12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 33: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BENCH WARMER’S GRID GRUDGE 31 Or oe , were less popular and more football player.” Coach Haley’s verbal blitzkrieg set Chick back on his heels. He stood there, dumbfounded. “I can’t step on my personality,” he said, finding voice. “I don’t know what to do.” “Of course you wouldn’t,” Haley snapped. ‘‘You’re too nice a guy. You wouldn’t know how to get tough. Not even when Moose Bradley sticks pins in you. Why, when you’re fighting for a position the idea is to make the other fel- low your enemy. In the game, the rival team is the enemy. That puts the steam in a guy and gets his dander up. But with you, the rival players are your friends. Everybody is your pal. I never thought my own son would grow up to be a soft- soaping, baby-kisser.” HICK caught the drift. His old man was trying to heat him up, get him fighting mad. He simply didn’t realize that Chick didn’t have that sort of tem- perament. But Chick was willing to try anything that might improve his grid- iron play. The thing that meant most to him—a varsity job—had been denied him. He stood willing to go even further than his dad had suggested. If having enemies could turn the trick, Chick meant to have them. “Okay,” Chick said. “From now on everybody is my enemy. I’ll make ’em. You count ’em.” “You haven’t got the nerve,” Haley gaid flatly. “Maybe I should say the guts.” Chick’s campaign to influence people to be his enemies started the moment he walked outside the locker room. There he yan into Art Elliot, Bluefield’s varsity tackle. | “Hullo, ugly,” Chick said. “Wow, did you play stinko in there today. Lucky for you the other team had a dumb quar- terback. They could have scored six touchdowns through your side of the ine.” The big tackle looked at Chick, puzzled. Then he nodded. “And you ain’t kidding,” Elliot said seriously. “I was mousetrapped till I felt Boe See Gse Ore Ger xe Geo Gor Ser Ore Gee Ger Ser Gre Ger Gor Ser Ger Ser Hoe Gre Oe 09s Goe Gor Ser Ger Gee s like one. Those guys really did a job on me. They rubbed my kisser in the dirt all afternoon. Ain’t it something awful to look at?” Chick rubbed his chin till it hurt. He began to wonder what he had to do to make an enemy. Well, maybe Elliot had been mousetrapped all afternoon. So what? Chick strolled along the street, his mind plunged on the urgent problem of making enemies. Suddenly his face broke out in a grin, The lightning had struck Chick’s brain. A plan that would make him the number-one campus enemy swift- ly unfolded, outlined itself in Chick’s mind, ° It was three days later when the va- rious campus fraternities held a climax rally to elect their candidates to the Blue- — field Student Council. Established tradi- tion at Bluefield proved that the frater- nity gaining control of the Student Coun- cil also became the most powerful or- ganization on the campus. Also, to them went the greatest number of pledges. So it was that Chick, president of the Beta Kappa, the controlling faction, had the honor of the last word. Chick stood on the rostrum of the jam-packed audi- torium. The students had been promised everything from heaven up. Chick gave them the old dramatic pause. “Suckers,” Chick started, “a vote for the Beta Kappas is one you'll regret. It means that we’ll run things to benefit ourselves. It means we will do everything —but mostly everybody. We promise nothing and offer less. Furthermore, suckers—those of you who pledge the Beta Kappa will have to shell out for a new heating plant. Once we get our hooks in you, look out.” For ten minutes, Chick went on at length. He smeared, scrambled and but- tered the grease slide for his fraternity brothers. When he finished, silence reigned. Then came the reaction. A sweep- ing, rumbling thunderclap of applause and cheers, that shook the rafters. The sweat beaded on Chick’s forehead. He stood there, frozen in his boots. Then Art Elliot and the other Beta Kappas were rushing onto the platform. They pumped COPNIC LOOKS (C@)