(See Cover)
There he stood, looking like King Hal at Agincourt, a slim figure in gold staring at the enemy over the backs of his crouching linemen. "Haaaay, set! Hup-ah-hup-ah-hup-ah . . ." Back snapped the ball, and the crowd sucked in its breath. What would he do? Now he was rolling right and fading back as if to pass. He slithered away from one tackier, straight-armed another. Downfield, three receivers zigged, zagged, looked back, zigged again. Back and forth he dodged, now trapped, now loose. But there was no pass. In a...
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