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Authors: Matt Christopher

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BOOK: The Counterfeit Tackle
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Corky took a deep breath. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned around. He made a complete turn and looked squarely
at Buzz again.

Now a faint smile was on his lips. He began to blink, as if he were ready to cry or something.

“What if someone catches on? I’ll be kicked off the team and maybe the game will be forfeited.”

“No one will catch on,” said Buzz. “I’m sure of it. Just a little while ago Gary O’Brien and Tony Krebbs came up to me on
the street and thought I was you! I had my glasses off because of the snow. They didn’t know it was me until I told them.”

Corky took a hand out of his pocket and rubbed it across his face.

“Don’t you think we should tell Dad?” he asked.

“Dad wouldn’t let us do it, Corky. He wouldn’t go for anything like that. I know Dad. This has just got to be between you
and me. When it’s over with, no one will know the difference. There will be no harm done and you will have seen the Giants-Bears
game.”

Buzz got off the bed and looked directly into Corky’s eyes. “Will you go and tell Dad you’ve changed your mind about seeing
the Giants-Bears game, or do you want me to?”

“I — I think you’d better, Buzz,” said Corky.

Buzz smiled. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

They walked out of the room and
down the hall to the living room. Dad was sitting there, reading a hunting and fishing magazine. Buzz went up to him and
told him that Corky had changed his mind. He’d decided he’d go to the Giants-Bears game.

Dad put his magazine down and smiled. “Well, fine. Did you have something to do with it, Buzz?”

Buzz nodded. “Yes. I talked to him. I convinced him that he ought to go.”

“Good. You’ll probably be a diplomat when you grow up. Now go and talk to your sister. It’ll probably be disappointing news
to her and to Steve.”

Buzz shrugged. “I’ll tell her,” he said. “Maybe she hasn’t called Steve yet.”

But Joan had called Steve. She wasn’t too disappointed at the news. She’d call Steve again, she said.

“Are you going to ask him to go on that third ticket?” said Buzz. “Or are you going?”

Joan’s green eyes glimmered. “
I’m
going, of course.”

After breakfast on Sunday morning, Buzz and Corky dressed in their oldest clothes and went out to the backyard. Buzz had his
glasses off. It was cold but it wasn’t snowing, nor was there snow on the ground.

Corky showed him how to get down in tackle position and how to throw a block.

“When you’re out there you get in between Peter Monino and Gary O’Brien,” said Corky. “Peter plays guard and Gary end. Get
down like this and drive ahead with short, digging steps,”
he explained. “Never hold your man with your hands. Just block him from trying to get through. When the other team has the
ball, you have to get through to tackle the ball-carrier. Drive your man out of the way with your shoulders. Like this.”

Corky showed Buzz exactly what he meant.

They were out there for nearly fifteen minutes. Then Buzz realized that someone had walked into the yard and was standing
nearby, watching them.

Buzz and Corky stopped and looked to see who it was. It was Pete Nettles, holding a Sunday newspaper in his hands. He was
staring silently from Buzz to Corky, a very puzzled look on his face.

“Hi, Pete,” Corky said, smiling. “Buzz and I are getting a little workout.”

Pete’s eyes lit up. “Hi, Corky! Who do you think is going to win today?”

“The Giants,” said Corky, grinning. “I’ll bet you a sundae.”

Pete smiled. “I’ll bet on the Bears,” he said. “But I’m not talking about that game. I’m talking about the Otters game.”

Buzz looked at Corky. Corky’s face turned pink.

“Oh, we will, of course,” said Corky. “Who do you think?”

“You’d better not bet on that one.” Pete laughed. “It’s against the law!”

3

D
AD, Corky and Joan left for the Giants-Bears game immediately after lunch. Buzz could hardly wait for them to leave. The Otters-Marlins
game began at one-thirty and he didn’t want to be late. He
couldn’t
be late.

He went into the bedroom and put on Corky’s football uniform. It was brown with white trim and already had some smudges of
dried mud on it. Number 76 was in great big print on both the front and back of the jersey.

He put on his own shoes and walked out of the room, carrying the football shoes and helmet in his hands.

He walked into the kitchen. His mother turned from the kitchen sink where she was doing the dishes. Her eyes went wide and
Buzz thought that she was going to faint.

“Corky! I thought you — Why, you devil! You’re Buzz! With that uniform on you had me fooled!” She wrung the suds off her hands
and continued staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“Just what do you think you’re doing with that uniform on?” she cried, provoked. “You don’t think for one minute that
you’re
going to play in place of Corky, do you?”

“Please, Mom. Not so loud. Yes, I told Corky I’d play in his place. You saw how anxious he was to see the Giants-Bears game, Mom.”

“But this is ridiculous, Buzz,” said Mom. “You just can’t take Corky’s place like that. Now go back into your bedroom and
take off that uniform. Don’t stall another second. Go on! Get!”

Buzz took a step backward. He started to choke up.

“Mom,” he pleaded, “please let me do this. I promised Corky. We look so much alike it’s as if we are one person, anyway. Even
you didn’t recognize me right away. It’s not that I’m going to commit a crime, Mom.”

She looked at him for a long while. Gradually, the anger faded from her eyes and face.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You didn’t tell your father about this, did you?”

“No. But I’ll tell him — afterwards,” Buzz said seriously.

“You know,” Mom said, looking directly into Buzz’s eyes, “you might be very sorry about this.”

“You make it sound as if I’m going to rob a bank or something, Mom.” He went up to her. “Please, I’ve got to do it now. I
promised Corky.”

She looked straight into his eyes. She was a lot taller than he was, and her eyes were dark and shiny. She was quiet a long
while, thinking.

“All right,” she said at last. “I suppose it’s too late to do anything now. I hope for your sake — and Corky’s — that
everything goes all right. But if it doesn’t — “She shook her head, and her eyes were hard as she looked at him.

A big smile splashed across Buzz’s face. “Thanks, Mom!” he said happily. He kissed her on the cheek and rushed out of the
door.

He walked about half a block when a car pulled to the curb across the street and its horn tooted.

“Hey, Corky! Come on!”

Buzz saw that it was Mr. Marsh in his green station wagon. His son Goose was with him. His name was Jerry but everybody called
him Goose because of his long, skinny neck. Other kids on the Otters football team were in the car, too.

Buzz felt a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach as he started across the street. Here was another test, he
thought. Would Mr. Marsh recognize him? Would Goose or any of the others notice that he wasn’t Corky, but Buzz?

Every time he met someone new it was a test.

He climbed into the car and forced a grin. “Hi, Mr. Marsh,” he said. “Hi, gang.”

“Hello, Corky, old boy!” cried Goose, showing one missing tooth as he smiled. “How come you’re walking? You want to be late
again?”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Buzz. The butterflies were fluttering like mad in his stomach. “Mom — well, she wanted to see me
about some things before I left. I can’t take a chance on being late again.”

“I guess not!’ Tony Krebbs chuckled. “Not unless you want to sit on the bench!”

The butterflies stopped fluttering. Well, most of them did, anyway. Everyone in the car thought he was Corky. If he fooled
them, he should be able to fool all the other members of the team, too.

They arrived at the football field. Mr. Marsh parked the station wagon in the parking lot and the boys piled out. They walked
to the benches that were lined up two or three yards in front of the bleachers, took off their regular shoes and put on their
football shoes.

Coach Hayes walked by with a couple of footballs in his arms.

“Well, see you made it in time today,” he said to Buzz. A wide grin was on his sun-tanned, ruddy face.

Buzz smiled. “Yes, sir, I did,” he said.

He stood up and the coach tossed him a football. “Here. Find someone to play
catch with. Then you, Foote and the other linemen better get together and go through a few drills.”

Buzz caught the football and trotted out with it onto the field. The Marlins, in their green and white uniforms, were at the
other end of the field. The Otters were warming up on this end.

Buzz played catch with Michael Foote and Goose Marsh. Both boys were running around and Buzz had trouble throwing to them.
He couldn’t get a grip on the ball and realized that that was one thing that he and Corky had not talked about. He held the
ball in his hand loosely and heaved it the best he could. The ball wobbled and rose high into the air but never went more
than twelve or fifteen yards.

He had trouble without his glasses,
too. He could see things up close pretty well, but objects in the distance looked fuzzy.

Boy, he’d be lucky to get through this.

Soon other members of the team ran out upon the field, including Craig Smith, Jimmy Briggs, Alan Rogers and Frosty Homan.
Buzz soon discovered that they were the backfield men.

“Okay, let’s run through some drills,” snapped Craig.

The boys quickly hurried into their positions. All except Buzz. He trotted around, pretending he was limbering up his legs.
Actually he was just waiting to see where he was supposed to go.

“Corky, what are you waiting for?” snapped Craig.

“Who? Me?” said Buzz. “Nothing!”

He saw an open space between Peter
Monino and Gary O’Brien. He hurried to fill it, remembering that Corky had told him that his right tackle position was between
Pete and Gary.

“Okay. Get set! One! Two! Three! Hike!”

At the word “Hike!” the line charged forward. Every man moved at the same time, except Buzz. He was a fraction of a second
late.

“Corky, you’re dragging! Snap into it!” said Craig.

They tried it again. Now Buzz was ready. At the word “Hike!” he sprang forward at the same time the others did.

After a while Craig said, “Okay. That’ll be enough. Pass the footballs around a while.”

They started running around the field, passing and catching.

“Corky, take off!” shouted a voice.

Buzz saw that it was Goose Marsh. He was ready to throw a football. Buzz started to run. Goose heaved the ball. It spiraled
through the air in a high arc, not wobbling a bit.

For a moment the ball looked blurry, then cleared as it got closer. Buzz caught it on the run, stopped, heaved it back. It
was a poor throw.
I’ll never be able to throw a football
, he thought.

Goose picked it up after it bounced around a bit, then threw Buzz another long pass.

The ball sailed over Buzz’s head and bounced toward the sideline. There were people standing several feet behind it, waiting
for the game to begin.

The ball rolled across the white line before Buzz could pick it up. As he rose
with it he came almost face to face with someone he knew very well. Dougie Byrd, his best friend!

Buzz grinned. “Hi, Dougie!” he said. “Coming over tonight to play chess?”

Dougie stared at him. Then Buzz turned away quickly, his face beet red.

He had forgotten he was supposed to be Corky, not Buzz!

4

I
THOUGHT you didn’t like chess, Corky!” said Dougie.

Buzz turned and forced a smile. His neck was burning. “I don’t,” he said. “But Buzz brought some books about chess home yesterday
and I read them. Oh — forget it, Dougie!”

Buzz ran off, trying to put a lot of distance between him and Dougie before Dougie could say anything more to him. Some of
the fans started to chuckle behind him. They certainly must have
gotten a kick out of listening to that silly conversation about chess.

A few moments later the whistle shrilled and the football field cleared. Buzz trotted to the Otters’ bench where the entire
team was standing, facing Coach Hayes. Buzz felt an arm rest on one shoulder, than an arm rest on the other shoulder. He looked
at the guys on either side of him. They were Goose Marsh and Frosty Homan.

Something warm and good went through him as those arms rested on his shoulders.

Coach Hayes named off the starting lineup. Corky’s name was included. A whistle shrilled and Buzz saw the three referees standing
at the middle of the field.

“Okay, let’s get out there!” said Coach Hayes. “The old hustle!”

Both teams ran out onto the field. Quarterback Craig Smith and left halfback Jimmy Briggs headed for the referees, as did
two men from the Marlins team. Craig, Buzz had learned, was captain. Jimmy was co-captain.

The coin was tossed. Craig called it. He must have won. “We’ll receive,” Buzz heard him say.

BOOK: The Counterfeit Tackle
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