The Vag could see and feel it in his mind...

Closing the door, he stepped into the locker room. He was early, the first one there, and all he could hear was the drip of a shower around the corner. Then he spied Johnny sticking adhesive strips on the locker doors.

In just a few minutes he was undressed and waiting to be taped. Johnny was still tearing the adhesive, and still nobody else had come in. He sat on a chewed-up bench and stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes, absently watching his calf muscles jump into a curve. The soreness was all gone.

On the rubbing table, he heard the "kids" come in. They would come early, because they were nervous and it was their first Yale game. He had come earliest, around noon, because it was his last. He wanted to feel the atmosphere as long as he could today.

Johnny strapped his ankles tight, slapped his heels. "That does it, Tom." Tom was watching Charley and Franny as they took of their shoes, sitting together silently. Their stomachs felt like his, tight.

Two New Haven Kids. They didn't talk much, but they were great fellows to have played through a season with, to remember when he thought of football later on.

Tom smiled to himself. He was going to be one of the g gang that every year came back to practice the day before Yale and stood around watching the team with their hearts in their eyes. Like The Chief, Tubby Watson, and Freddie Moseley, Torby and Bill were the others that finished up today. So many Sophomores around made him feel like a grand-dad--Dick Pfister, Burgy Ayres, Loren MacKinney, big Vern, Chub Peabody. Coach called them "the family."

While he thought about that, Bill and Torby passed by together, slapped him on the arm. "We're the Old Guard, Tommy. We ought to get together after the game." And Torby laughed.

Finally Gene nudged him off the table. "Come on, come on, how about it? Scram." Nothing ever worried Gene. What an easy-going guy he was! Easy going off the field, that is.

Tom called over to Torby. "Hey, Flash, a hand with this shirt." Torby came over and yanked the jersey into place over the shoulder pads, so that big "52" slid down somewhere between his shoulder blades. He turned and grinned at Torby. Torby looked a little anxious. Tom whispered over:

"Today's the day, Whizzer."

"Good luck."

There wasn't much time, even though he'd been so early. The sound of the crowd flowed into the room, pushing everything else into an undertone. It made his stomach tighten even more, and he felt as if time had suddenly begun to quicken, pulling him along with it. Like water getting closer and closer to the dam.

Nobody talked, and the sound got louder. They all sat on the benches listening to Dick. Then Torby rose and called everybody, opening the door.

And Tom's cleats clattered out into the light with the rest.