Left Tackle Thayer by Barbour, Ralph Henry - CHAPTER XX

Left Tackle Thayer

CHAPTER XX

'VARSITY VS. SECOND TEAM

Saunders, who was going around on crutches those days, viewed the advent of Clint on the 'varsity squad with misgiving, but he was very nice to him whenever the opportunity occurred. The same was true of the older candidates for the tackles positions, Trow, Tyler and Crewe. It was evident to a blind man from the first that Coach Detweiler had made up his mind that if such a thing were possible Clinton Thayer was to be converted into a tackle of 'varsity calibre. Hence the other candidates, especially those who had been practically certain of their positions, could not be blamed for feeling a little resentment toward both Mr. Detweiler and Clint. That they refrained from showing it was creditable. But Clint felt it even if he didn't have optical or auricular evidence of it and for the first few days at least experienced some embarrassment and constraint.

But life was too busy to leave him much time for troubling about whether or not Saunders and the others approved of his presence. His work was cut out for him from the start. Mr. Detweiler was forever at his heels and Mr. Detweiler's voice was forever raised in criticism or instruction. More than once Clint felt like giving up. Toward the end of that first week it seemed to him that the coach paid no heed to anyone but just Clint Thayer and that nothing Clint Thayer did was ever quite right! But he never did give up, however. He was often discouraged, sometimes angry, always tired out when work was over, but he kept on trying.

Mr. Detweiler dogged his footsteps every minute, or so it seemed to Clint. Returning from practice the coach would frequently range himself alongside and deliver one of his brief lectures. Sometimes he would intercept him between locker and shower and tell him something he had forgotten earlier. On Thursday evening Clint found him awaiting him in Number 14 Torrence when he returned from supper, and, punctuated by lugubrious wails from Penny Durkin's violin, the coach delivered a twenty-minute lecture on “The Duties of a Tackle on Offence when the Play is on the Other side of Centre.” Clint got so he dreamed of football and neglected his studies wofully until both Mr. Simkins and Mr. Jordan remonstrated. In the Southby game, which was played at Brimfield, Clint started in place of Trow at right tackle, with Tyler at left. Offensively he showed up particularly well, but it must be acknowledged that on the defence he was far from perfect. The Southby left end was a clever player and Clint's efforts to out-guess that youth were not very successful. Several times during the two periods in which he played the runner went over or around Clint for good gains. Considering it afterwards, it was a surprise to him that he had not been taken out before he was. Perhaps, though, the fact that Brimfield scored twice in the first period and so secured a lead that was never threatened had something to do with it. Probably the coaches were willing to sacrifice some yards of territory in exchange for experience for the new tackle. At all events, when, at the commencement of the third quarter, Clint's name was not in the line-up and Clint bundled himself in a blanket and took his place on the bench, Mr. Robey paused long enough to say: “Watch your game, Thayer. You did pretty well.”

If Clint did not cover himself with glory, neither, for that matter, did Trow, Tyler or Crewe, all of whom played at some time during the game. With Saunders laid off, the tackle positions were the weakest spots in the line. With most of the line attacks “skin tackle” plays, as they were that year, the tackle positions should have been the strongest of all. Only the fact that Southby was weak on offence saved Brimfield from a beating. Blaisdell and Hall, and, later, Churchill and Gafferty were forced to aid the tackles to such an extent that they were used up very quickly. Tyler made the best showing that day of any of the tackles, but even Tyler was by no means perfect. On forward passes to the opposing end he utterly failed to get his man, and, since the same was true of Trow on the other end, Southby made some alarming midfield gains by that method, while it was Edwards who spoiled a touchdown for the visitors by intercepting a forward pass on his five-yard line in the third period. Southby went down in defeat to the tune of 17-3. As last year's score had been Brimfield 39, Southby 7, there was little encouragement to be discovered, especially as the Southby team was no better than, if as good as, the former one. On the whole, that Saturday's contest was rather disappointing, and when the Sunday morning papers announced that Claflin had run rings around the strong Mendell Hall team, winning by a score of 41-6, Brimfield's stock sank perceptibly.

There was a meeting of the coaches that Sunday evening at Mr. Robey's room in the village. Mr. Robey, Mr. Boutelle, Mr. Detweiler, Andy Miller and Jack Innes were present, and, although the school never learned what was said or done, it was felt that strenuous measures had been decided on. On Monday there was no scrimmage and most of the fellows who had participated in Saturday's game to any extent were sent two or three times around the track and then dismissed for the day. The rest were put through a hard drill in fundamentals, the coaches looking glum and stern and determined. Clint was not one of the fortunate exempts, but went through the hardest afternoon he ever had. Of the tackles only Tyler was absent. The rest of them were bullied and browbeaten and hustled for a solid hour and a half until Clint, for one, scarcely knew whether he was on his head or his heels.

It was rumoured around that afternoon that “S.O.S.” calls had been sent out in all directions and that the middle of the week would find an army of assistant coaches on hand. The army failed to materialise, but by Tuesday four specialists had joined the array of coaching talent and there was an instructor for every position on the team. The practice that afternoon was more grim and businesslike than ever before. No one was admitted to that part of the field who was not either a member of the team or a coach. There was thirty minutes of individual instruction, twenty minutes of signal work, and finally two fifteen-minute scrimmage periods with the second team. And what the 'varsity did to the second that day was a pity! With seven coaches urging them on, the 'varsity players performed desperately. The new plays to be used against Claflin were tried out and worked well. The 'varsity scored two touchdowns in the first period and one in the second, and kicked a field-goal when, with only a minute left, it had reached the second team's eighteen yards. On the other hand, the second failed to gain consistently inside the 'varsity's danger zone and both of Martin's drop-kicks went wide. The 'varsity's defence was better than it had been at any time that Fall, and even the tackles showed up well.

Saunders had discarded crutches and managed a slow jog once around the track that afternoon, and it was fully expected that he would be in shape to get back to work the first of the next week. Clint and Tyler played through most of that scrimmage, and Clint, unmercifully prodded by Detweiler--and anyone else who happened to think of it--showed real form on defence. He was opposed to Captain Turner, of the second, and Turner was a crafty end. That Clint was able, more than once, to get around Turner and stop the runner well behind the line spoke well for him. On forward passes, too, he used his head and twice managed to get to the receiver and spoil the play. It was a tired lot of boys who tramped back to the gymnasium that Thursday afternoon at dusk, and there were many bruises to be seen to, for the two teams had battled as fiercely as though they had been the deadliest enemies. Clint fell asleep in the middle of study hour with his head on his Latin book, and Amy sympathetically let him slumber.

On Friday, contrary to established custom, practice was hard as ever and the scrimmage with the second was drawn out to forty minutes of actual playing time. The game with Cherry Valley on the morrow was not looked on as a difficult one and it was noised about that Coach Robey meant to put in a full set of substitutes in the second half. The Varsity was severely tested in defence that day. Five times the second was given the pigskin inside the 'varsity's fifteen-yard line and instructed to take it across by rushing and four times they failed. The fifth time, with the ball on the three yards, they were given two extra downs and finally piled through Tyler for the last needed six inches. Tyler went out after that, pretty well worsted, and Trow took his place. Clint had escaped damage so far, but had been called on to repel many an attack, and was glad enough when time was called and they were allowed to return to the bench for a five-minute intermission.

After the rest--if it could be called a rest when seven coaches were criticising and instructing every minute--the scrimmage developed into straight football. The second kicked off and, after the 'varsity had failed to get its distance in three downs, Harris fell back to punt. Harris was a left-foot kicker and was accustomed to taking a pretty long stride to the left side before he swung. He was very deliberate about it, too, and the line had to hold hard and long in order to enable him to get the ball off safely. When it did go it went well and accurately, but in the present instance it didn't go. Cupples, of the second, had no difficulty in getting through Trow, and it was Cupples who knocked the ball down just as it left Harris' foot. Fortunately Marvin fell on the pigskin for a fifteen-yard loss.

Harris raged and sputtered and the coaches stood over the unfortunate Trow and read him the riot act. But two minutes later the same thing happened again, although on this occasion Cupples only tipped the ball with his upstretched fingers. There was a hurried conference of the coaches and Clint was yanked out of the right side of the line and put in place of Trow, the latter going to left tackle. Mr. Robey demanded a punt at once in order to test the new arrangement and Cupples, grinning wickedly at Clint, prepared to repeat his act. But Cupples had the surprise of his life, for the first thing he knew Clint's right hand was on the side of his neck and Clint's left hand was under his armpit and he found himself thrust around against his guard. And that was as near to breaking through as Cupples came for the rest of the scrimmage.

Four coaches thumped Clint on the back and excitedly praised him, and Clint felt suddenly that to defeat the wicked machinations of the ambitious Cupples was the biggest thing in life. After that it was a battle royal between them, Cupples using every bit of brain and sinew he possessed to outwit his opponent and Clint watching him as a cat watches a mouse and constantly out-guessing him and “getting the jump” time after time. Cupples had a bleeding lip and a smear of brown earth down one cheek and was a forbidding looking antagonist, and for hours after practice was over Clint had only to close his eyes to visualise the angry, intense countenance of his opponent. Had Clint but known it, he was not a very pretty object himself just then. Someone's boot had rubbed the skin from his left cheek and the blood had caked there, well mixed with dirt, until he looked quite villainous.

The 'varsity scored twice by straight football and once by the use of tricks which were designed to outwit Claflin a week later. The second managed a field-goal from the fifteen yards. Toward the end the 'varsity used substitutes freely, but Clint played through to the last, emerging with many an aching bone, a painful shortness of breath and a fine glow of victory. Mr. Detweiler, red-faced and perspiring, caught him on the side line as he dragged his tired feet toward the blanket pile. “All right, Thayer?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” panted Clint.

“Good! Get in as soon as you can and have a good rub. You played real football, boy, and I'm proud of you! Keep it up!”

“You bet I will!” murmured Clint to himself, as he turned toward the gymnasium. “I'll show Cupples that he can't come through me, the big guy!”

Ten minutes later, refreshed by his shower, he ran into Cupples outside the door to the rubbing room. Cupples, a piece of surgeon's plaster adorning his lip, grinned. Clint grinned back.

“Some game,” he said.

“Was it!” agreed Cupples. “Clint, you've got the rest of them all backed off the map! Saunders hasn't a thing on you, old man, and I've played against him and know. I hope they keep you there.”

“Thanks, Cupples, but if the Claflin chap is any tougher than you are I guess Saunders is welcome to his job whenever he wants it back.”

“Well, say,” chuckled the other, “we had a good time, didn't we?”

“Great!” assented Clint.

And, he reflected as he went on, now that it was all over so they had!

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