12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

‘ } THE TOUCHDOWN FOOL Ti down, Randy thought, prayerfully to him- self. Another tally by his boys and, King would surely cinch that post at Northern —and Randy would have evened his score with Hilton. — And then before Randy realized, he saw that touchdown materializing! Hilton lined up, a single wingback. The bail was snapped. The Hilton quarter swiveled in an attempted fake pass to the right. He hesitated suddenly, as if he were expecting a player to come around to take that pass, and the ball bobbled out of his hands. \ Tyler men knifed through the line, Randy with them, to get that ball. Some- one snatched it before it touched the ground. Randy was hit hard, whirled around. Another man hit him and he went down. Randy staggered up, his brain fogged, the world spinning. He shook his head to clear his vision. He could make out his own players falling away, and then sud- denly it struck through to him. The dark fog he saw was a Tyler man who had that ball securely in his cradled arms and was slogging through a suddenly bewil-. dered Hilton crew! They seemed too stunned by the sudden recovery to make any effort to stop him. But one man stood between the runner and the clear field ahead. Randy’s woozy brain hammered with excitement. Here was his chance to make good against Hil- ton. Here was his chance to repay King’s confidence in putting him in the game. EAD thrust forward, shoulders low, Randy lunged at the wouldbe tackler. He blocked him out, rolled on the hard turf as he did. He straightened up, the roar of the crowd thundered in his ears. Every man was on his feet, cheering hoarsely-as the runner pumped to the goal and across it, his pursuit futilely trail- ing him, Randy got up, grinning, as he looked at the scoreboard, his head clearing, He watched the new tally slide into place. But the scoreboard said: Tyler 7—Hilton 6. Randy looked at his teammates, They ‘were advancing toward him almost in a _bedy. He had a look at their faces and he suddenly felt sick inside. “You—you’ stupe—” Stymie Smith choked at him. Randy tried to swallow past the hard knot that was in his throat. He blinked his eyes. He looked up at the scoreboard again, and it still said the same thing: Tyler 7—Hilton 6. ..2 looked back at his teammates. Biff Rogers came menacingly at him, slapped him hard against the shoulder with the flat of his hand. “Nice going!” His voice stabbed with venom. Randy stared uncomprehendingly. He saw another player come in, himself waved out. “You helped make a enbdone,” Sty- mie Smith said. “But you made it for— Hilton! You tackled your own man!” Randy dragged to his place on the scrub bench. He tried to bury himself under the blanket that the team manager draped over his head. No one said anything. Even though his head had been terribly woozy, it seemed impossible to Randy that he had made that mistake. It all seemed unreal. Out on the field the players lined up te kick for the extra point. Randy buried his face in his hands. He heard the boot of leather loud. in the quick silence that had settled over the stands. There was a sigh of relief, and then the stands roared in a cheering fury. The kick was blocked! The gun blasted. Tyler’s game, 7-6! Randy braced himself for the ordeal of the locker room. Tyler had won, but he knew he’d surely ruined King’s chances for the coaching spot at Northern, If somebody had taken a sock at htm, Randy would have actually felt better. Anything, if only he could be spared the silent, ac- cusing glances of his teammates. He knew what they would call him, what was on every one of their minds: “Wrong way Dolan! Wrong-way Dolan! He doesn’t know where his own goal is!” A voice said, quietly, firmly, behind Randy, “Dolan.” Randy turned and through blurred vi- sion he saw the freckled, blond young face of Coach Hap King. : Eomicboo Hale)