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  Coach Butler summarized the situation. “Twenty seconds to go, third down, four yards to go for a first down.”

  “We still have one timeout,” Coach Vittone reminded Jesse. “If anyone gets tackled inbounds, you have to call a timeout right away. We won’t have time to line up and spike the ball again.”

  Coach Butler looked right at Jesse. “Let’s go with Fake Post, Deep Out. Hopefully Langston can get some yardage and step out of bounds to stop the clock. If he does, we may still have time for two more plays.”

  Jesse swallowed hard. “Fake Post, Deep Out to Langston,” he repeated.

  “Be sure to step into it,” Coach Vittone encouraged his quarterback. “Make a good, strong throw, Tark. You can do it!”

  Jesse did exactly what Coach Vittone had said. Just as Langston broke for the right sideline, Jesse stepped into the throw and let fly a perfect spiral—almost as good as any pass Jay had ever thrown—on a straight line to his favorite receiver. Langston caught the ball at the 14-yard line and was tackled immediately. The side judge raced to the spot, windmilling his right arm.

  Langston was inbounds! The clock was still running!

  “Time out! Time out!” Jesse shouted, racing to the referee and frantically making the T sign.

  Coach Butler and Coach Vittone were already on the field, studying the scoreboard.

  “Seven seconds to go,” Coach Butler declared. “We only have time for one more play.”

  “Maybe we can try a pass to Quinn in the end zone,” Jesse suggested. “He’s really tall. He can get his hands above everybody else.”

  Coach Butler shook his head. “They’ll have a million guys back there defending against the pass. And if he’s tackled short of the end zone, we don’t have any timeouts.” The coach was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “Savannah!” he shouted.

  The Panthers placekicker rushed over. She already had her helmet on, ready to go.

  “What’s the distance?” Coach Butler asked Coach Vittone.

  “The ball is on the 14-yard line, so we’ll place down around the 22 for the kick. It’d be a 32-yard field goal.”

  Coach Butler turned to Savannah. “Have you ever—?”

  “I’ve kicked a 35-yard field goal in practice,” Savannah answered before the coach could finish his question. “A couple of times.”

  “Let’s try it,” Coach Butler said. “I think it’s our best shot. Give her a good hold, Jesse.”

  Jesse and Savannah started back onto the field. “You know I only kicked those 35-yard field goals in practice,” Savannah said in a nervous whisper. “I mean … no pads … no rush—”

  “And no pressure,” Jesse said, finishing her thought. Just short of the Panthers’ huddle, an idea stopped him. He grabbed Savannah by the arm.

  “Remember the play I made up for you the other day in study hall?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s run it.”

  “I … I … don’t know …” Savannah was breathing hard. “No one else … knows the play.”

  “They don’t have to,” Jesse assured her. “In fact, the fake will work better if no one else knows about it.”

  Savannah stared at Jesse for a second, thinking about the play, the kick, and the pressure. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  The Panthers lined up for the field goal. Savannah took her steps back and nodded. Jesse knelt on the 22-yard line with his hands toward the center. He could see all eleven Eastport Dolphins on the line of scrimmage—just as he had drawn up the play in study hall—ready to rush in to block the kick. He almost smiled.

  “Ready … set … hut one!

  The ball spiraled back and Jesse caught it. But he only touched the tip of the ball on the ground for the briefest second. Instead of holding it in place for the kick, he flipped the ball over his shoulder without even looking.

  Savannah didn’t step forward toward the ball to kick the field goal. Instead, she dashed to the right, in back of Jesse, and caught his no-look, over-the-shoulder pass on a dead run.

  The Eastport defense was completely faked out. All eleven players had rushed headlong to the spot where they thought Jesse would place the ball, some diving in their efforts to block the kick. Now they could only watch helplessly as Savannah sprinted the 22 yards of wide-open field and into the end zone.

  Touchdown! The Franklin Panthers had won, 20–16!

  Jesse, Langston, Quinn, Griffin, Jenesis, Henry, Kurt, Denny, and all of the other shocked Panthers ran toward Savannah. They jumped up and down in a happy circle in the end zone.

  “It worked! It worked!” Savannah yelled over and over as she held the football high above the celebrating mob of players.

  Jesse threw his head back and laughed at the sky. “I can’t believe it, Savannah!” he shouted. “Now you’re a running back!”

  Chapter 17

  Come on, Big Green, hold ’em!” Jesse yelled from the stands. He clapped his gloved hands together, more to keep them warm than to make any real noise.

  “Do you want some more hot chocolate?” Jesse’s mother asked.

  “Sure, I’m freezing.”

  She passed Jesse a thermos cup. He blew on the hot chocolate and steam rose into the cold November air.

  “Oh, that feels good,” Jesse said after a couple of warm sips. “I think I’ll pour some in my shoes. My feet feel like ice.” He turned his attention back to the field. “We’ve got to find some way to stop that Princeton running back.”

  “Yeah,” his father agreed. “He doesn’t look very big, but he must have close to 200 yards today.”

  “I guess you don’t have to look like a running back to run like one,” Jesse said, thinking back to his own season at quarterback and Savannah’s final touchdown run.

  His father nodded and smiled. Jesse checked the scoreboard at the end of Memorial Field.

  Dartmouth was leading 37–33 in an exciting, high-scoring game with less than three minutes to go. But the Princeton Tigers had the ball and were driving again.

  “Look!” Jesse’s mother pointed to the field and almost spilled her hot chocolate. “Jay’s coming in.”

  “He’s played a lot today.” Even Jesse’s father sounded excited.

  Sensing that the next few plays would decide the outcome of the game, the Dartmouth crowd cheered loudly.

  “Go, Big Green!”

  “Hold that line!”

  “Dee-fense! Dee-fense!”

  The Tigers picked up two more first downs on quick passes to their star running back swinging out of the backfield. They were at the Dartmouth 24-yard line, but the clock was ticking away. There was just enough time for a few more plays.

  “We’ve got to stop ’em,” Jesse’s father said, checking the clock nervously.

  The Tiger quarterback faked a handoff to the running back. The Dartmouth defense surged forward, falling for the fake. The Princeton quarterback faded back and threw a deep out to a wide receiver who was open at the five-yard line.

  Fearing the worst, the Dartmouth fans were on their feet. At the last second, the Dartmouth safety—number 12—dashed over, leaped in front of the Princeton wide receiver, and snapped the ball out of the air. He tumbled to the ground, straining to keep his feet inbounds.

  Tweeeeeet! The line judge rushed up, pulling both hands to his chest to signal a good catch.

  “He got it!” Jesse’s mother shouted, pounding her husband’s shoulders and spilling hot chocolate everywhere. “He got it!”

  “All right, Jay!” Jesse screamed into the late afternoon sky as his brother ran down the sidelines, holding the ball high in the air with one hand. With the crowd’s cheers ringing in his ears, Jesse could almost see Jay beaming underneath the big green D on his helmet.

  A minute later, the home crowd counted down the final seconds of the game.

  “Five … four … three … two … one!”

  Afterwards, the players stood around the field talking and shaking hands. The late autumn sun had already vanished behi
nd the New Hampshire hills, leaving only the last rays of light lingering in the November chill. Jesse and his parents waited at the edge of the field.

  “There he is!” Jesse shouted.

  Jay walked toward them with his helmet pushed back, spinning a football in his hands.

  “Is that the one you intercepted?” his dad asked.

  “Yup, my first college interception.”

  “That was a fabulous play,” his mom said.

  “I knew he was going to throw the deep out,” Jay said. He gave Jesse a sly wink. “Sometimes it helps to have played quarterback.”

  Jesse took off his winter coat and dropped it on the cold stadium turf. “Want me to go out for a pass?” He started out a few steps.

  “No way,” Jay said, flipping the ball underhand to Jesse. “I hear you’re the quarterback now.” Jay pulled his helmet down. “I’ll go out for you.” He ran a deep-out, dodging around the players and parents still on the field. Jesse stepped into the throw and spun a tight spiral right into his brother’s hands.

  “Touchdown!” their mom and dad yelled, throwing their hands into the air.

  Jay walked back, grinning. “Not bad, little brother. Not bad at all,” he said. “I think you’re starting to look like a real quarterback.”

  For the first time ever, standing in the cold November gray, Jesse felt every bit as tall as his older brother. He finally felt like a real quarterback.

  The Real Story

  Coach Vittone knows his football. Fran Tarkenton was a fantastic quarterback. Listed at 6 feet and 190 pounds, but probably smaller, Tarkenton looked like a high school kid among the giants of professional football. But even though Tarkenton didn’t look like a pro quarterback, he sure played like one.

  In 1961, the Minnesota Vikings were a new expansion team in the National Football League (NFL). They drafted Tarkenton out of the University of Georgia in the third round of the NFL draft because they needed a quarterback. But they weren’t sure Tarkenton could play the position in the NFL.

  At that time, most NFL quarterbacks were “drop-back” passers. NFL quarterbacks took several steps back, planted their feet, looked for a receiver, and passed the ball before the defense could tackle them.

  Tarkenton was different; he was a scrambler. Tarkenton moved around in the backfield, dodging tacklers and buying time so his receivers could get open. Then he would often toss them the ball while he was still on the move. Or sometimes he took off and ran with the ball. Tarkenton moved around so much that some called him “the Mad Scrambler.”

  Lots of so-called football experts thought Tarkenton wouldn’t be successful with his scrambling style of play. They also thought he would get hurt running around so much. One day, they warned, a big defensive lineman would crush Tarkenton and his scrambling days would be over.

  Boy, were they wrong. Tarkenton was terrific on the field. He completed 57 percent of his passes and threw for 47,003 yards and 342 touchdowns. Tarkenton also ran for 3,674 yards and 32 touchdowns.

  Tarkenton was so elusive and quick on his feet, he almost never got injured. He played in 246 games over eighteen pro seasons. When he retired following the 1978 season, Tarkenton held NFL career records in pass attempts, completions, yardage, and touchdowns, as well as the records for rushing yards by a quarterback and wins by a starting quarterback.

  Tarkenton’s running and passing also turned his teams into winners. Even though the Vikings were an expansion team in 1961, four years later they had a winning record of 8–5–1 (eight wins, five losses, and one tie).

  Following the 1966 season, the Vikings traded Tarkenton to the woeful New York Giants, who had won only one game that year. Over the next four seasons, Tarkenton and the Giants improved their record to 29 wins and 27 losses.

  After the Giants traded Tarkenton back to Minnesota, the Mad Scrambler really took off. He led the Vikings to six straight winning seasons and three Super Bowls. Tarkenton was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1986.

  Fran Tarkenton wasn’t the only undersized NFL quarterback. Drew Brees, who was also listed at six feet, led the New Orleans Saints to a 31–17 win over the Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl XLIV (that’s 44 in Roman numerals). In three seasons, Brees passed for more than 5,000 yards.

  Russell Wilson isn’t even six feet tall. He’s listed at 5 feet 11 inches, but that hasn’t stopped him from being a Super Bowl–winning quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks. Wilson uses his quick throwing action and football smarts to get the job done.

  Athletes in other sports have done well despite not “looking the part.” For example, Cal Ripken Jr. was a big man—6 feet 4 inches and more than 200 pounds. Most baseball people thought he was “too big” to play shortstop. Until Ripken, most short-stops were small, quick players who could scamper across the infield snagging ground balls.

  Ripken started his major league career with the Baltimore Orioles as a third baseman. Then Ripken’s manager, Earl Weaver, decided to go against the baseball experts’ opinions and try Ripken at shortstop.

  Like Tarkenton, Ripken proved the experts wrong. He was a terrific fielding shortstop. Ripken played thirteen straight seasons at shortstop, using his quick feet and long reach to snap up grounders and line drives. One reason Ripken could move quickly in spite of his size: he had been a top high school soccer player when he was growing up in Maryland.

  While Ripken was considered too big to play shortstop, Tyrone “Muggsy” Bogues was thought to be too short to play basketball. Many professional basketball players are 6 feet 7 inches or even taller. Bogues was 5 feet 3 inches—more than a foot shorter than most of the other players. Bogues, however, became an expert dribbler and passer. Because he was so short, taller players found it almost impossible to get the ball away from him. He was also very good at stealing the ball from his opponents.

  Bogues played for more than thirteen seasons in the National Basketball Association (NBA). During that time, Bogues had almost five times as many assists (passing to a teammate who scores the basket) as turnovers (giving the ball to your opponent).

  Just as some people think that only players of a certain size should play certain games, others believe that only males should play football. But according to the National Federation of State High School Associations, more than 1,800 girls in the United States played football for their high schools in 2012. The number has been growing for years.

  Many, like Savannah, are kickers. And yes, it is true that one girl, Brianna Amat, kicked the game-winning field goal on the same night she was crowned Homecoming Queen at Pinckney High School in Michigan. They called Brianna the “Kicking Queen.”

  But girls are playing many different positions for their high school football teams. For example, in 2012 Erin DiMeglio became the first female to play quarterback in the history of Florida high school athletics.

  You see, it’s just like Coach Vittone said. In sports, it doesn’t matter if you look the part. What matters is being able to play the part. So don’t worry that you’re too big or too small, or whether you’re a girl or a boy. If you can help the team, you’ll get your chance to play the part.

  Special Thanks

  The author wishes to thank

  Steve Willertz,

  a longtime youth football coach

  from Severn, Maryland,

  for his help with

  the diagrams and

  football terminology.

  About the Author

  FRED BOWEN was a Little Leaguer who loved to read. Now he is the author of many action-packed books of sports fiction. He has also written a weekly sports column for kids in the Washington Post since 2000.

  For thirteen years, Fred coached kids’ baseball and basketball teams. Some of his stories spring directly from his coaching experience and his sports-happy childhood in Marblehead, Massachusetts.

  Fred holds a degree in history from the University of Pennsylvania and a law degree from George Washington University. He was a lawyer for many years before re
tiring to become a full-time children’s author. Bowen has been a guest author at schools and conferences across the country, as well as the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., and The Baseball Hall of Fame.

  Fred lives in Silver Spring, Maryland, with his wife Peggy Jackson. Their son is a college baseball coach and their daughter is a graduate student in Colorado studying to become a teacher.

  For more information check out the author’s website at

  www.fredbowen.com.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Fred Bowen

  Cover design by Tom Gonzalez and Nicola Carmack

  Composition by Melanie McMahon Ives

  ISBN 978-1-4976-8607-6

  Peachtree Publishers

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  Atlanta, Georgia 30318-2112

  www.peachtree-online.com

  Distributed by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

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