Football

HAPPISON R. MERRILL1 \J , EDWARD BROWN hugged the pound box of candy he carried against his breast as he trotted across the campus to where he could see Marjorie McCarthy, Coach Bill McCarthy's nineteen year old daughter, playing a lone hand of croquette on ,her father's lawn. Old Bill McCarthy was head coach at Glendon University, and was a great hero in G. Ed- ward's eyes. "Hello, Marj," Eddy called as he approached. "Look lonely." The girl straightened up, her mallet held loosely in both hands before her. Eddy felt a chill as he looked into her brown eyes. In them he fancied he saw trouble for himself. "Not so lonely," she replied a little sharply. His enthusiasm died down, but he was not beaten. He unwrapped the box. "Want to try some of this?" he asked. Removing the lid he extended the box filled with cubes of semi- transparent, sugar-dusted candy. "What is it?" she asked. "Guess — taste it and guess." i)HE bit into a cube of the substance, sipped the flavor a moment, and then held it up for inspection. "Candy," she pronounced, ju- diciously, "but what kind? It is delicious. I've never tasted any- thing like it before." Eddy grinned. "It doesn't grow up in this country — an Arizona product from down home." "What's it made of?" Marjorie asked. "Do tell me." "It's candied cactus blooms," Eddy replied. "How wonderful," she ex- claimed, "Cactus blooms! Cactus blossoms are beautiful." "Beyond description," Eddy replied. "Just beyond description, that's all. This is made from cactus, but maybe not from the blossoms. But, say, why the icicles when I came up?" OHE hesitated. "Out with it," he prompted. "It was that football game Sat- urday," she Replied. "Dad was very disappointed in that game — and in — in — ." "Say it," he urged, though he could not keep the crimson out of his face. "And in you," she concluded. "He said Glendon should have de- feated Bartholomew by four touchdowns, and we won by only one point." "I know," Eddy answered lamely. "The Coach was wild about it, but the Bartholomew outfit was harder than we thought. We fought our — " She held up her hand. "Don't!" She spoke as if he had hurt her. 'That's what Dad said you'd plead." Eddy flushed. Underneath his embarrassment — shame — was a spark of anger. "What did he think I'd say?" he demanded, hotly. "He said you'd have an alibi — he named several," she was as; calm as a surgeon probing in a wound. "You've mentioned the first, please don't mention the others." "What else did he say?" Eddy demanded sharply. OHE held a piece of the semi-transparent candy up against the sun. "He said you were too sweet — too — too — " "Say it," he prompted again, as she paused. "Too afraid to mix it with the Bartholomew crowd." Eddy studied her eyes as she spoke. "If you'd a brought him some vof this candy, he'd a said that you like the bloom rather than the spines of the plant of your native state." Her words cut deep. Eddy was proud of his state and his state flower. He was also proud of the reputation Arizonians have for square, hard fighting for a cause. "If he'd a said it, would you have believed it?" he asked. "I wouldn't have — then," she said wistfully. "Now, I think I should." "Did you see the game Satur- day?" he asked. 'Yes; it made me wonder, but I thought there might be some other reason. The Glendon team certainly was not as — as — vicious as I'd a liked them to be. I know the game fairly well now, you know, Eddy, and I am certain you could have smashed that line hard- er than you did. You reminded me of a balky horse with cold shoulders." "So — that's what you think of me," Eddy said, an all-gone feel- ing in the pit of his stomach, for he liked this girl better than any other on the campus. "Then I think I'd as well go — alternately cold and hot here," he continued, smiling sheepishly. "I'll leave the candy with you." "It is delicious," she said, look- ing down at the box, "but it looks wishy-washy, .pretty — sweet — like the blooms. I think I'd prefer the spines." .CjDDY recrossed the campus a ton of lead in each shoe. He had come out of the desert of Arizona to get an education, and to play football. He had made the freshman team, and had been lionized by his class for his speed and elusiveness. He had actually decided that he was a pretty good football man. When in his sophomore year he was selected as the first quarterback of the Varsity team, he felt certain that he had made no mistake in his estimate of himself. He had played through the major portions of three inter-collegiate contests and was still of the opinion he was very good, even though his team had not been the whirlwind some

78 The Improvement Era for December, 1930 of the sport writers had predicted it would be. He had laid the team's failure to live up t o prediction, however, upon an over enthusiastic press agent, and to the fact that the teams Glendon had met were ex- ceptionally strong. Until now he had never even dreamed that the failure of the team to work efficiently was chargeable to him. A COWBOY — from the Arizona desert where men were supposed to be men, he had prided himself up- on his willingness to mix with any man or set of men regardless of size. He had come to adore Coach JBill McCarthy and, what was more, big Bill's only daughter. To learn that the Coach had been disappointed in him was bad enough, but to learn that the Coach had confided his disappointment to his daughter was unbearable. Eddy Brown was making some resolutions that afternoon as he dressed for foobtall. "Why so glum?" It was Joe Medill speaking. Joe was dressed and on his way out to the field. "Haven't heard from the cactus country lately?" "Sure," Eddy replied twisting his face into a wry expression. "That's what's the matter." Joe paused. He also was from Arizona and played halfback while Eddy played quarterback. He was interested. "How come?" he asked. "Did somebody send you a Gila Mon- ster through the mail?" "Naw, worse than that," Eddy replied grinning. "Mother sent me some ( cactus candy — candied cactus blossoms." "Well, I wouldn't call that bad news," Joe exclaimed as he passed on toward the door of the dress- ing room. "You would," Eddy called af- G. EDDY BROWN ter him, "if you'd a found the sting in 'em I did." Throughput the week Eddy's conversation with Marjorie seared his soul. He liked the girl tremendously, and it hurt to have her tell him that he was spineless like a cactus bloom. He'd show her. No mere girl could rub it in to him, even if she was the Coach's daughter. With a new determination he entered into the work of preparing for the big game with Clarke University the fol- lowing Saturday. He would show the old Coach that an Arizonian was what the stories said he was. On the day of the game as Eddy trotted on to the field with his team-mates, he glanced toward the President's box. Marjorie usually sat just below it with the Pep Girls, a rooting section of football enthusiasts. He saw her flutter- ing her colors as the team spread out on the field. Eddy's heart beat high. He had purposely avoided Marjorie the en- tire week, though it had been hard for him to do so. He wanted to show her some of his spines. Clarke was report- ed to be "plenty tough," but Coach McCarthy avowed that Glendon must win; there would be only one really stiff team between them and a state championship. Eddy took his place be- hind the 1 i n e. Flanked on one side by Joe and on the other side by "Beef" Hollister, and backed by Lon Granger, he snapped out his signals with a new vigor. He felt that this was his day. Marjorie up there in the Scarlet and Gold outfit swing- ing her banner would see spines, not blossoms, when this game got under way, and incidentally Coach McCarthy would learn a few things, too. There would be no alibis. Clarke kicked off to Glendon. Joe received the ball and started up the field ; Eddy ran interference. As he streaked across the sward, he threw himself at a big Clarke guard. The fellow's knee caught Eddy in the short ribs knocking the breath completely out of him. It was seconds before he could struggle to his feet. The Glendon Bears went into a huddle. Eddy called an off- tackle buck. Joe, who got the ball, was thrown without gain. Once more Eddy called a line buck. This time Beef got the ball after Eddy had faked passing it to Joe. Beef made a yard and a half. Third down and eight and a half yards to go! Eddy called for a punt. The , ball spiraled high al- lowing the Bears to go down un- der it. Clarke was dropped on their fifteen yard line. WlTH the ball in their possession the Clarke machine began functioning. The heavy guards and tackles literally rolled over and through the Glendon line

The Improvement Era for December, 1930 79 tearing great holes through which the Ciarke backs percolated for three, five, and even seven yards. Clarke made three first downs in quick succession. Then Glendon held and the visitors were forced to punt. Eddy received the ball on his own seven yard line. He started up the field darting among the Clarke tacklers like a scared jack rabbit, until he was at last dragged down on his own forty-two yard line. He called a play over guard. The Clarke guard and center blocked the hole and Beef went down with a one foot gain. Joe, on the next play, suffered a sim- ilar fate. Eddy felt somethnig click in his mind. Suddenly he could re- member nothing except a long forward pass. The Coach's admo- nition, Marjorie's taunting voice, dropped away from him and he could remember only that the Clarke line was holding; that the Bears | could not break through; that the Clarke men were heavier a gray clad Clarke tackle shoot through, snatch the ball from the air, and speed on toward the Glen- don goal. Eddy's heart almost stopped. The man was free or almost free. He, Eddy Brown, must stop him if he was to be stopped. His feet seemed to have wings as he took up the chase, his own men trailing along behind him. "I must stop him; I must stop him," he was saying over and over in great sobs as he closed up the gap foot by foot. As last he knew he was close enough. He left his feet, and could have sung for joy as he felt that ball carrier's legs in his arms. As he rose to his feet, ,he saw a Glendon Bear racing across the field from the bench. As the man drew nearer he could see that it was Brig Halverson, substitute quarterback. Ti H) .E called for a pass; the fullback to the left end. The ball spiraled high from Granger's hand. Eddy could see Booker Clay son, the end streaking toward that mythical point where ball and man were to meet. Then he saw HEN it was that Eddy remembered the instructions of big Bill McCarthy. "Until you have felt them out," the big fellow had said, "buck their line and punt." Eddy did not have to be told who was to go out. He knew. "Sorry, old man," Brig called, as he passed on his way to the referee. As Eddy approached the bench where old Bill McCarthy sat, his heart was low. He could see anger in the Coach's eyes, but McCarthy said nothing, merely motioned Eddy to the bench. From the seats high above, Eddy caught the tones of a single voice from among the thousands. "Cactus blossoms!" he was pos- itive it was crying over and over again. Glendon won from Clarke by three points, but Eddy did not have a chance to go back into the battle. He sat on the bench watch- ing with aching heart his own team fight through to victory. 1 HE last game of the season was to be the contest for the State championship on Thanksgiv- ing Day. Glendon University and St. Francis had both gone through the season undefeated, though St. Francis, playing several of the same teams, had regularly scored more than twice as much as Glendon had done. This led the sport writers and fans to predict a St. Francis victory in the final battle of the year. Coach McCarthy went about preparing for the finale with a grim steadiness that promised a THE "CACTUS BLOOM"

80 The Improvement Era for December, 1930 warm time for St. Francis. Big Bill bad not had a championship in six years. This was his year he had declared, but .victory had been so long in coming that few believed in him. There were two people, how- ever, who had faith, almost to the point, of passion. They were his daughter Marjorie and G. Eddy Brown. The girl was a persistent rooter and football lover, and Ed- dy would have given his right hand to have been reinstated in the Coach's confidence. /vS the days passed Eddy found himself playing more and more with the reserves. Brig Halverson, the man who had pulled the Bears through with a victory over the Clarke outfit, was being groomed for the quarterback position. Eddy, however, did not let up on his training. He began to dream football in his sleep, and often he would catch himself working out new plays that he could work alone in a pinch. This .study of strategy was brought about by the announce- ment made by Coach McCarthy that he feared St. Francis was wise to all of the Bear plays. Eddy tried to be fair and im- partial in his judgments, but he somehow believed that Halverson would blow up as -a quarterback. The man was a good, steady plunger and could handle the team well against an ordinary team, but Eddy feared that against the pow- erful St. Francis 'eleven Brig would break under the strain. Eddy had not seen Marjorie since the Clarke game. In fact, he had been careful to avoid her. He tried to l say to himself that he never cared very much about her attitude, though he could not help feeling that something had gone out of life- — something dear to him had vanished. 0' _)VER the week-end before Thanksgiving the Bears rested. Eddy utilized the Satur- day by taking a short walk up Spring Canyon, a precipit- ous gorge that opened into the mountain range back of the campus. Here he was enjoying himself scratching among the dead leaves for acorns from the scrub oaks and throwing stones against the precipitous opposite side of the gorge when he came face to face with Marjorie. She was mounted on a rangy sorrel horse, and Eddy thought he had never seen her so beautiful. Somehow her brown eyes caught some of the sparkle of the sunshine, and the ruddy color of the cliffs was reflected in her cheeks. "Hello, Eddy," she called. EDDY'S heart thumped at the joyful note in her voice. Af- ter all he had been hungry to see her. "Hello, Marj — orie," he trump- eted back, his voice atremble. He could not just then call her merely Marj. They looked at each other in silence for a moment and then both broke into a shaky laugh. The horse she was riding pranced nerv- ously until Eddy seized him by the bit. "I want to talk to you, Eddy," she said. "Help me off." She held out her hand and Eddy took it in his own, thrilling to his toes as she leaned upon him in dis- mounting. After Eddy had tied the bridle reins to a scrub oak near by, they seated themselves on a large flat stone at the canyon's ledge. "I'm glad to see you, Eddy," she said after they were comfort- able. "You've been avoiding me lately — 'fess up." "Guilty," Eddy replied. "Thought you didn't care for — Cactus Blossoms." OHE laid both of her slender hands on ,his as it rested on his knee, and looked up into his eyes. "I must have hurt you terribly. Eddy," she said. "I'm so sorry." "Not at all," he answered. "I had it — have it comin'. I didn't know 'till then that I lacked the spines." "I'm troubled, Eddy," she went on. "What about?" he asked imme- diately eager. "About Dad," she replied wist- fully, and he thought he could see tears in , her eyes. "He's taking this coaching job very seriously this year — more seriously than he's ever done." "How come?" "He says Glendon must win this year or — or — ." He was sure of the tears now. "He loves Glen- don. If he doesn't win, it'd break his heart and the hearts of the whole family. I'm just sure of that." EDDY laid his hand on hers. He felt heroic inside. "The Bears'll win, all right," he assured her. "They're goin' great." "Not so great," she answered. "Dad likes Brig tremendously, but he's afraid of him against St. Fran- cis. Brig isn't safe enough; he doesn't pass perfectly; he some- times gets excited in the pinches." Eddy felt that all of the state- ments contained some truth. So. Coach McCarthy did share his judgment in that regard. "Now, Eddy, you can help," she went on. "How?" he asked surprised. "By playing quarter," she re- sponded, her eyes searching his. He laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah?" he questioned ironi- cally, "but your father doesn't share your opinion. I've been out to practice all the time — ever since the Clarke game. But I've spent my time with the reserves. Brig has run the team." "I know all that," she replied, impatiently. "Dad tells me a lot of things — because I'm interested in the game. But, Eddy, he be- lieves in you more than in any- body else." "I didn't take myself into the reserves," he replied bitterly. "He did that." "You're wrong, Eddy; you did that," she contradicted. "He told you what to do; you didn't do it." "Cactus Blossoms," he mut- tered bitterly. "You're right, Marj, I did that, but what am I to do now?" "You are going to play quarter against St. Francis," she re- plied firmly. "Eddy, you can save the Bears and — us." "I wish I could believe it," he replied. Yet you, yourself said that I'm too sweet — no spines — all blos- soms— perfume — and col- or." [Continued on page 116]