The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [130]
“Hey, Hugo, what undertaker’s giving you a rakeoff?” interrupted Arnold Sheehan.
“Sheehan, step into the second grade. You’re too bright a boy for first...And now, you birds, you’re goin’ in that football game in about a minute. If you want to win it, you got to do it yourself. I can’t win it for you. That’s your job, and if you want this game, you’ll have to get it by fighting” (he slammed his right fist demonstratively into his left palm). “I watched you guys go through signal practice. You stunk! If you go into this game like that, it’ll be like the Fort Dearborn massacre. And get me, if you guys don’t fight, you can get an old lady to coach you. I won’t. All right, snap into it. And, oh, yes, a final word. If any bird on this other team starts dirty work... give him the works!”
The team arose. Nate tore forwards. The others walked slowly towards the football field, Coach Hugo making up the rear.
“Say, coach, that’s a ripe husky bunch of boys you got there. Tell ‘em to try center rushes, and they’ll win as easy as taking candy from a baby. Now, when I was a kid... ”
“Say, fellow, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure, glad to, coach!”
“All right. See that automobile drive. Well, walk across it, and keep on going until you lose yourself in the lagoon.”
Coach Hugo roughly yelled gangway, as he went through a crowd, and stepped over the ropes. He clapped his hands together, and yelled to his team:
“All right, you guys, show me if you got any guts in your veins.”
III
C Nate Klein
L.G. R.G.
Harold Dowson Carroll Dowson
L.T. R.T.
Red Kelly Dan Donoghue
FB
Hink Weber
L.E. L.H.B. R.H.B. R.E.
Weary Reilley Arnold Sheehan Art Hahn Jim Nolan
QB
Studs Lonigan
waited, while the ball was put into position for the kick. It fell off the little mound on the forty-yard line four times, so a Monitor stretched himself out and held it in position.
Referee Charlie Bathcellar, wearing an astrakhan coat and a new derby, importantly signalled the two captains. Studs felt a thrill of pride as he signalled the readiness of his team; hundreds of people were watching, saw that he was captain. The whistle blew. A thin fellow in street pants and an old red jersey booted the ball on a line. Studs muffed it. The Fifty-eighth Street Cardinals formed disorganized interference. Studs scooped the ball up on the go, and thundered forwards, head down as if he were bucking the line, knees pumping. One Monitor clutched at his left sleeve. Another pulled at his pants from behind. A third dragged at his jersey from the right side. A fourth leaped to make a flying tackle around his ears. The whistle declared the ball dead. Nate Klein and a Monitor player were in the center of the field, bucking each other with arms folded together chest high.
The Cardinals lackadaisically took position in a balanced line formation. The defensive Monitor line crowded together, both tackles kneeling down inside of Dan Donoghue and Red Kelly. Hink Weber told Kelly not to play standing up. Red knelt down. Hink told him to crouch low so that he could charge. Red gave Hink a soreheaded look, but squatted in a weak position.
“Signals,” Studs yelled huskily, leaning with hands on knees, eyes on the ground.
Studs tossed a lateral pass to Arnold Sheehan, who went through a mile-wide hole at right tackle. The fellow in the red jersey, Jewboy Schwartz, plugged up the hole. Arnold started to pivot, and Jewboy Schwartz got him while off balance. Three Monitors piled on, and Arnold groaned.
“Watch that piling on!