12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

~ 72 12 SPORTS ACES “Buck up,” King said. “It was a mis- take that could happen to anybody.” “T’ll never play again!” Randy blurted. “Pm through. I guess they were right at Hilton—giving me the air. ’m—I’m no good!” “Forget it. You’re not through with football,” King said. “You’re going to play in the game next Saturday. We can’t have you go through life with today your last memory of football. It’s not good for your spirit or character—and sport is supposed to help that. ’'m going to put you in there again next week. You'll have to make good.” Randy stared. He couldn’t believe his ears. He tried to choke words of thanks, of appreciation, past the knot in_ his throat. He tried to say it wouldn’t do any good for the coach to try to help him. But Coach King turned away, and Randy was left alone with those unspoken words still in his throat. Next morning, with memory of his hu- miliation at Hilton bright in his mind, Randy made arrangements for leaving eollege. He visited the registrar and his faculty adviser. He also paid a visit to the jocal Air Corps enlistment center. He met Colaggi, a dark-browed, hulking tackle— and Stevens, a boy on the college paper, as he came out of the building. “Hi,” said Colaggi. “Signing up?” Randy nodded, too numb with the mis- ery that was still in him to say a word. “Lots of the fellas are, as I guess you know,” Colaggi went on. ‘With this eighteen and nineteen draft, they’re not even gonna wait to finish this term. They’re just waitin’ till Saturday’s game with Midwest is over.” He stopped, eyed Randy with sudden suspicion. “Say, you’re not figgerin’ to pull out before that, are you?” “Oh no,” said Randy. But Randy went back to his frat house room and packed his bag. That night, without saying good-bye to anyone, he shipped away. : A sedan pulled alongside him at the eurb on the way to the railroad station. ‘Where do you think you’re going?” said a voice. BeeSrs Bes Pree PoePends Qe Por oo Por Gn Gro B+r Ose Oris Or Sr Gre Oo: Gor Sraberse TYMIE SMITH got out of the ear and slammed the door behind him. “Colaggi told some of the fellows at your frat house that you were pulling out. They kept an eye on you, and they saw you sneaking. off without a word. I got ‘wind of it and I hopped in my car and eame down. What’s the idea. Don’t you know we got a big game on Saturday. Don’t you know that Midwest is Tyler’s first big-time game in years?” “I’ve signed up for the Air Corps,” Randy said. “Sure, and so have a lot of the other fellows. But you don’t have to pull out before the big game. No, you don’t have to tell me why you’re going. But what kind of a flyer are you going to make if you pull out when the going gets hot? You got to learn to lick things—and not let them lick you. Or am I beginning to sound like a preacher?” Big, lanky Stymie Smith opened the door of the sedan, and Randy got in. At the frat house, Randy put his suitcase back in his room and went down to din- ner. He was late, but the brothers didn’t let on as if they knew anything at all of what was going on, “Hi,” they said. “Hear you signed up with your Uncle Sammy. It looks like it won’t be long before we’re all in there.” During the next few days, it wouldn’t have seemed strange to Randy if his foot- ball mates hadn’t been excited about the forthcoming game with Midwest, Tyler’s début into big time. Getting into the Big Fight had every right to overshadow that. It would have if the opponent had been any but Midwest. Between the excitement of getting in the Big Fight and playing Midwest, it was no wonder the boys were getting nerves. Why Midwest had Hips Eberle, All-American star of the past two years. at quarterback. It was Eberle’s last game before getting into service, Eberle’s older brother had already made a name for himself on Bataan, and was a prisoner of the Japs. Only a younger brother was left to carry on the family’s football tradi- tion. As usual, Randy worked with the scrubs. Varsity was ragged in practice, Eomicbhook (EO)