Free Tough to Tackle by Matt Christopher

1
    B oots Raymond stood on the porch, the September wind whipping his unzippered jacket and toying with his hair. He was thinking.
    “Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you coming?” asked Bud Davis, one of the two boys looking up at him from
     the sidewalk.
    Boots flashed a grin, shrugged, and rattled down the steps. He wrapped an arm around Bud’s head and gave him a gentle poke
     in the ribs.
    “I was thinking,” he said.
    Duck Farrell sniffed the air and nodded. “Yep, you were,” he agreed. “I smell rubber burning.”
    Boots’s fist lashed out and Duck dodged it. He lost his balance and fell on his bottom, a look of pain coming over his freckled
     face.
    “You nut,” said Boots. “I was only faking. I wasn’t going to hit you.”
    Boots grabbed the redhead’s arm and helped him to his feet.
    The look of pain disappeared as Duck smiled. “Oh, thank you,” he said in a singsong voice.
    Boots picked up Duck’s blue hat and plopped it on the patch of unruly red hair.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    “I’m okay,” said Duck, dusting off his pants. “But you sure have a funny way of faking.”
    Boots was four inches taller than Duck and twenty pounds heavier, although both were the same age. He had been thinkingabout playing quarterback on the Apollos football team. He had played quarterback last year on a pickup team and had discovered
     that he could throw forward passes a mile and carry the ball almost every time with a good, substantial gain. He was a
natural
quarterback.
    “What position you guys shooting for?” he asked.
    “Quarterback,” said Bud.
    “Halfback,” answered Duck, straightening his hat. “What position
you
shooting for? Guard?”
    “Guard, my eye. I’m shooting for quarterback, too.”
    “Quarterback?” Duck stared, then looked at Bud. Bud was a year older than the boys, but he was Duck’s size. Boots had seen
     Bud play quarterback. Bud was good. But Boots, being bigger, was sure that he could gain yardage better than Bud.
    “Yes, quarterback,” Boots said. “That’s where the action is. Who hasn’t heard of Steve Young, Brett Favre, and John Elway?”
    “Okay, who hasn’t? They’re quarterbacks on professional teams.”
    “See that? Everybody knows who they are. But name one guard.”
    Duck’s forehead knitted.
    “You can’t,” said Boots promptly. “That goes to show you. It’s a quarterback people remember. Not a guard. Not a tackle. You
     have to have time to think about who guards are. But quarterbacks’ names pop into your head like one, two, three.”
    “That’s only because you’re interested in quarterbacks instead of guards and tackles,” replied Duck. “Without guards and tackles,
     what good is a quarterback?”
    “No good.”
    “So what are you arguing about?”
    “Come on,” Bud interrupted. “Let’s go or we won’t be playing
any
position!”
    They headed for the field.
    Boots was glad football season had come around. His sister Gail wasn’t enough to fill the gap that their brother Tom had left.
     Tom and he used to wrestle. Tom was bigger and had pinned Boots as often as Boots had pinned him. Boots knew Tom would let
     him win just so he wouldn’t get discouraged and not wrestle anymore. But it was fun just the same.
    They had also played basketball and pitch and catch. Boots had hoped that all the exercise would keep him from gaining too
     much weight. He was pretty big as it was.
    Then Tom had enlisted in the Marines and was sent overseas. That was only a few months ago, but it seemed like years to Boots.
    When they reached the football field, at least twenty guys were already there. They were throwing and catching footballs and
     making more noise than a jungle full of animals. No one was in uniform. Coach Bo Higgins had promised he’d pass them out after
     today’s workout.
    Boots saw the coach with another man on a bench in front of the third-base bleachers. The field was used for baseball in summer.
     In