Soccer Halfback (2 page)

The ball zipped across the ground into the right corner, and it was 4 to 1, Nuggets’ favor.

Jabber ran up beside the tall center, and slapped him on the rump. “Nice play, Stork.”

“That’s what is called Stork strategy.” The tall, easygoing center beamed. “We should try it again sometime.”

They did, just seconds before the quarter ended. But this time it failed to work. The ball was intercepted by a Razorback
defenseman and booted back up the field.

“Oh, well,” said Stork disappointedly. “That’s the way the ball bounces!”

The fourth quarter started off as if the Razorbacks had conserved most of their energy for this last
period. Substitutes were in now, and seemed to play as well as the regulars. They were in control of the ball from the very
start, advancing the ball closer and closer to the Nuggets’ goal.

Jabber watched the threatening move from the sideline. It was the first time during the game that he wasn’t playing. But he
was thankful for the rest. He needed it. His legs had begun to ache. His lungs had been pumping like pistons. Good thing we
have a 4-to-1 lead, he thought.

A minute and fifty seconds into the quarter Ace Merrill scored the Razorbacks’ second goal. It had seemed inevitable for they
had looked unstoppable in their drive.

After the ball was centered the threat loomed again. The Razorbacks’ subs, fresh, loose, and full of energy, were moving the
ball again deep into Nugget territory.

“Jabber, Rusty, Eddie,” said Coach Pike as the ball went out-of-bounds, bringing an opportunity to send in substitutes. “Get
in there. Hurry. And don’t forget to report.”

They reported to the scorekeeper, then rushed
out on the field, sending out the subs. It was the Nuggets’ ball. Joe Sanford threw it in. Rusty got it, passed it to Eddie.
Instantly two Razorbacks were upon him; they stole the ball from him as he fell, and dribbled it toward the Nuggets’ goal.

A kick was aimed for the left corner, but this time Tommy was there for the save.

A pass and a long kick advanced the ball to the center line. Jabber sped toward it, trapped it between his knees, then kept
it under control as he entered Razorback territory. He remembered the coach’s advice about using both feet in dribbling, and
tried to do it, but found it difficult. It wasn’t easy to break from a habit that had become so comfortable for him.

Two Razorbacks charged at him. He feinted the ball away from one, then saw Stork close by and passed to him.

Stork took it and moved it toward the goal line, only to go sprawling on his stomach as a Razorback player rushed at him from
behind.

A whistle shrilled. “Pushing!” yelled the ref. “Direct free-kick!”

Stork brushed himself off, kicked the ball from where it was spotted by the ref, and once more Jabber had it in his possession.

He got it into the penalty area and tried a long shallow kick. No good. The Razorbacks’ goalie caught it.

Jabber and the whole Nuggets team were glad when the horn blew, announcing the end of the ball game.

H
ey, you’re good, man. You’re really good.”

“You mean it, Pete? You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I mean it. You’re really good. But you’re in the wrong ball park.”

Jabber stared at his brother. “Wrong? Oh, I know what you mean.” He tried to force a laugh.

Pete was four inches taller than Jabber, broad around the shoulders, eyes dark, piercing. “I still can’t see why you chose
soccer over football, though, when you knew that Dad —” He hesitated, and shrugged.

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Jabber. “Yes, I know Dad played football in college. How can I forget it?”

“Well, he didn’t just
play
football, Jabber,” reminded Pete. “Dad became a star, and at Notre
Dame, too. That’s something else, man. That’s why I’ve gone out for football. Maybe I’ll never be as good as Dad was, but
you never can tell. With a great athlete like Dad as our father, we’ve got tremendous potential, you and I. And there’s something
else you should think about.”

“What?”

“I think if Dad had lived he would have wanted you to play football.”

“Maybe,” said Jabber. Come on, Pete, will you? he thought.

“Maybe?” echoed Pete. “Heck, there’s no maybe about it, Jab. You know yourself that’s what he’d have loved to have you do.
You sure surprised Mom too when you told her you were going out for soccer instead of football.”

“I know.”

Pete looked at him, frowning. “You know? And you still didn’t change your mind?”

Jabber looked at the cracks in the sidewalk as he walked along. He wished that Pete would stop talking to him about Dad and
football and soccer. It was bad enough to be reminded that his father had been killed in a freak car crash, and the football
stuff just
made it worse. He wished Pete would just shut up, or talk about something else. Hang-gliding, for instance. Pete liked that,
too. He had taken it up in early spring and was doing pretty well at it. He would rather listen to Pete talk about that sport
now than soccer or football. He hated to get mad at Pete. He had in the past, when they were much younger. But they were grown
up now.

“Well,” said Jabber, “I suppose I should tell you. I’m going to buy new soccer shoes.”

Pete looked at him. “Oh? Whose have you been wearing?”

“One of the guys’. An old pair.”

“I guess that clinches it then. Your playing soccer, I mean.”

“Sort of,” Jabber answered quietly.

They arrived home and found their mother and Karen setting the table for supper. Karen was seventeen, a senior at Birch Central,
a budding poet, and senior editor of the school paper. She looked so much like her mother that they could pass for sisters.

“Well, I guess we’ve got this timed pretty well, haven’t we?” said Mrs. Morris. “Who won?”

“We did,” said Jabber, taking off his jacket. “Four to two.”

“Do anything?” asked Karen. “Scorewise, I mean.”

Jabber saw Pete heading into the next room, apparently uninterested in the conversation.

“I scored twice,” said Jabber.

“Good!” exclaimed Karen cheerfully. “I wish I could’ve gone, but I had some layouts to take care of for our school paper.
How was the crowd?”

Jabber shrugged. “So-so. A handful.”

“A handful? That’s all?” His mother stared at him, unbelieving.

“That’s right. School soccer hasn’t started to draw the people yet like football does. But it will. It just takes time.”

“Was Pete at the game?” his mother asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh. I thought he was going to go hang-gliding. Well, I’m glad he didn’t go
there
.”

Jabber knew that she wasn’t crazy about Pete’s love for hang-gliding. It was a dangerous sport, she contended, and he could
easily break a leg, or suffer worse injuries.

She asked Jabber no further questions about the game, proceeding only to get the supper done and put on the table. The smell
of roast beef and potatoes really stimulated Jabber’s hunger, and he couldn’t wait to get at them.

As his mother promised, supper was on the table in a minute. The four of them sat down and began their evening ritual. Jabber
was first to finish, not realizing he had practically gulped it down until he glanced at the others’ plates. Even Pete had
a few spoonfuls left on his.

“Really were hungry, weren’t you, brother?” Pete said, grinning. “Well, a lot of wild running and not getting anyplace will
do that. Personally, it would drive me up a wall.”

Jabber stared at him, then looked away, ignoring his brother’s snide remark. Pete was implying that a player ran a lot more
in soccer than he did in football.

So what? thought Jabber. What difference did it make? Each sport had its own characteristics, didn’t it? But Jabber said nothing.

He noticed how quiet his mother had become. Now and again he looked at her, trying to catch her
gaze, to read the thoughts behind her somber blue eyes. But she didn’t give him a chance. He felt that she was holding back
something from him, something that seemed to be bothering her.

It was when she was passing him the dish of beef for the second time that she broke her silence.

“Your Uncle Jerry called while you were gone,” she said to Jabber. “He wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh? He say about what?”

“Yes. He wants to take you to the Cornell-Colgate football game Saturday. He has a couple of tickets to it. He bought only
two because he knows that Pete is playing Saturday too.”

Jabber frowned, glanced at Pete, then back again at his mother.

“What lousy luck,” he said. “I’m going to the high-school game, Mom. I’d like to see the Cornell-Colgate game, but I would
rather watch Pete play.”

“I told him I thought you would,” she said.

“Darn! I hate to disappoint Uncle Jerry. He’s always so good to us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind. He had quite a time making a decision himself on which game to see.
But he had bought the tickets some time ago. He says that he’ll try to sell them and go to the high-school game. I told him
that he shouldn’t. He can see Pete some other time.”

Uncle Jerry was Mom’s older brother. He and his wife Doris had no children. Jabber was certain that that was the reason the
friendship between Uncle Jerry and his nephews and niece had become such a tight bond. He was a hardware store manager, and
often stopped by with a supply of groceries for his sister’s family.

“I know what your check is each week,” he had said to her one day when she protested about his bringing the groceries. “Even
with that insurance money you got from John’s death, you’ve had tough sledding. Don’t worry about me. Or Doris. She’s with
me every bit of the way. If we weren’t able to help you out a little, we wouldn’t. So don’t worry about it. Okay?”

He was a big bear of a man, and as an ex—football player he took an avid interest in the athletic activities of his two nephews.

“Mom,” Jabber said, “has Uncle Jerry said anything about my playing soccer?”

“Well — yes, he has.”

“He doesn’t like the idea, does he?”

She shrugged. “Well, figure it out for yourself. He played football. And your father played football.”

“And Pete plays football,” Karen added aggressively. “So what? Just because
they
played football does Jabber have to follow in their footsteps? Horseradish! He’s got a mind of his own. He should do what
he wants.”

Jabber stared at her, startled. She usually didn’t speak up on his behalf so boldly.

“Let’s drop the subject,” suggested Mrs. Morris. “The last thing I need is a headache over this silly discussion.”

Karen looked at her, grim faced. “Silly? Mom, I know as well as you do that none of you like the idea of Jabber’s playing
soccer. I’ve heard you say at least two or three times that Daddy would have liked to see Jabber play football, too, if he
were going into any sport at all. Now, didn’t you say that?”

Mrs. Morris fixed her eyes on her daughter. She wasn’t angry, but it wouldn’t take much more for her to arrive at that point.
“Yes, I said that, Karen,”
she said. “But you don’t know everything, my dear daughter. Jerry told me that he’ll help pay for part of Pete’s college
expenses, and also Javis’s, but he would like to see Javis play football.”

“And if ‘Javis’ doesn’t play football?” Karen’s eyes flashed. She hardly ever called Jabber by his actual name.

“He’ll still help pay for it,” answered Mrs. Morris. She appeared calm, but Jabber knew she was trying hard to hold back her
emotions. “Your uncle is not inhuman, Karen. He cares for all of you. He just would be happier if Javis, like Pete, would
follow in your father’s footsteps. That’s all.”

“When did Uncle Jerry say he’d help pay for Pete’s and my college expenses, Mom?” asked Jabber curiously.

“A few weeks ago. Maybe a month.”

“And you said it was okay?”

“No. I said it wasn’t okay. I told him there were scholarships available for children whose fathers were dead. But he said
he’d help anyway. You should know your uncle. If he says he’ll help pay, he’ll help pay.”

“He’s the greatest,” said Pete, smiling.

Jabber looked out the window. Dusk was falling fast. The forecast was for rain, and colder that night.

It was a miserable day, he thought. In more ways than one.

B
irch Central won the game on Saturday, 28 to 24. Pete scored a touchdown on a thirty-four-yard run, and set up another one
when he caught a sixteen-yard pass from his quarterback.

Uncle Jerry hadn’t been able to sell his tickets to the Cornell-Colgate game, so he had gone to it alone. He called later,
saying that Cornell had squeezed out a 15-to-14 victory over Colgate, and that Aunt Doris had caught a cold.

“At least that’s what she said to me,” Uncle Jerry said to Jabber over the telephone. “But she coughs so much from smoking
so many cigarettes a day I don’t know whether it’s really a cold, or an excuse to stay home.”

Jabber laughed. Uncle Jerry always said that his wife had two vices, one of which was smoking. He
never said what the second one was, and Jabber suspected that keeping it a secret was just meant to tease Aunt Doris.

Jabber had a math test on Monday morning, and still had several problems to go when the period was over. Mrs. Williams gathered
up his paper with the rest of the students’ anyway.

“How do you think you did?” Mose asked him as they left the classroom.

“I think I flunked,” said Jabber.

“Flunked? I thought it was a snap.”

“You would. You’re a genius.”

“Oh, sure. One day I grab a ninety-two in a math test, and I’m a genius. If I had half your brain —”

“You’d be twice as dumb as I am,” said Jabber.

In math class the next morning he found out that he had predicted correctly. He had flunked. His mark was a disappointing
63.

Mrs. Williams called him to her desk after class.

“That sixty-three mark seemed to be the work of another boy, not you, Javis,” she said. She was one of the very few people
— besides his mother — who called him by his actual name. “Didn’t you study for the test? I warned you about it last Thursday.”