Long Arm Quarterback
Read Long Arm Quarterback Online
Authors: Matt Christopher
Copyright © 1999 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
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First eBook Edition: December 2009
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09398-9
Contents
To
Craig, Diane,
Paul, and Karen
T
he football flew in a smooth arc with no wobble at all. Candy Wadell sprinted hard, looking over her shoulder for the ball.
“Look at that ball
fly!
” Grandpa Tully Wadell sat on his favorite porch chair, its back tilted against the wall. Now he let the chair drop with a
thud, leaned forward, and shouted, “Go get it, girl! Reach for it!”
Candy stretched out and the ball settled on her fingertips. She pulled it in and raced for an imaginary goal line, brown hair
flying, fist clenched high. She trotted back, grinning, toward the house. Her brother Casper, who usually answered to Cap,
didn't smile back.
Grandpa Tully applauded. “Heck of a catch, Candy. Cap, I never saw an arm like yours on a boy your age. You can air it out.”
Candy flipped the ball to her brother. She was fourteen, two years older than Cap. “Let's try a post pattern,” she said. “I
give the defender an inside move and go deep.”
Cap rolled his eyes and groaned.
Candy ran in front of him, cutting him off. “Cap, c'mon, okay? I feel pumped!”
Cap shook his head. “Well,
I
don't. I feel flat. Let's call it a day.”
Candy put a hand on her brother's arm. “Come on, just one more. It's late fourth quarter, we're down by four, and it's third
and ten. It's now or never. Cap?”
Cap scowled but said nothing. Candy took his silence for agreement.
“All
right!”
She clapped her hands. “Set!” She bounced on her toes. Scowling, Cap held the football at his side.
“Hut
one!
Hut
two!” Candy started fast, stopped short, head-faked right, and took off left.
Cap fired the ball as hard as he could. It sailed through the sky, yards out of Candy's reach. Not waiting to see where the
ball went, he wheeled around and headed for the porch.
The girl glared at Cap. “Ha ha. What's eating you, anyway?” She trotted off to retrieve the ball.
Cap clomped up the porch steps, not saying a word. Grandpa frowned.
“Something bothering you, boy?”
Cap slumped down next to Tully.
“Yeah, I feel… it's not
fair
, that's all.”
“What?” Grandpa studied Cap's face. “Must be bad, for you to treat your sister bad.”
Cap looked at him and then down again. “That
was
dumb, I know. Well, you said it yourself. I have a great arm, I could be a great quarterback, but all I ever get to do is
play pickup games or catch with Candy. I'll never be on a real team in a real game, and it isn't fair.”
He heard Candy's footsteps on the porch steps and looked up. She was mad.
“Uh, sorry,” he said. “That was a dopey thing to do. Guess I'm in a bad mood.”
Candy fired the football at him, and Cap barely grabbed at it before it hit him in the chest. “That makes two of us. What's
your problem?”
Grandpa said, “Cap wishes he could play on a real football team.” He stopped and scratched his
head, thinking. “Come to think of it, why
couldn't
you?”
“Aw, you know, Grandpa.” Cap stood and began pacing back and forth on the porch. “Cowpen is so small—what is it, two hundred
and fifty people?”
“Two hundred and thirty-four,” Candy said. “No, wait, Ms. Klinger had her baby last week. Two hundred and thirty-five.”
“See?” Cap shook his head. “In our whole school, we have sixteen middle-grade boys. It's not enough for a team.”
Tully nodded. “Not for an
eleven-man
team, but you could have a six-man team.”
Cap laughed.
“Six-man
football? Six on a team? That's not real football.”
“Oh, no?” Tully snatched the ball. “Let me tell you, when I was your age, all our schools played six-man football, in a league.
And
I
was our quarterback, and team captain.”
Cap and Candy exchanged glances. “That's great, Grandpa,” Cap said, “but still, it wasn't… well…
real
football.”
Tully Wadell's eyes flashed. “Oh, you mean like
with all those big hulks lumbering around like they have today? Ha! Our game was faster! We played offense
and
defense.
Real
football. Huh!”
“Why did they stop?” asked Candy.
Tully sighed. “Cowpen got too small to even get six on a side. But there're six-man leagues all over Texas, and other states,
wherever the population is thin.”
Cap found that he was getting interested about the possibility.
Could
it happen here?
“Grandpa, how would we start it up? You really think there's a chance we could?”
Tully grinned at his grandson. “Well, we could surely give it a try! I could—”
“Hey, Cap! What's happening?”
Cap's best friends, Hoot Coleman and Ben Worthy, rode their bikes into the Wadells' yard. Hoot was a wiry redhead, an inch
shorter than the lanky Cap, and Ben was stocky with blond hair cut short. Both wore jerseys of their favorite football teams
over faded jeans.
“Yo, Cap, how about a little ball?” asked Ben. “Hi, Candy, how you doing?”
Cap waved them over. “Guys, listen to this. How'd
you like to start a school football team? Maybe even a league?”
Ben snickered. “I'd like to go to the moon on a rocket but I won't do that either.”
Hoot said, “Shoot, Cap, our school's too small. You'd need too many guys, and—”
“No,” Cap said, “Grandpa's telling us about this six-man football the schools here used to play. Gramps was a quarterback.”
“That's right,” Tully agreed. “My last year, the Panthers were undefeated. Five and oh.”
“Really, Mr. Wadell?” Hoot sat on the porch. “How did this game work?”
“We used an eighty-yard field,” Grandpa said. “Three backs, three linemen, and
everybody
was an eligible receiver.”
“Linemen could carry the ball?” asked Ben, who was built to be a lineman. “Cool!”
Grandpa nodded. “You needed fifteen yards for first down. A field goal was four points. After a touchdown, you got two for
kicking a try and one for running or passing it in.”
Ben looked puzzled. “How come you got two for a kick?”
Cap took a guess. “I bet there weren't many place-kickers, so kicking field goals and extra points deserved something extra.”
Grandpa Tully patted Cap on the back. “Right. And I reckon we could put a league together in time for school this fall. If
we can figure out how to get some uniforms …”
“Maybe local high schools can give us old ones,” Ben said. “Pads and helmets, too.”
“Tomorrow,” said Tully, “I'll call Principal Vinson.”
“Who's going to coach?” asked Candy.
Grandpa chuckled.
“Me!
The ex–star quarterback of the Cowpen Panthers!”
Cap beamed. “Great! I'll be quarterback, Hoot'll run, Ben can be a lineman, and—”
Tully held up his hands. “Whoa, slow down! Let's go one step at a time, all right?”
Cap saw that his friends were excited too. “You think this can work?” he asked Tully.
The man laughed. “I
know
it! You just wait… this fall, the Cowpen Panthers are
back!”
A
whistle sang out and eight Cowpen Panthers turned to their coach. Tully wore faded old sweats, and the boys had on gray practice
jerseys and carried helmets.
Tully called, “Fellas, gather round.”
Cap was amazed that it had happened so fast. Grandpa had called Principal Vinson, who thought six-man football was a great
idea. He had spoken to other principals, and five schools—Sandville, Moosetown, Ausburg, Elmsford, and Bee Town—had organized
teams of their own.
Tully and Mr. Vinson had contacted schools all over Texas and even some in Oklahoma. The schools had sent old uniforms and
gear they no longer needed. The local schools had bought footballs and laid out fields that were eighty yards long and forty
across.
In two weeks, the Cowpen Panthers would battle the Sandville 'Cudas in the first game of the season. Each team would play
every other team in a five-game schedule.
Tully looked at the eight players and frowned. “Weren't there nine names on the bulletin board sign-up sheet?”
“Where's Jimmy Cash?” asked Sam Dracus, the fastest boy there and their probable deep threat. “His name was on the list.”
“Well, he's late,” said Tully. “Or he changed his mind.”
Cap shook his head. “You mean this is all we're going to have? Eight guys?”
His grandfather replied, “All we need is six. Eight is enough, if we work at it.”
“Well, but…” Cap looked at the little team. “How can we practice plays? We won't have a full offense
and
defense.”
Tully shrugged. “We'll work it out. Meanwhile, let's do what we need to do first, which is learn how this game is played.
Okay?”
The players all nodded, including Cap. But he couldn't see how the problem would be solved.
Other teams would have a big edge over Cowpen if they could field two squads for practice and the Panthers couldn't.
Tully smiled. “First, here are some ways this game is different from the one on TV. This is more wide open, there's more room
for imaginative plays, and scores may be high. As far as passing goes, it's similar—except everyone can catch a pass.
“But you can't run the ball until the man who takes the snap makes a clear pass. That means a pass that goes back or sideways,
a lateral. After that, you can run the ball. No handoffs, sneaks, or bootlegs, no runs
period
, until that clear pass. Breaking that rule costs you five yards
and
loss of down. Don't forget.” Tully looked at the eight boys in front of him. “Now, have we got a placekicker?”
Hesitantly, Hoot raised his hand. “I can kick, a little. I tried a few times once and I actually put one between the goalposts,
in three tries. But I'm not much good at it.”
Tully grinned. “Work on your kicking fifteen minutes a day. A good kicker is valuable. Remember, in this game a field goal
gets you four points. After a
touchdown, you get one point when you run or pass, but
two
points if you kick it. So—”
“Hey,” said a voice behind Tully “Sorry we're late, Grandpa couldn't start the truck.”
Tully turned and smiled at the new arrival, a tall boy with a shock of black hair. “You must be Jimmy Cash. Well, you haven't
missed much, Jimmy, I've just been going over some rules.”
“That's all right.
I
told Jimmy all about the rules last night. I still know 'em.” The speaker was a lanky man with gray hair and a mustache who
strolled up smiling.
Tully smiled too, but Cap didn't think there was pleasure in the smile. “Sable Cash.”
Sable nodded. “I thought you boys could use a quarterback.”
“Well, fine, Sable. Actually,
my
grandson, Cap here, is a quarterback, too. The boy has a rifle arm … like his granddad.”
Sable chuckled as though he'd heard a good joke. “Yes, I recollect you
could
throw a fair pass back then … pretty near as good as me.”
Tully's smile grew thin. “I recall that Cowpen was
undefeated our senior year, and Sandville finished second.”
“Right. I broke my leg and couldn't play the last game against you, or it would've been different. Jimmy here is good. I hope
you give him a fair chance—even if he isn't a relative.”
Tully's face turned red. “Everybody will get a shot. Today's only our first practice.”
Sable Cash looked unconvinced. “You need help with the coaching? I have some time.” Cap saw Ben and Hoot exchange a look.
“I don't expect I'll need you, thanks.” Tully's words were polite and his tone soft, but Cap knew Grandpa was steamed. He
looked at Jimmy and caught the other boy staring at
him.
They both dropped their eyes.