Free Halfback Attack by Matt Christopher Page A

hole between right guard and tackle. He kept
     going, dodging and leaping just out of reach of would-be tacklers. Then a linebacker pulled him down on the Catbirds’ thirty-nine.
    Second down and four yards to go.
    Dick grinned as the boys huddled again. “Nice going, Bucky. Let’s try it again. Only this time Freddie carries. On the three!”
    Freddie’s heart pounded as the team broke from the huddle. This was what he loved more than anything—running with the ball.
     It was very seldom that Dick gave him the chance.
    “Down!” ordered Dick. “One! Two! Three! Hike!”
    The ball snapped. Helmets clattered as they smacked against each other. Yellow and green jerseys mixed like a bowl of tossed
     salad. And then a marker was dropped and a whistle shrilled.
    The referee was striking his hips with his hands.
    The offside signal! And it was against the Catbirds!
    Freddie leaped happily.
    Now the ball was on the Catbirds’ thirty-four-yard line. It was first and ten.
    “The same play,” said Dick in the huddle.
    Freddie took the handoff from Dick and plunged through the hole in the left side of the line. He ran hard, the football gripped
     tightly against him. Then he was hit. He went down, and it seemed as if the whole Catbirds line was piled on top of him. When
     it got off, he rose to his feet.
    “Second down and six,” said the referee.
    Dick suggested a pass play. On “Hike!” Dick stepped quickly back with the ball. He faked to Freddie, who ran to the left.
     Then Dick heaved a long, spiraling pass toward the left side of the field. It was intended for Bucky.
    Suddenly a player in green pulled the ball out of the air and started running with it the other way!
    A bit of fear went through Freddie. The player o was running along the sideline. There was nobody between him and the goal
     line except Freddie: Only Freddie could get to the Catbird runner and stop him from making a touchdown.
    Freddie started to run. He recognized the man in green now. It was Ernie Moody, the Catbirds’ star player. Even now Ernie
     seemed to be smiling that silly smile of his, and saying,
Come on, kid! I dare you to tackle me!

    “Get him, Freddie!” a voice shouted. “Get him!”
    But as Freddie drew near to Ernie and saw how hard Ernie was running and how high his knees rose with every step, that bit
     of fear grew into mountainous size.
    He reached out for Ernie, standing up instead of diving at Ernie’s legs as he should have. Ernie stiff-armed him and drove
     him back so that he almost went sprawling.
    Ernie galloped on for the touchdown.
    A roar sprang from the Catbirds’ fans. Then Ernie bucked for the extra point. He didn’t make it.
    A moment later a harsh voice snapped at Freddie’s elbow: “Out, Freddie. The coach has something to say to you!”

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    Freddie hardly glanced at Ted Butler, who replaced him. He lowered his head and raced off the field.
    Coach Hank Sears met him at the sideline. He towered over Freddie like a skyscraper, his dark hair whipping in the wind.
    “Freddie! You let him go by! You didn’t even try to tackle him!”
    Freddie made no reply. He kept his eyes at a level with the coach’s belt.
    “Freddie!” Mr. Sears’s voice lowered a pitch. “I saw you do that same thing in our game against the Flamingos last week. I
     thought then that you were afraid to tackle. I wasn’t sure.”
    So Mr. Sears had noticed. Now he’d realize that Freddie wasn’t the wonderful backfield man he hadexpected him to be. What kind of a backfield man was he, if he was afraid to tackle?
    “Sit down, Freddie,” said the coach. “Rest.”
    From the bench, Freddie watched Ernie boot the ball far into the Sandpipers’ territory. Fullback Dennis Yates caught it and
     ran it back to his thirty-two.
    Freddie wondered if he’d get a chance to go in again. He wouldn’t be afraid to tackle the next time. He promised himself that.
    But hadn’t he promised himself that before? Dozens and dozens of times. And just