Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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The squad was seated on the unpainted benches or against the wall, their faces expressionless and with that ungodly gone feeling in the pits of their stomachs which every football man knows. Student managers moved quietly among them, wide rolls of tape in their hands. Little johnny johnson pulled at the elastic strap on his helmet. He was praying silently for a chance to get into this game. He had, by some Act of Providence, gotten into three games this season and a fourth meant a letter. He stared unseeingly at his toes. Terry Ackerman's hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled the laces of his shoes even tighter. Buck Serrini sat a little apart from the others and chewed leisurely on an enormous wad of gum. A white-garbed official stuck his head in the door and said in a voice that sounded oddly loud in the quiet room. Three minutes, Coach. Wilson moved slowly away from the wall and into the center of the room. All movement ceased. He achieved a calm voice. No pep talk today, boys. Only--that bunch in the stands have stuck even after all these beatings. For their sake, give everything you've got, gang! That's all. All right, now get out there! The three Lincoln teams took the field, their cleats spewing little pieces of sod, and their ears virtually deaf to the roaring stands. Fifteen minutes later, with both bands blaring and the stands on their feet, a whistle sounded faintly through the great concrete stadium. Suddenly a little leather ovoid was in the air and the green, white-slashed gridiron was covered with milling, squirming, rocketing bodies. IV. They were back in the dressing room between the halves and the air was filled with the stench of rub-down fluid and steaming bodies. Coach Wilson again stood in their midst. He pushed his felt hat onto the back of his head. He addressed them in a voice none too gentle. Get your chins up, you bunch of punks! All right, they have you 6-0! So what? According to the papers it should be 60-0 by this time. You can still win this ball game! You, Serrini! What do you think this is? A ping-pong tournament? Get in there and fight!-Ackerman! What are you, anyway, a football player or a white-livered sissy? What are you trying to do, save yourself for the Prom? Get the lead out of your feet and stop playing Tiddledy-Winks!-Starrett! Don't you think it's about time you decided to start playing footlmll? Hit that line with your head down! You've been standing up in there.-Smitty!- Little Johnny listened absently to the drone of Wilson's voice. Why didn't Coach put him in place of Serrini? He'd show him some fight! He had to get into this game, somehow! Wilson was still talking. All right, now, you sissies, go on out there and try to look a little more like a football team! Go out there and FIGHT! Do you hear? Y0u'1fe got to will flair game! FIGHT, DAMMIT, FIGHT! The REFLECTOR --l 19

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that. Why I know you better'n you know yourself. 'N you a settin' there a tryin' to tell old jeff Miller there ain't nuthin' a troublin' you . . . Crnon now, son. Tell y'r old Uncle all about it. He talked to the gray-haired coach as if he were a child. Oh, I don't know, jeff, Wilson hesitated. The truth is I need some money-a hundred dollars. I've saved fifty of it, but I need a hundred, now. Tomorrow night at the latest. jeff exhaled clouds of acrid smoke. No way of gettin' any, eh P Wilson shook his head mutely and Jeff continued to puff his briar. Then: Let you have et m'self, Don, but I jist ain't got et. My pension ain't hardly enough to live on as 'tis, 'thout savin' none. The two men sat silent for a moment. Then jeff opened his mouth to speak and thought better of it. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe decisively and pointed the stem at Wilson. Now you listen 't me, Don. You ain't agoin' to like this suggestion, but a far as I kin see, it's the only way out. This here new football team of yours, fr'm what I hear, ain't got a chance ag'in Woodcliff tomorrow. Great Day, son, give me a chance! as Don was about to protest. Why don't you bet that fifty ag'in 'em? Now wait! I kin git old man Bartlett to take the bet. That ol' fool'll take any side of an arg'ment if'n I take t'other. What say, Don? Great Guns, jeff, I can't do that! Bet against my boys in there? He jerked a thumb toward the locker room. He shook his head determinedly. Not while I had anything to say about it. Jeff shrugged slowly and stuffed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. He heaved himself out of his chair and moved toward the door, his rheumatic joints cracking audibly. Then Don called to him. Just a minute, jeff. He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. Tell you what I'll do. Maybe your idea wasn't so bad after all. Iill give you the money to bet for me tonight, but bet it on my boys. You're makin' a mistake, Don. That crew of yours ain't won but two games all season, 'n' them agin easy teams, but-if y' want it like that- he shrugged. That's how I want it, jefff' And Woodcliff was one of the chief contenders for the State Charn- pionship. III. It had started to snow, and the brisk November wind whipped the flakes into the faces of the crowds in the stands. The air literally vibrated with excitement. The stands were noisy and the confidence of the Woodcliif supporters was matched only by the desperate bravado of the Lincoln rooters. In the dressing room Coach Wilson leaned against the concrete wall and fingered the change in his pocket, trying not to show his nervousness. The REFLEICTOR It - 18

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V. The snow was swirling down harder now, and made with the dying grass a slippery covering for the now-frozen turf. The Lincoln quarterback called signals and there was the sudden, hysterical clash with its drumming of feet and dull thuds of bodies against bodies. Bop Starrett hit off guard for no gain, heads down and legs driving, his body almost parallel with the ground. It had been the same way all afternoon, Buck Serrini didnit seem to be able to open that hole over there. But on that play the Woodcliff right guard made his big mistake. In order to make the tackle he deliberately stepped on Buck's hand. Something happened to Buck as the cleats ground in. He came out of the pile with his hand bloody and the flesh torn, but only shook his head in answer to the captain's inquiry and said very quietly, Skip it! In the huddle he broke the silence rule. Try that play again, joe. The quarterback was desperate and had decided to buck XX-'oodcliff's strong arial defense again, but one look at Serrini's eyes was enough. All right, in tackle left, three play. Let's go! Starrett shifted into the fullback position. The ball was snapped. His legs drove like pistons and he braced himself for the shock as he hit the forward wall. But there was no shock! He charged through a hole you could have driven a wagon through and was stopped five yards further on by a XVoodcliff secondary. On the next play they carried the Wfoodcliff right guard off the field. li ' But Buck's anger was not appeased, and Lincoln gained consistantly through their left forward wall until the Wfoodcliff secondary came up. Then they passed. It was a long forward and Terry Ackerman pulled it down out of the blue. Then he ran. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty yards down field, then- smack! The Wfoodcliff safety man hit him in a tackle which carried them both over the sideline stripe. Terry got to his feet and laughed outright. He had done it! He had beaten Old Man Jinx and something deep inside told him that he would never again know that chilling fear. He played to the end of the game like a man possessed, and somewhere in the stands Dave Ransdale, sports writer extraordinary, pulled a little slip of paper from his pocket. At the top was printed, H1934 All-State Eleven. He crossed out a name opposite Left End and wrote in Terry Ackerman . VI. There were two minutes left to play and Lincoln was freezing the ball on their own twenty-five yard stripe. There was no chance to resurrect the game now and Lincoln's only chance to keep the score down was to hold the ball. On the sidelines Coach Wilson felt Little johnny's eyes boring into him. The appeal was too great to resist. He looked over at the boy and said, just a little wearily, All right, johnson. Go on in. johnny was off the bench like a shot out of a gun. He raced onto the lield as though his life depended upon it. Three years was a long time to wait