Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 32 of 116
12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 32: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is **story prose** from a pulp sports fiction magazine titled "12 Sports Aces" (page 30). The text depicts a conversation between Chick Haley, a college football player benched in favor of a sophomore named Moose Bradley, and his father, Coach Steve Haley. After a team victory, Moose makes a cutting remark about Chick's position on the bench, which Chick accepts gracefully. Coach Haley then calls his son to his office to express disappointment with Chick's third and final season, suggesting he lacks the competitive drive of other players despite his team spirit.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
30 12 SPORTS ACES OO © 1+ OH OG 4 GBs Bos Be Oe Bes Be Bi Bi 6 Bee Bs Bt Bt 1 Ges Bor oo Geo Heo Gs Boe Poe Dor Gs (Gre Gor Ger Bs + Sor Gee Gon Ger Boo Be Bs Bos Ge Bes Ooo Gs G44 Gre G1 Bee Gee Ger Que Ge Gre Gio Gs s Gee Bee Ber Gee e three Saturdays in a row of bench duty for Chick, and the pants were beginning to pick up a shine. But Chick didn’t mind that too much. Bluefield had copped an- other ball game and Chick was a team man and he was satisfied. The locker-room noise hammered into Chick’s ears. It was the old familiar vic- tory aftermath. Chick Haley was not a guy to sit in a corner and not make some noise himself. He was a varsity squad member, and the team had won and he had a right to celebrate. Team spirit certainly reached a boiling point in —— He stood up, let loose with a resoun bellow. “Wow-eee! We win another!! We’re rolling now. Let’s shake up the old town tonight, guys.” Chick went into a war-jig, going into .the showers. He pummeled his teammates on the baek and warmed their souls with compliments. They liked Chick, his team- mates did. Win or lose, Chick was a team man. They grinned back at him, mut- tered their thanks. In the shower room, Chick spotted Moose Bradley. Moose was a rangy, long- legged guy. He was a sophomore and chesty and a plenty good wingman. Good enough to keep Chick’s leg tied to the bench. “Good going, Moose,” Chick enthused. “Atta way to pull in those passes. We wouldn’t have taken ’em if you hadn’t grabbed that touchdown heave in the last two minutes.” A thin grin curled Moose Bradley’s lips. He brought his hand down hard on Chick’s shoulder. “Great going yourself,” he said, giv- ing the wink to a couple of teammates. “Boy, it’s bad when the coach keeps his own son on the bench. If I couldn’t get into the game with that kind of drag, I'd turn in my suit.” Moose thought that was funny and laughed. That was Moose’s idea of a sense of humor. Moose was a sophomore and he had made the first string and Chick could pardon his letting off a little steam. Nevertheless, the steady flow of wise- ‘eracks was beginning to get under Chick’s skin. He shrugged off the feeling. ; “That’s all right, Moose,” Chick said. “I'l make the headlines yet. Maybe I’ll fall off the bench or something and give the team a break. But if it. helps the teem win, that’s okay by me. Piling up the wins is what counts in my book.” A heavy-set man’s voice coming from the entrance of the shower room caused Chick to look that way. The man was Chick’s father and Bluefield coach, Steve Haley. Chick thought the voice sounded a bit severe. “Pll be in my office, Chick. I want to see you there before you leave.” Twenty minutes later Chick strolled into Coach Haley’s office. He wondered why the SOS call. His father, frowning from beneath his shaggy brows, said: “Chick, this is your third and last sea- son on the squad. You’ve hardly lived up to my expectations. I’m beginning to think that you’d make a better cheer leader than a football player.” “T was beat out for the end position by a better man,” Chick admitted frankly. “‘T figured I’d make the grade this season, too. But Moose came along. Before him there was somebody else. The team keeps on winning so it isn’t so tough sittin’ ’em out.” “More team spirit,” Coach Haley grunted. “Yeah, you think you’ve got plenty of that. But I’ve got third string- ers that have got more than you have. Give them a chance and they pour more than they’ve really got into the game. But you’ve got stuff they haven’t, yet you’re sitting on the bench with a grin on your kisser. What kind of team spirit is that?” “Maybe you overestimate me,” Chick said. “I’m doing my best. Pll never let the team down. But you’ve got to admit that Moose Bradley is one big load of end-man.” — “Sure,” Coach Haley agreed. “So were the other guys who set you in the back- seat. It isn’t that you aren’t trying. I'll tell you what your trouble is. You’re a nice guy and everybody is your pal. You're the personality kid of the campus. Fil bet you hold more student offices than you can shake a stick at. That’s okay. Maybe: I should be proud. But I’d rather you EOMICLOO©