12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

THE TOUCHDOWN FOOL = Midwest in possession of the pigskin, Tyler began to play ragged, listless ball. The quarter ended with Midwest threatening from the Tyler twenty. They had cracked out four successive first downs, and nothing seemed destined to stop them. Randy suddenly doffed his blanket. There was a vacant space alongside Coach King on the first-string bench. Randy came up behind King and stepped over._the bench onto the place. King turned his taut face to look at him. A faint glimmer sparked in his eyes. “This is the last game, coach,” Randy said. “Do yeu want those Midwest babies stopped? Will you send me in there so I can make up for last week?” King stared at him. “What makes you think you can do any good? What makes you think you won’t mess it up worse than it is?” “Because I got something to fight for, coach,” Randy said, wincing at the way the feotball mentor’s words knifed into him. “Because I got more to fight for, I think, than anybody out there. Do I sound like @ man who’s ready to be licked, coach?” “Do you always talk like this?” asked King, “Where have you been all the time? You talk like I like to hear words talked.” “I been hiding under a barrel,” said Randy. “Been hiding under there be- cause I lost my sense of humor. I made boners, [’ll admit. But I guess I made them because I’d become all wrapped up in my own little self.” The words came rapidly to his tongue. “Getting in this war has made me do a lot of thinking. It’s made me realize that a man fights best when he’s fighting for things and for people outside himself. Well, I got a lot of things like that to fight for in this game. It’s like that Big Fight. I just won’t lose—I can’t!” Seconds later, Randy was trotting out on the field. It was Randy Dolan in and Burton out. It was time out, and in the huddie Randy got a chance to talk to his mates. On the first play Stymie Smith hit the Midwest ball packer so hard he lost the ball. Tiger Colaggi ripped in to recover it for Tyler. IDWEST went into its defensive formation. In the huddle, Stymie Smith looked at his men for a moment before he spoke. His eyes met Randy’s, caught the unvoiced plea in them. Randy was asking for the ball. “Number 27,” Stymie called. “You’re totin’ it, Randy.” His voice was steady, firm. He knew the stake in this for Randy. Tyler men took their positions, single wing with Randy in the tailback. “Two... six... hep!’ Randy took the ball en the snap. He dug his cleats deep in the turf and ran wide to his right. Stymie and Tiger Go- laggi ran ahead of him, bowling clear the way. Randy cut through the line. Stymie took care of Eberle, and Tiger screened a wingback. Randy slipped and went down on 1 the twenty-eight! Randy carried the ball again on the next play. He knifed at the center and went down on the twenty-nine. Four Midwest linemen hit him like a collapsing wall. Back on the bench, Hap King gritted his teeth and tilted his head doubtfully. Randy toted leather again. He ripped apart the Midwest line and carried six- teen yards before they brought him down, Hap King stared. A little guy like Randy flaunting Midwest’s behemoth linesmen! King couldn't sit still. He stood up. Everybody else on the Tyler bench was standing. Again Stymie fed it to | Randy. He cut in and carried it to Mid- west’s thirty-yard stripe. “Who is this guy Dolan?” Burton mut- tered. He was standing next to King. “Where’s he been? Where’d he come from?” It wasn’t only Randy. Every man on the Tyler eleven was clawing, crawling, slugging through Midwest opposition. Midwest called time out for consultatien and reinforcements. Play resumed and they hit Randy hard and hit him again. He took it all—and gave back more. He (COMMCGEL NCO KS