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thirty-five and was brought down on the thirty-four.
    “Good thing that Astrojet wasn’t thinking,” said Jim. “He might’ve scared Mike all the way back to the goalposts.”
    Third and thirty-two. Now was the time they needed another hot play. Chris took the snap and faded back. His arm came around.
     The ball left his fingers and whipped through the air in a perfect spiral. It sailed over the head and uplifted arms of an
     Astrojet safety man and into Ben Trainor’s waiting arms.
    Ben pulled the ball to his chest and raced down the field. The safety man gained on him inch by inch, and caught up with him
     on the six. Chris bucked for three, then Ronnie plunged over for the touchdown.
    “Man, are we hot today!” cried Bucky.
    “Chris Columbus will be happy,” said Jim with a smile.
    Ronnie kicked for the extra point. It was good. Seven to nothing.
    The defense went in, and the offense came out. “Hold ’em, Jim!” a familiar cry rose from the right side of the stands. Jim
     waved. I’m going to try, Chuckie! he said to himself.
    Hook Wheeler kicked off. The ball sailed through the air, barely turning. An Astrojet back caught it on the twenty-one and
     got good blocking as he brought it back up to the thirty-eight. On the first play, Jim bolted after a man who was on the verge
     of throwing a block on Marv Wallace, who in turn was within two yards of the ballcarrier.
    Jim struck the Astrojet from behind. A flag went down. A couple of seconds later, Marv tackled the runner. The man went down
     on the Vulcans’ thirty-one.
    The whistle shrilled. Jim, climbing to his feet, saw two flags on the ground and frowned. The ref and an umpire were discussingsomething. Then the umpire trotted away, and the ref signaled the clipping motion and pointed at the Vulcans.
    “That was you, in case you didn’t know,” Hook Wheeler said to Jim. “Clipping.”
    “Me?”
    “Who else? Don’t you know you can’t jump on a guy from behind unless he’s carrying the ball?”
    The ref stepped off fifteen yards from where the runner was tackled and spotted the ball on the Vulcans’ sixteen. The Astrojets
     got into a huddle, then broke out of it and went into formation at the line of scrimmage. Tom Willis barked signals.
    “Hup one! Hup two!”
    The snap. Willis faded back and lobbed a pass over the scrimmage line to the right. Jim saw it coming and sprang for it. It
     was a wobbly pass. It struck his fingers andbounced to the side. He grappled for it, and in his hurry and fear of losing it, he knocked the ball clumsily to the ground.
    Oh, no! he thought despairingly. Oh, no!
    He fell to one knee, his head drooping.

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    S econd and ten. Astrojets’ ball.
    I’ve got to make up for that muff, thought Jim. I’ve got to. The guys must think I dropped the ball because I was scared.
     I wasn’t scared. The ball wobbled too much.
    Willis called signals, then took the snap and faded back. Jim drove hard through the line. He kept his head down, just high
     enough to see the quarterback’s waist. His padded shoulders thudded against other padded shoulders as he plowed between the
     center and tackle and barely missedstepping on Marv Wallace, who had fallen to his knees.
    And then, barely a yard from Willis, Jim dove. He hit the quarterback solidly and knocked him to the ground.
    “Hey!” the quarterback shouted.
    Jim, lying on top of Willis, knew instantly that something was wrong. Willis was glaring at him. His arms were outflung on
     the ground.
    Jim rose bewilderedly to his feet and saw the ref standing only a foot away. At his feet was a red flag.
    Where was the ball? What had happened, anyway?
    Then he saw an Astrojet throw the ball from the sidelines and then, and only then, did he realize what had happened. Willis
     had thrown a pass.
    “Yak,” Jim addressed the right linebacker, “what happened? They get a touchdown?”
    “No. The pass was thrown out of bounds. But you fouled. You nailed Willis
after
he had thrown the