Quarter-Back Bates

Parkinson cheered and demanded further scores, but the third quarter ended in an exchange of punts after the kick-off and when the final period began the score was 7-3, with Parkinson on the short end and, so many thought, likely to stay there.

Coach Driscoll put in a new right guard and a new right tackle, Bartlett and Cairns, so bolstering what, all the season, had shown as the weakest part of the brown-and-white line. Scoville also went in, Furniss having played himself to a stand-still at left end.

Kenwood started from her twenty-nine yards when the period began and unloosed Marble again for a fifteen-yard romp, and again got him loose for twelve more, taking the ball well into Parkinson territory. Then two plunges failed and a forward-pass went wrong and the visitors punted to Dick on his twelve. A Kenwood end upset him before he had gained his speed. Parkinson started another march then, but it went less smoothly now and ended at her thirty-five, and Kirkendall punted. Kenwood returned on second down, losing several yards on the exchange. Again Parkinson took up her weary advance, but the plunges at the enemy line netted shorter gains and it was a forward-pass, Dick to Peters that took the home team to the enemy’s twenty-two yards. Here an attempt by Gaines around his own left was nipped in the bud. A penalty for holding set the Brown-and-White still further back and again she punted. Kenwood once more accepted the challenge and Warden caught near the boundary on his thirty-eight.

Kenwood began to make substitutions in earnest and Coach Driscoll called Gaines out and sent Long in. Many of the Parkinson team were showing the effects of the game by now and Bob Peters, though still confident and cheerful, looked like a wreck. Dick tried to persuade him to go off, but Bob indignantly spurned the notion. Time was flying fast and something less than six minutes remained when Parkinson lined up near the edge of the field on her thirty-eight. Long got two through the Kenwood centre and lost it on a second attempt at the same place. Dick ran half across the field for a scant three yards and Kirkendall romped around his own right for eight. Then another forward failed, for Scoville was far out of position for the catch, and Warden was knifed through the Kenwood left for two. With eight to go on third down, Kirkendall faked a kick and threw a short pass across the centre of the line which Peters just missed, and Kenwood took the ball.

Four minutes only remained and Kenwood tried every known method of wasting time. In the end, though, she was forced to punt, for Marble was stopped twice – the youngster had been used hard and was showing the result – and the pigskin was Parkinson’s on her forty-one. Kirkendall was pulled down for a loss and had to go out, and Trask, who took his place, made but a yard outside right tackle. Long skirted the enemy left for seven, however, and then made it first down on a plucky slam straight at centre. But it was hopeless to expect to snatch a victory by such slow methods, for the hands of the timekeeper’s watch were ticking off the seconds fast. Dick tried a forward, Trask to Peters, but Kenwood was not to be fooled and Bob never had a chance at the hurtling ball. The “two-over” netted four where the Kenwood line split to meet the shift. Dick tried the same play again on the opposite side and got three. Warden was hurt and gave way to Skinner. Trask punted to Kenwood’s seven and the fleet-footed and elusive Marble caught and brought the pigskin back to twenty-three, through the whole Parkinson team. Twice Kenwood dared to buck the brown-and-white line and then punted to safety.

But what seemed safety was not. For Dick made the catch on his twenty-eight yards, and for once the interference was all he could have asked for. Skinner and Peters upset the Kenwood ends and a hastily formed cordon of Parkinson players blocked the others. Dick looked and whirled to the left, cutting diagonally across behind his interference. Then he had to side-step an eager Kenwood tackle, and after that to run his hardest to throw off the Blue’s right half. But he did it, for he had found his stride now and that ability of which Sumner White had boasted to Dick’s father came to his aid. Straight along the side-line he flew, some five yards inside it, hard and fast, with the enemy speeding after him and the quarter-back coming down upon him. The fifty-yard-line went underfoot and the pursuit had not gained. But the enemy quarter was almost on him now. Dick eased his pace the littlest bit and veered further into the field. Whatever happened, he did not mean to be forced over the side-line. Not until he had passed the middle of the field did the thought that he might win the victory for Parkinson come to him. Until then he had thought only of getting free, of gaining what he might before he was thrown to the turf. Now, though, with only the quarter-back before him he caught a brief and wonderful glimpse of victory! If only he could get by the last of the enemy!

Then it happened, almost before he was ready to meet it! The Kenwood player poised, waited, sprang! Dick whirled on his heel, his right arm stretched before him, locked, and spun dizzily. Arms grasped his thighs, were torn loose, settled about his knees, held! Dick felt despair at his heart even as he strove to wrench free, to set his feet in new strides. And somehow, his hand thrusting at a head and his knees tugging at the bonds that held them together, he staggered free! Staggered and fell to one knee and one hand, but found his feet beneath him again and the goal beckoning!

The pursuit had closed in now and foremost friend and enemy were but a few yards behind, but Dick’s speed was still to be counted on and, although his lungs hurt and his legs felt leaden, he gained at every stride and sped on and on over one white line after another. Behind him panting players surged despairingly or joyously and beside him a thunderous surge of shouts and a wild din of cheers kept pace. Then the end was in sight. Here was the ten-yard-line beneath his feet, there the last trampled yellow-white mark and the padded posts of the goal! Only a few more strides, only a few more agonising gasps for breath!

Dick never knew when he actually crossed the line, never knew when, having crossed it, he circled the nearer post and dropped weakly to the earth to be pounced on as weakly by a Kenwood back. When he did know things clearly the world was a medley of triumphant shouting and the blaring of instruments and the thump-thumping of a bass drum. He was still fighting for breath when Trask kicked the goal that put the score at 10-7. And 10-7 it stayed, for there was only time for an exchange of punts and a discouraged rush by Kenwood when the whistle signalled the end of the game and the end of the season, the victory of Parkinson and the defeat of a worthy foe.

An hour later Dick sat in state in Number 14 Sohmer and received the congratulations of his friends. His father sat beside him, very proud and erect, beaming on all; on Blash and Rusty and Sid and Stanley and many more who stormed the hero’s retreat that November afternoon. And there let us leave him, with Blash’s words in our ears: “Two dozen citizens,” declaimed Blash, “in monster indoor meeting pay tribute to famous athlete, Richard Corliss Bates!”