forming too slow. I couldn't see over sixty-six. He was right on top of me. I swung out and threw to Schaeffer, but I couldn't see the screen. I was stupid. Schaeffer caught it, fumbled and the linebacker fell on it. Reed was a raving maniac when we came off the field.
Decatur shifted into a spread on our thirty-three. Full back went up the middle for three. Halfback went off tackle for three. Beebe sneaked for five.
"Shee-it," said Baxter on the bench beside me. "We've had it."
"They'll stop them."
"Pig's ass."
Our defense stopped them on the sixteen. I gambled on a screen that picked up fifteen yards. Schaeffer cut inside tackle for six. I gave it to the new kid on a counter and he went for ten. I felt happy. The grass smelled good again.
Somebody was talking to himself in the huddle. It was Neiman. I couldn't imagine what he was still doing in the line-up. I whacked him on the shoulder and told him to shut up. I started running sweeps. Fred White, the new kid, could move. He picked up a first down at our forty. The people in the stands were screaming.
"Whip. Whip. Whip," Neiman was mumbling. "Bastards. Bastards. Bastards."
"Gonna get a piece of your ass, Scallen," their right guard yelled before we huddled.
A Right 95 Block Pass Hoke missed his assignment again on pass protection. In a minute it looked like the whole right side of the line was coming at me. I could see their teeth. Animals. Tear me apart. I slid forward in the pocket. Five pairs of hands were trying to grab me. I ducked down. I couldn't see anything on the periphery. Then somebody hit me across the jaw with an arm and I stepped out of the pocket and started running. Somebody brushed me and I shoved a hand in his face and ran straight ahead. I saw Hoke coming across the field and their free safety up ahead and one corner linebacker, bigger than hell, and I cut for the sidelines. I felt I was picking up speed. I saw Hoke cut down the free safety. The cornerback had the angle on me, but I was cruising. I couldn't believe it. I really had some speed going. I heard him coming up on me and I reversed and ran straight toward him. No room for a hip-fake. I cut back and he made his move and missed; then I heard him running after me, but I was free, going straight down the sideline.
The roar of voices was all around me. I seemed to be running through the roar as if the roaring and screaming were a substance. I tooled into the end zone. I felt like throwing the ball over the fence. I flipped it lightly in the air and let it drop to the turf. Then Neiman was picking me up. Players were grabbing me and I was half boosted onto a couple of shoulders and everybody went on yelling. They carried me about ten yards. Somebody socked me on the helmet. I walked casually to the sidelines. Hawthorne jogged past on the way to the kick conversion.
"Baby!" he said. "Baby!"
"Get those points."
"Got 'em. Got 'em. Got 'em."
I felt damn good. I sat down on the bench. Reed didn't say a word. He was busy watching the kick-off team. Both his fists were balled and he was slapping his thighs. Hawthorne raised his arm and the teams swept toward collision. I couldn't feel any bruises right now.
Decatur started slugging. Fifteen yards for roughing. Back to their five. Beebe stayed on their five. Beebe stayed on the ground for two plays. Third and five. Beebe rolled out right, threw left. Their tight end took it behind a good screen. They started down the sideline. Reed started screaming. Everybody came off the bench. Up to their twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five. A terrible fear enveloped the bench. Decatur was going all the way. Past mid-field.
"Shee-it," Neiman said.
"All the way."
"Shee-it!"
John Baker, the free safety, was the only one left. Three blockers in front of the tight end. All they had to do was cut across the field right straight at Baker and knock him down.
They kept going down the sideline. Baker had a good angle on them. He came straight across. Fast. Sprinting, with his knees high. A paper glider hit me in the cheek. I slapped at it. Baker launched himself as the big pulling guard turned toward him. Baker never broke stride. Just like a projectile, his body shot across in front of the three blockers. It was like a bowling shot. Baker's body drove the pulling guard's body straight into the churning legs of the blockers. For a fraction of a second they seemed to rock, and then like bowling pins they tumbled. They were all down on the ground, the tight end sitting on his ass out of bounds. Baker didn't move. He lay face down on the grass.
Another paper glider hit me. I watched them take Baker out on a stretcher. He looked like a sack of dead fish.
Decatur went to the near hash mark and huddled. A sudden wind swept across the field. Decatur at our forty. The wind rose. No sideline passes now. Beebe would have to go to short flares, swings and screens. The wind was in his face. He tried two running plays. Third down and nine. He threw a screen pass; the tight end gathered it in and headed for the goal line, getting a perfect block. Then Duffy, guitar player, out of some little Alabama junior college, cornerback, lying on the ground, got a hand slap on the tight end and the tight end stumbled once and hit the ground.
Fourth down and two. Gotta be a sneak of some kind, I thought. Quarterback? No, sneak pass.
"Sneak pass," I said to Neiman. Gotta be. Strong block on the defensive end. Halfback swinging behind the fullback to take the cornerback and strong safety with him. Then the fullback – Here it was. Neiman jumped bellowing: "Sneak pass!"
Sure enough. There it was. Just as it looked as if the fullback were out of the play from the block, he recovered.
Neiman was screaming, "Sneak pass!" and jumping up and down.
Our strong safety didn't sucker. He took the ball right out of the fullback's hands.
B-Right-50 Trap
A-Right-X-34 I looked at the clock. Bat it up. Off tackle. Hold onto the ball. I dived between Klobuchar's legs. The gun sounded. I ran off the field with everybody hammering each other on the back. We were yacking going into the locker room.
Reed came over to me.
"You were lucky today," he said.