Free Tough to Tackle by Matt Christopher Page A

another week or so it would be marked with white lines every five yards and the goal posts would be put up.
    “There’s a hefty man for us, Bo,” said the man sitting with the coach. “Hi, son! What’s your name?”
    “Boots Raymond,” said Boots shyly. He shrugged. “It’s Theodore, but everybody calls me Boots.”
    Bo Higgins smiled. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and wore a red baseball cap.“Hi, Boots,” he greeted. “This is Coach Dekay. He’s my assistant this year.”
    Mr. Dekay was still smiling. He was taller than Bo, but thinner around the shoulders. “A few more boys like you, Boots, and
     we’d have a real strong line.”
    Boots’s jaw dropped. “Do I have to play on the line?” he asked disappointedly. “Can’t I play in the backfield? Like … quarterback?”
    Mr. Dekay chuckled and exchanged a look with Coach Higgins.
    Bo met Boots’s eyes squarely. “What do you weigh, Boots?”
    “A hundred and thirty-nine pounds.”
    Bo Higgins shook his head. “Sorry, Boots. A hundred and twenty-five is the limit for backfield players, and a hundred and
     forty for linemen. We have to have that ruling, otherwise a heavy boy like yourself wouldn’t have much trouble tearing through
     a linethat could be made up of players pretty light in weight. Didn’t you read the form your parents signed?”
    The coach’s reply struck Boots like a bell of doom.
    “I — I guess I didn’t,” he said dismally.

2
    O ne … two! One … two! Spread those legs, Boots! Raise those elbows, Vic! One … two! One … two!”
    Coach Bo Higgins was leading the team in calisthenics, jumping with his legs spread apart, then together, and his arms moving
     straight up and down in graceful form.
    “Down on your backs! Hands behind your heads and your feet together! Now … without bending your knees, lift your legs a foot
     off the ground and hold them there!”
    Boots grunted and groaned as he felt the ache come to his legs. He kept his lipspressed tightly and strained to hold up his limbs until the coach gave the word to drop them.
    “Okay! Down! Rest a minute!”
    The minute seemed the shortest in history.
    “Everybody on his feet for the Dead Body drill! All right! Down on your bellies! Side by side with about two feet between
     you and the next man! Eddie Baker, you’re first in line! Get up, jump over each body, and fall flat after you reach the last
     one! Leo Conway, you’re next in line! Follow Eddie! Get the idea?”
    “Got it,” several guys answered in unison.
    After each boy went through the routine at least twice, Coach Higgins let them play catch with footballs for a while. Then
     he called the boys together and handed each of them a football uniform. The jerseys were red and the pants blue, with the
     team’sname, APOLLOS, on the front of the jerseys. On the backs were the numbers. Boots’s was 77.
    Coach Higgins knew all the time that he was going to play me on the line, Boots reflected discouragingly. But what position?
     I suppose I’ll have to wait till next practice to find out.
    The Apollos had calisthenics the next day and the next. On the third day the coach showed some mercy: He cut the calisthenics
     time in half. Practice wasn’t over, though. Bo Higgins read off a list of names from a clipboard and after each name a position.
     Boots’s name was right on top of the list. And his position: right tackle.
    The next players named were:
    Richie Powell     
right guard
    Pete Ellis     
right end
    Ralph Patone     
center

    Vic Walker     
left tackle
    Neil Dekay     
left guard
    Eddie Baker     
left end
    Leo Conway     
fullback
    Jackie Preston     
right halfback
    Duck Farrell     
left halfback
    Bud Davis     
quarterback
    “That’s the offensive team,” said the coach. “Most of the guys will play defensive, too. We’re not loaded with enough players
     to have fresh units go in each time the football changes hands. Leo, you’ll