Octavus Roy Cohen

“ The stands murmured: wise spectators—always eager to deride a fallen idol—murmured “I told you so. Yah! Didn’t I always say this here Dolly Parker was a fluke? Look at him now; yeller! Quitting! Laying down like a dog just because his team ain’t winning!”
The new feeling penetrated to the field. Dolly sensed the current of adverse comment thought which was sweeping the Woodland cheering section. He knew instinctively that they thought he was yellow—a quitter—a front runner to star when things were going well and to lay down when the breaks were against him. ”

“ It was baseball season, but the members of the diamond squad came in for scant attention during the spring training of the gridiron crew—which was indicative of the hope which Dolly Parker had aroused. It is one thing for college to fall into a football frenzy when the chill October breezes sweep the campus. It is something quite astounding when that interest can be awakened under the clear blue skies of April when the men are wearing track suits instead of the impressive gridiron armor. ”

“ Bill Boswell scarcely knew what to say. He did not discern the total lack of teamwork: he, too, saw only that the team was playing brilliant individual football—and that Dolly Parker was not getting away as he should. He didn’t want to ride Parker. ...
The Woodland squad was not ashamed, because the Woodland squad didn’t know what it was doing. Its actions were reflex—born of resentment and nurtured in bitterness. Each man was putting everything he had into each play ... only Dolly Parker understood—and there was nothing he could say. ”

“ All season I’ve used you as a scrub plunger. ... All season I’ve yelled like hell for a broken field runner. ... I’m a rotten bum. I ought to go out and shoot myself. But wait ’til next year. Oh, my gosh! Just wait until next year!”
And that was the motif of the hysteria which pervaded the exquisite little campus that night. “Wait until next year! We’ve had the swellest halfback in the Conference with us all year and we didn’t know it.” But now—
Between the closing of the football season and the Christmas holidays Dolly Parker was the campus hero. ”

“ Bill Boswell saw many things. He saw that while Dolly’s historic run in the Markham game might never be repeated, the young man had the makings of a truly great football player—one of the flashy, twisting, squirming, open-field men who make football history. “Yeh—you’ve got the stuff, kid. Gimme the lad who can reel off thirty and forty yards every once in a while—and I’ll make him into a team. Yup—just gimme a guy that can do that, and a quarter to run the team, and a plunging fullback to get two or three yards when they’re needed for first down, and I’ll put Woodland on the football map. ”

“ Sport writers blurbed about the Woodland cyclone—and they meant Dolly Parker, not the team.
Practice became daily more rigorous; the huge freshman class included some wonderful football material from state prep schools and they furnished the varsity with some stiff scrimmages. Bill Boswell drove and drove and drove—speed, cunning—and then more speed. Exactitude was his byword. Some of the scrimmages against the freshmen took on the ferocity and bitterness of regular games.
The general public knows little of football practice. ”

“ Save from the lips of Bill Boswell, he grew intolerant of criticism. The other members of the team resented his attitude.
“Big head—that’s what he’s got.” They were seated in the room of Reb Rogers, the giant tackle. “This is my third varsity year and I know what I’m talking about. I know as much about football as Dolly will ever know—and I realize he isn’t doing it himself. There isn’t a team that works together like we do: every man of us in every play. We’re blocking like a machine and running interference that a cripple could, get through on. ”

“ Dolly Parker of Woodland—already a maker of Conference history.
That was the beginning of Woodland’s greatest football season. The team played as a unit and functioned with machine-like percision. It didn’t go stale—Bill Boswell had had queer ideas about training; unorthodox ideas—
“Ev’ry Saturday night you boys break training until Monday,” was his order. “An’ I don’t mean maybe. Eat ice cream, get out an’ dance. Stay up late. Enjoy life.”
It worked. Instead of pointing for a single game, the team was pointed for every game. ”

“ Woodland made two first downs—one on a beautifully executed forward pass, Snyder to Rogers—the latter having shifted to end on the play so as to be eligible as a receiver. The Red and Black stands rose and cheered—“Rah! Rah! Rah! Tears!”
Then Markham held and Parker punted: a long spiral which went fifty yards over the line of scrimmage. The Gold and Black launched a fierce, driving offensive—employed its weight in nibbling tactics: six yards—one—four—first down. One yard—no gain—eight yards—and then a smashing off-tackle play which yielded another first down. ”

“ That’s always the way with these temperamental stars: they hog the praise and dispense the blame. Well, I guess I can’t play any better than I have been and that’s all there is to it.”
The city was on the qui vive over the annual clash with Markham. Markham had a strong team this year: no doubt about that. Of course it was a typical Markham team: heavy, rather slow and unimaginative, finely drilled in football fundamentals—a great defensive organization with a steam-roller offensive. It was precisely the sort of team which Woodland should beat by a huge score. ”

“ The fullback slowed down, measured the field and then flipped a straight and true forward pass across what had been the line of scrimmage.
They caught Dolly Parker after he had run sixty-three yards. It was a daring play; an unthinkable, impertinent play—a play which violated every precedent. But it had worked.
AND that afternoon Woodland justified itself and stepped into the front rank of Conference colleges. When the game ended State staggered from the field; battered, bruised, bewildered. “Good Lord! Seventeen to nothing—and we never had a chance! ”

“ Stiff-arm the trees if you’ve got to, but don’t slow up. Everything we do this year’s gonna be at top speed. We ain’t gonna give a single team one minute to breathe. Maybe they’ll beat us—but they sure gotta travel fast to do it.”
Speed! Speed! It became the shibboleth of the little college. Speed and trickery. Hour after hour Boswell gave the squad skull practice: each man was to have a certain job to do in each play and was to be letter-perfect on doing it. And then he tossed out a half a dozen new footballs and worked them weary.
“If you can’t handle a football, you ain’t worth a darn. ”

“ Woodland attracted the attention of nationally known sports writers. Newspaper syndicates and even a magazine sent men down to write of the superb Red and Black team. And they, keened for the dramatic and seeking always the colorful, selected Dolly Parker as the subject for their encomiums. ”

“ That’s us. If we don’t have a team this year, we never will. Eight varsity regulars back, including two three-yard ends. And Dolly Parker, And six as promising freshmen as we’ve had in years. C’mon boys! Dig in—speed! Thassus!”
Bill Boswell located a fairly level stretch of turf in a secluded pine grove. He put track suits on his men—track suits and cleated football shoes and sent them scurrying through the glade.
“Dig in now, lads! Stick them cleats into the turf an’ ruin it! An’ every last one of you go at full speed. Each man makes for a tree, an’ he don’t sidestep until he’s most hit it! ”

“ A newspaper man rushed up for an explanation. Dolly gave it. “I took myself out,” he aid crisply. “I wasn’t any good.”
The reporters returned to the press stand. Word filtered through the crowd. Meanwhile, on the field the referee’s whistle shrilled and play was resumed. Woodland punted—and then the game really started.
Under Reb Rogers, the Red and Black played as a unit—and it played inspired football. Markham failed to gain and was forced to punt. The kick was hurried.
Woodland unleashed a flashing, brilliant attack. Every play went off perfectly. ”

“ Closer and closer to the goal line—ripping, tearing, flashing trick plays when least expected ... a touchdown near the end of the third quarter; another at the beginning of the fourth period and a third one just before the closing whistle for a final score of 19-10, and of the third Woodland victory in three years.
The crowd swarmed down on the field as the team filed toward the exit gates. Spectators congratulated the team members, howled approval to Reb Rogers. And everywhere could be heard caustic comment against Dolly Parker. Oh yes indeed! ”

“ And Dolly Parker should have known it but apparently he didn’t. Or if he did, he gave no word of praise to Reb Rogers.
Four yards—six—first down. Then they were held twice and Parker signaled a punt formation, himself back. The ball was snapped. He streaked to the right and backwards, balancing the ball in his right hand. The Markham captain shrieked the warning “Pass!” to his secondary. Then Dolly cut in. Reb Rogers was between him and a Markham tackle. There was no reason why Reb should have failed to block that man out of the play. ”

“ Also there were many who desired to see the clippings—and Dolly quite undeservedly acquired the reputation of an insufferable egoist. He was surrounded daily by a sycophantic group—and those who were not sycophantic went quite to the opposite extreme and learned to despise the lad. ”

“ The stands on the north side of the field rose in a chorus of hysteria. They shrieked and screamed and hugged one another; hats were tossed high in the air, never to be recovered; and pretty girls threw yellow chrysanthemums out on the field. ... The Boy Scouts at the end of the gridiron posted the score:
MARKHAM—3, WOODLAND—0
Markham players crowded around their halfback and cried on his shoulder and kissed him ... ”