Barbour The Play That Won

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-3-98826-237-0
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 145 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

The Play That Won is a young adult novel written by Ralph Henry Barbour and first published in 1914. The story follows Phil Mercier, a high school football player who dreams of leading his team to victory in the big game against their rival school. Phil is a talented quarterback and the captain of his team, but he faces many challenges as he prepares for the big game. He must deal with the pressures of being a leader, the expectations of his teammates and coaches, and the challenges of facing a tough opponent. Additionally, Phil's personal life is complicated by his romantic feelings for the coach's daughter, Nita, who is also his close friend. As the big game approaches, tensions rise and Phil's nerves are tested. He is determined to win, but he also wants to prove himself to Nita and show her that he is worthy of her love. In the climactic scene of the novel, Phil leads his team to a stunning victory with a daring and unconventional play that he devises on the spot. The play becomes known as the play that won, and Phil becomes a hero in the eyes of his team and his community. Throughout the novel, Phil learns important lessons about leadership, teamwork, and the importance of staying true to oneself. He also learns to navigate the complexities of relationships and to deal with the emotional challenges of adolescence. In the end, Phil emerges as a more mature and confident young man, with a bright future ahead of him both on and off the football field.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Barbour, Ralph Henry

Leseproben

THE GREAT PECK
Eight of us were in Pete Rankin’s room that night, all freshies and all candidates for the ’21 football team, unless you except this fellow Harold Peck that I’m telling you about. Jim Phelan had brought him along, because, he said, he looked lonesome. Jim had planned to room with a chap he had chummed with at Hollins, but he had failed in exams and faculty had stung him with Peck. That’s one drawback to rooming in the yard at Erskine: you can’t always choose your roommate. Peck was sort of finely cut, with small, well-made features, dark hair and eyes and a good deal of color in his face. And he was a swell little dresser. Rather an attractive kid, on the whole, and maybe a year younger than most of us there. He didn’t make much of a splash that night, though, for he just sat quiet on Pete’s trunk and looked interested and polite. Being polite was Peck’s specialty. I never knew a chap with more different ways of thanking you or begging your pardon. We were mostly Hollins or Enwright fellows, and we were there to get the freshman football team started. Dave Walker, the Varsity captain, dropped in for a few minutes and helped us out; and after he had gone again we got to talking about our chances of turning out a good enough eleven to beat the Robinson freshies, and who would play where, and one thing and another, and presently Bob Saunders, who had played half for Enwright last year, asked: “What have we got for quarterback material, fellows?” Trask, another Enwright chap, said: “Kingsley,” but no one enthused. Tom Kingsley had been a second choice quarter on Trask’s team and had been fairly punk, we Hollins crowd thought. Pete Rankin yawned and said he guessed we’d find a couple of decent quarters all right, and Jim Phelan said, sure, you can always catch a quarter when he was young and train him. “I think I’d like to try that job,” I said. “I guess it’s easier than playing tackle. You don’t have to exert yourself. You just shove the ball to someone else. It’s a cinch!” “You’d make a swell little quarterback,” laughed Pete. “You’re just built for it, Joe.” “Well, I’m down to a hundred and eighty-one and a half——” “I don’t think I ever saw a crackerjack quarter,” Jim Phelan butted in, “who wasn’t sort of small. Did you, Pete? Remember Warner, of two years ago? He was my notion of a properly built lad for the quarter. Wasn’t he a wonder?” Pete said yes, and “Toots” Hanscom, who will take either end of any argument you can start, tried to prove Jim all wrong, and then everyone took a hand. But Jim is stubborn, and he hung out for the small kind. “Take a chap like—well, like Peck there. If he knows the game he will play all around your heavy man or your tall one.” Everyone turned to size Peck up, and he looked embarrassed, and Toots sniffed and asked him his weight. “About a hundred and forty-two, I think,” said Peck. “Thought so. He’d have a swell chance, Jim, against those husky Robinson freshies!” “Sure he would,” answered Jim, stoutly. “I don’t say he’d be a marvel at plugging the line, but I do say that if Peck was a football man a good coach could take hold of him and make a rattling good quarter of him. It isn’t beef that counts in a quarter, Toots. It’s brains and pep and knowledge of football.” “Piffle! Peck wouldn’t last five minutes!” “Better induce Mr. Peck to come out,” suggested Monty Fellows. “Then we can see who’s right.” Jim started to hedge. “I didn’t say Peck was the man. I said a fellow of his size and build. Peck isn’t a football player, and so it wouldn’t prove anything if he tried it.” “Haven’t you ever played at all, Mr. Peck?” asked Pete. “Oh, yes, thanks,” replied Peck. “We had a rather good football team at my school and I—er—I tried for it year before last. But, of course, I was pretty light, you see——” “You could soon beef up, I’d say,” said Pete. “Maybe you’d have better luck this time. Had you thought of it?” “Why—why, I did mention it to Phelan, but he thought I’d better wait until I was a bit heavier——” Everyone laughed at Jim then, and Jim tried to explain that he hadn’t thought of Peck as a quarter. “Just the same,” he said stoutly, “I wish he would come out and try for the position. I’ll risk it! I’ll bet he will make good! Come on, now, what price Peck?” “Oh, really,” began Peck, “you mustn’t hope much of me, Phelan! You see——” “That’s all right! You agree to try for the quarterback position and do as you’re told and work hard and——” “And grow a few inches,” said Toots slyly. “And I’ll guarantee that you’ll be third-string quarter or better by the end of the season! What do you say?” “Why, it’s very flattering,” answered Peck, looking around and smiling deprecatingly. He had a nice smile, had Peck. “But I’d be awfully afraid of disappointing you.” “I’ll risk that,” said Jim. “You show up to-morrow at three-thirty, then.” Peck murmured something that sounded like consent and Jimmy Sortwell asked: “Where is your home, Mr. Peck?” “Winstead, Maryland.” “Oh,” said Jimmy. “I asked because I wondered if you were any relation to the Peck who played on the Elm Park High School team last year.” “What is his first name, please?” asked Peck. “I don’t know that I ever heard it. I never met him, but the team came on from Chicago last December and played a post season game with one of the Boston teams and licked the stuffing out of them. This fellow Peck was quarter, and he was a wonder. Don’t you fellows remember reading about him? Some of the papers in the East here made him All-Scholastic quarter, and that’s going some, for they hate to name anyone west of Albany!” “Seems to me I remember something about a remarkable quarter on some Western team that played around here last year,” agreed Pete. “Don’t recall his name, though.” “It was probably this fellow I’m telling of. He wasn’t much bigger than you, either, Peck, I’d say. Perhaps a little heavier, eight or ten pounds. He was a stunning player, though, a regular marvel. And that sort of helps out your contention, Jim.” “I don’t believe I have any relatives in the West,” said Peck. “Of course, there might be some distant ones——” “Well, if you take after your namesake,” laughed Burton Alley, “we won’t kick a mite!” “Thanks,” said Peck, “but, of course, you mustn’t expect much of me. There’s a great deal to learn about football.” “Well, there’s more to it than croquet,” said Toots dryly, “but don’t let that scare you. With Jim looking after you you ought to get along fine!” “Really, do you think so?” asked Peck, gratefully. “Thank you ever so much!” We had a whooping big freshman class that year and didn’t expect much trouble in finding all the material we needed. But we had reckoned without the war. A lot of fellows were so full of it that they couldn’t see football. There was talk of introducing military training at Erskine, too, and although that didn’t come until later, there was a lot of excitement over it. Of course, we were all strong for the military stuff, but some of us couldn’t see the necessity for making the world safe for Democracy before we had knocked the tar out of the Robinson freshmen. It was more than a week after college had started when we finally got four full squads together. The Athletic Committee assigned us a Graduate School chap named Goss as coach. He had played tackle for Erskine three years before. We didn’t cheer for him much at first, but he turned out fine. He wasn’t much on the up-to-the-minute stuff, but he was a corking tactician and hard as nails when it came to discipline. And he was so set on teaching the rudiments before the frills that we were soon calling him “Old Rudy.” Faculty held us down to a six-game schedule, which was a shame, for we could have licked any team of our weight in New England. Besides, the Varsity was all shot to pieces, because so many last year men had enlisted, and was a sort of a joke, and we always took the crowds away from her. We were really the big noise that Fall and should have been allowed a decent schedule. Of course, every good team has its troubles, and ours began after the Connellsville game. We beat her, all right, but she laid up two of our best linesmen and proved that neither Kingsley nor Walker was the right man for quarter. We had two other candidates for the position in Ramsey and Peck. There wasn’t much to choose between them, it looked; only Peck had a good press agent and Ramsey hadn’t. Jim Phelan was still backing his roommate strong. Toots Hanscom told us that Jim was coaching Peck for an hour every evening. Said he dropped into their room in McLean one night and found Jim holding the book on Harold and putting him through a regular exam! Anyhow, Peck was certainly coming all the time, and when we met the Taylor freshies the next Saturday he had his chance in the third period. He got mixed a couple of times, but I couldn’t see any signs of nervousness, and he surely made us hump ourselves. And he played his position mighty well besides. Jim certainly had no kick coming against his pupil, for Peck played good football that day, barring those two...