Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 72 of 116
12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 72: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a story prose page from a pulp sports fiction magazine titled "12 Sports Aces." The narrative follows Randy Dolan, a former Hilton University player now at Tyler U., who begs Coach King for a chance to play in a critical game against his former school. After being inserted into the game, Randy struggles with fear of repeating his past mistakes but helps Tyler's defense hold Hilton to a field goal attempt. The passage depicts the intense back-and-forth action of a football game, with detailed descriptions of plays and Randy's internal anxiety about proving himself on the field.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
sea 12 SPORTS ACES umped his feet up and down, but it didn’t bring any blood into his numb legs. He was medium-sized, with a boyish face and scared blue eyes. “Hold ’em!” He murmured those words of the coach within him, and he knew it was a prayer. 3 Only yesterday, Randy approaehed Coach King after practice. “Coach,” he said. “I’m not such a big guy for a half- back and maybe not so hot a player. I got no gripe that you haven’t put me in a game all season. But—will you put me in tomorrow? For just a little bit? I won’t forget it. I’ll make it up to you—some way. You know, I used to ge to Hilton—” Coach King’s freckled, blond face nodded. Everybody at Tyler U. knew that Randy Dolan was a former Hilton man. Who could forget that it was Randy whe had made that bonehead play—running the ball the wrong way? It was Randy’s finish at Hilton. He’d been laughed out of school on account of it. “Let me in there against Hilton,” Randy begged. Coach King lowered his eyes, doubt- fully. “We'll see,” he said, in a way that made Randy flush to the roots of his hair. Randy understood. This was a critical game for King. Scouts from Northern U. were going to be in the stands. Coach Hap King was great; he deserved to be in big time. And as his brother, Jiggs King, had pointed out in his syndicated sports column that morning, this was his ehance. Randy reported to the official, and he knew this was his ewn chance, too. Tyler led Hilton 7-0. It had seemed an adequate enough lead in the first half, but in this second half Hilton had threatened again and again. Now, with four straight first downs under their belt, they were march- ing on to a touchdown. Hilton came out of their huddle. Their first play was an end-sweep, a boy named March carrying. March went far to the sidelines. When he cut in he was met by Biff Rogers and Tiger Colaggi, and his end-sweep died where it had begun—on the nineteen-yard line. Hilton tried a crusher through the line, and Randy moved in to break that one up himself. He got his arm around the run- ner’s pants, and his eleated heels dug dirt. He went down ontop of the Hilton player. It was no gain again. ILTON cracked out a fake reverse on the third down. March mate- rialized out of nowhere with the ball, and he was past Randy before Randy realized he packed the ball. Stymie Smith finally dragged March down on Tyler’s eleven. The Tyler boys blew hard. It was hold —or else! Randy shook his head grimly. Hilton moved back quickly to the line. Randy was aware that he was so scared of pulling a boner that he wasn’t playing ball. He gritted for the task as the Hilton line shifted. Fourth down and two to go! A quiek reverse. The ball to March. He hit the line like a cannon shell. Fhe line converged upon him, swelled to break- ing. Fhe referee ploughed in to recover the ball from under the tangled mound of players. Then he thrust a pointing finger toward the Hilton goal. It was Tyler’s ball. First and ten for Tyler. They had held on their own ten-yard line! Playing it safe, Tyler kieked. Big Mike, the Tyler fullback, toed off a honey. The ball whizzed into the blue like a rocket. The safety man for Hilton reached out his arms to gather the leather to him on the midfield stripe. It struck his chest and bounded away! He chased it back five yards to his own forty-five where he downed it. | Five thousand Tyler fans in the stands © were screaming like mad. Every player on the Tyler bench was on his feet. Coach King was up, waving his arms and shout- ing approval. Tyler had pulled out of a hole! Hilton was back on its haunches with only minutes remaining in the game. “We got ’em!” Stymie Smith, the Tyler captain, yelled to his teammates, and Randy swelled with pride that he had had a part in it. He knew those scouts from Northern U. must be nodding their commendation of the brand of play Coach King had instilled in his boys. If only we could snag another touch- Gomicbooks Gol