Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [143]
“That’s my name.”
“Would you mind taking the cigar out of your mouth so we can see you?”
“Sonnyboy, the playground is on the other side of the drive, in back of me,” Coach Hugo replied.
“Another thing, coach? Don’t you think we ought to give Klein a rising vote? He hasn’t been hurt yet this season?”
“Jesus, wouldn’t the squirrels make mince-pie out of you?” Coach Hugo said, darting a no-hope look at Bill.
“Now, when the clowns get finished pulling the whiskers off their jokes, I’ll talk . . . . And by the way, can’t you guys leave the cigarettes alone for a minute. It takes wind to win a football game, and you don’t get wind eating them coffin nails!”
“You tell ’em coach, I stutter,” said Shrimp Haggerty, lurching drunkenly into their midst; he was thin and sallow, and dogged out in classy clothes. He wore a black band on his top-coat sleeve.
“Haggerty! The other team needs a couple of mudguards. Go on over there,” Coach Hugo said.
“Now that the children have finished throwing spitballs around, teacher will talk. . . . Haggerty, get the hell out of here before I have to throw your pieces away! . . .”
Haggerty saw that Coach Hugo was really sore. He staggered away, singing.
“All right, you birds, keep your dirty ears open! I ain’t gonna repeat myself! You’re goin’ out there now for your first crack of the season, and you’re gonna play a man’s game. There’s only one way to play it. Play hard! Hard! Get the other guy, before he gets you! Knock him down! Let them drag him out! If you don’t, you might be the unlucky chump that’s dragged out. And if any of you birds are carried off that gridiron, cold, don’t expect me to break down and weep for you like I was your old lady! Because you won’t get knocked cuckoo if you keep your heads up, and play hard! It’s the soft guy that gets knocked silly in this game. And if there’s any soft babies on this team, the sooner they get it in the neck, the better off they will be, and we too! You guys got to go in there and hit hard, hit often, and every time you hit, make the guy you hit think he’s collided with a battleship. Don’t worry about giving the ambulance drivers work; they got wives and kiddies to support, and need it. . . .”
“Hey, Hugo, what undertaker’s giving you a rakeoff?” interrupted Arnold Sheehan.
“Sheehan, step into the second grade. You’re too bright a boy for first. . . . And now, you birds, you’re goin’ in that football game in about a minute. If you want to win it, you got to do it yourself. I can’t win it for you. That’s your job, and if you want this game, you’ll have to get it by fighting (he slammed his right fist demonstratively into his left palm). I watched you guys go through signal practice. You stunk! If you go into this game like that, it’ll be like the Fort Dearborn massacre. And get me, if you guys don’t fight, you can get an old lady to coach you. I won’t. All right, snap into it. And, oh, yes, a final word. If any bird on this other team starts dirty work . . . give him the works!”
The team arose. Nate tore forwards. The others walked slowly towards the football field, Coach Hugo making up the rear.
“Say, coach, that’s a ripe husky bunch of boys you got there. Tell ’em to try center rushes, and they’ll win as easy as taking candy from a baby. Now, when I was a kid. . . .”
“Say, fellow, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure, glad to, coach!”
“All right. See that automobile drive? Well, walk across it, and keep on going until you lose yourself in the lagoon.”
Coach Hugo roughly yelled gangway, as he went through a crowd, and stepped over the ropes. He clapped his hands together, and yelled to his team:
“All right, you guys, show me if you got any guts in your veins.”
III
waited, while the ball was put into position for the kick. It fell off the little mound on the forty-yard line four times, so a Monitor stretched himself out and held it in position.
Referee Charlie Bathcellar, wearing an astrakhan coat and a new derby, importantly signalled the two captains. Studs felt a thrill of pride as he signalled the