possible. If the Cougars could grind out a couple of first downs, using up the remaining two minutes, they would be two-point victors.
The strategy reflected neither Cobb’s style nor his liking. He had experienced too many stupid mistakes happening with this type of thinking. The Towers would guess that the Cougars would be playing close-to-the-vest football. So they would bunch up, “dogging” and shooting the gap, trying to stop the run, and trying to strip the ball from the carrier. But orders were orders.
Two consecutive running plays gained four yards. It was third down and six yards to go for a first down-the classic third and long.
A guard brought the next play in.
Cobb slid into the huddle. “Okay, gentlemen, we’d better make this one work or we may be in a lot of trouble. I-formation! Left! Twenty-five! On two! Break!”
The play called for the halfback to run off left tackle. Hunsinger was to block the linebacker.
They settled at the line of scrimmage. Cobb crouched low, hands tucked under the center’s crotch. He viewed the defensive formation and decided this play had two chances to work: very little and none.
“Three!”
It was a different snap count than he’d given in the huddle. He was changing the play. This would be an audible. He had each teammate’s undivided attention. In a split second, a number would give each of them an entirely different task to perform and in yet another split second they would have to adjust to this new play.
“Ninety-two!”
It had changed from a running play to a play-action pass. The offensive linemen would appear to be blocking for a running play by pulling, and giving the appearance of leading a sweep around end. Cobb would fake a handoff to the fullback, who would continue, emptyhanded, through the line. If the linebackers bought it, they would be pulled into the line of scrimmage, thus opening up some of the short zones.
“Three! Ninety-two! Hut! Hut!”
The ball was centered; everyone was galvanized.
In the “pit,” bodies crashed in a heated push-pull contest. The fake sweep began to the left. As Cobb retreated, he pretended to tuck the ball into the fullback’s gut. The linebackers fell for it and crashed into the line. Hunsinger found the vacated zone.
Cobb retreated only four steps, then quickly released the ball. It was a perfect pass. Hunsinger gathered it in and broke straight for the goal line. However, before he could get completely clear, the fleet free safety nailed him with a desperation shoestring tackle.
And then the fun began.
“Boy!” exclaimed the TV play-by-play man, “that just goes to show you what experience will do for you, Eddie. Hunsinger gathered that pass in and immediately headed upfield. Like a horse heading for the stable, he knew where that first-down yardage was, and went for it.”
“He certainly did, Lou. We’ll see it on the instant replay-wait a minute. Something’s happening on the field. Hunsinger did something after the whistle blew. I think he kicked the defensive player who tackled him. Now, a big lineman from Chicago-I can’t get his number yet-but that Chicago lineman jumped on Hunsinger and began punching him. Now they’re rolling around on the turf- they’re really laying into each other.”
“They sure are, Eddie. The officials are trying to separate them and, at the same time, keep the other players out of this scrap. You hate to see a game end like this. .”
“Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Grace Hunsinger shook her head as she peered at her large-screen color console. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Now, that’s the second bit of trouble Henry’s been involved in this afternoon. I don’t know what gets into that boy.”
“What’s that?” Mary Frances Quinn, Mrs. Hunsinger’s companion, woke with a start from her nap.
“It’s Henry again, Mary Frances.”
“What’s he done?”
“Gotten into another fight.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Quinn sighed. “Well, I suppose boys will be boys.”
“You know, Mary Frances, I used to worry a lot about Henry when he was growing up. He had a habit of going about with undesirable companions. God knows, my dear husband-God rest him-was not wealthy, though he left us as well as he could.”
“I know.”
“And we tried to send Henry to good schools. I just don’t know what gets into that young man.'
“Now, Grace. .” Mrs. Quinn adjusted her recliner chair into the upright position. “You’re just not feeling well this afternoon. You know Henry is a good boy. He’s certainly been good to you. And he’s in an honest profession. At least there’s nothing criminal about it. And all of the papers say that he’s one of the best players in the league. He’s earning all that money, and he will surely be able to secure a good position for himself after his playing days are over. . what with the name he’s made for himself.
“Come on, now. All will be well. We know that everything is in the hands of God. And that God is good.”
Mrs. Hunsinger looked at her companion sharply. “Yes. I suppose that’s true. Oh, but look.” She gestured at the TV screen. “What’s going on now?”
“Why, it looks like that man with the striped shirt is escorting Henry over to-what do you call it? — the sidelines. You don’t suppose Henry is hurt, do you?”
Mrs. Hunsinger leaned forward and stared intently at the screen.
“He’s outta there! Done for the day!” the referee declared to Coach Bradford.
“Now, wait a minute, Red. My boy could have been provoked, you know.”
The referee couldn’t suppress a grin. “Coach, believe me, the Hun started it. And the other guy finished it. They’re both out of the game. That’s it; they’re outta there.' The referee trotted back to the field of play.
“Brilliant, Hun.” Bradford looked disgustedly at his player. “A fine lot of good you’re doing the team on the bench.'
“Screw the team!”
Blood gorged Bradford’s face and neck, “I’ll see you in my office tomorrow morning.” He had never been closer to striking one of his players.
“Well, Eddie, with the Hun out of the game and the two unnecessary-roughness penalties offsetting each other, the ball remains on Chicago’s 49-yard line, where it will be a first down for the Cougars. And there’s just a minute, twenty-five seconds to go.”
“That’s right, Lou. Coach Bradford has established his pattern now in these closing seconds. He’ll keep it on the ground, hoping to grind out the yards, maintain possession of the ball, and hang on to win this one.”
“Right you are, Eddie. Now, back to live action. The Cougars break their huddle and come out in an I- formation. The Towers have a five-man defensive line with everybody bunched up close. Boy, a pass just now would sure surprise them! But, it’s not. Cobb takes the ball and hands off to his fullback, who goes over right tackle and- hold it: There’s a fumble, there’s a fumble! The Towers are claiming they’ve recovered it. And the referee agrees with them. The Towers have the ball on their own 46-yard line!”
“Well, this is just the break they’ve been looking for, Lou. Remember, all they need is a field goal to win.'
“That’s right, Eddie. And Chicago quickly breaks out of their huddle. They line up in a spread formation. The Cougars have added a fifth defensive back, so they are in the nickel defense with three men rushing. Morand takes the ball and fades to pass. He sets up in the pocket. Now he moves up. He spots his wide receiver, Finnegan, in right flat. Finnegan’s got it and he steps out of bounds, killing the clock. The head linesman places the ball at the Cougar 47. A pickup of eight yards. It’ll be a second and two for a first down and just fifty-five seconds in the game.
“Now Chicago breaks from its huddle again and lines up in the shotgun formation, with Finnegan split to the right, Thomas to the left. The ball is centered back to Morand, who scans the field as the pass patterns begin to develop. Robinson, the big tight end, is wide open over the middle. Morand sees him and hits him. Robinson avoids one, two, tacklers and wisely steps out of bounds, again killing the clock.”
“The Towers are playing heads-up ball. They’ve got a first down now at the Cougars 30, with just forty seconds to go. They’re already within Tom McAnoy’s field-goal range, but they’d like to get a bit closer. They’ve got time for two, maybe three more plays, and that’ll be it. My guess is that they’ll keep it in the air. Though they could
