Chapter 8 — It’s How You Play the Game
J
oe Rotch, captain of Kennebec’s football team, lay in bed watching a cold, raw easterly wind lift the curtains of his open window. Today was his last day as football captain, the day of the climactic “big game” with Penobscot. Some climax! Neither team had won a game all season. Whoever lost would be the league’s doormat. “At least,” thought Joe, “it doesn’t have to be us. We ought to be able to pull this one out somehow. Those guys can’t be that good, anyway,” his thoughts rambled on. “Thanksgiving weekend is coming up, and no matter what happens today, it will be all over by then and I’ll get home. I suppose Father will be away in Chicago as usual, but Ma and Sally will be there and I’ll get something fit to eat for a change.” As the turkey was borne in before his mind’s eye, a flung pillow blew it away. “C’mon, Champ – up and at ’em!” said Sam, his roommate. “Today’s the big day. Today we win one. Stover at Yale? Left Tackle Todd! Roger Stahbach to the rescue? GO GO GO!” “Don’t put me in, coach; I’m not ready,” moaned Joe, reaching for one last comfortable moment before the day began. But Sam was already out of bed, pulling up his pants. “Let’s see a little leadership here. Anyway, it isn’t whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” “Screw you! If I hear that crack about three times more, I’ll turn into a monkey up a palm tree. I’ll slug someone. I swear to God I will. Anyway, we don’t have to lose today. We almost won the Machias game; and if Timmy can play today, we can pass them silly.” “How to go, Cap.” said Sam as he slammed the window down and the door shut on his way to the john. It was a “hard old day.” The theme that Mr. Floyd returned in English class was covered with neat corrections and suggestions in Mr. Floyd’s careful handwriting, done as always with a fine-point fountain pen in red ink. ‘Occasionally’ was spelled wrong. A comma is used after an introductory adverb clause. A period is considered an ornament at the end of a sentence. Be specific. Don’t tell me; show me. The sentence “It was not too wet.” drew the query, “How wet is too wet?” This is a barbaric expression. The back of the paper was completely filled with a neat essay in red ink on a system for the clear organization of academic essays, on the wise selection of specific detail, and the value of correct–or at least conventional–spelling and punctuation. It was not sarcastic – indeed, it was constructive and rather neatly put; but Joe was too depressed to read it all. The D+ at the top was all he saw. The class went on around him, a small class in senior English, engaged at the moment in discussing that tense moment in Hamlet when the prince discovers that the fencing match has been rigged against him. Mr. Floyd was really rather deeply moved by the crisis in the life of the prince, and for the moment Joe was carried with him. “Before the match, Hamlet knew that the king had murdered his father, seduced his mother, robbed him of the throne, and plotted against his life. Horatio had told him that the fencing match would be 35
