Brief description:
Darrel Layne was the best back that West Point could put on the field -- but he had to prove to his teammates that he was a real soldier.
"Darrell Layne stood again on the turf of Michie Stadium, the cleats of his shoes pressing hard in fulfillment of a dream. As a boy, long after the littered stands had been cleared of spectators and famous gridiron heroes of his had departed, the tow-headed son of a math instructor had stood on this muddied field and had dreamed another self streaking for the distant goal posts with pigskin in his grasp.
Today was not complete fulfilment of that dream since he was only a Plebe.You played for Army only when you made the varsity—the big team. But that would be only a year away.
Layne clutched nervously for a blade of short grass. In a few seconds Columbia Freshmen would kick off against the Army Plebes. Layne had won a starting assignment as halfback. There had never been any question of that in his mind, or, seemingly, in the mind of others. Practise had quickly demonstrated that his line-splitting runs of high-school and California days had been no press agent’s dream.
Layne heard the thud of boot against leather. He saw the pigskin bearing towards him, in a low, driving kickoff. Layne moved forward swiftly and grabbed the ball knee-high at top speed. It was the kind of kickoff made to order for him. The Columbia Freshmen
charging down under the kick...
"Darrell Layne stood again on the turf of Michie Stadium, the cleats of his shoes pressing hard in fulfillment of a dream. As a boy, long after the littered stands had been cleared of spectators and famous gridiron heroes of his had departed, the tow-headed son of a math instructor had stood on this muddied field and had dreamed another self streaking for the distant goal posts with pigskin in his grasp.
Today was not complete fulfilment of that dream since he was only a Plebe.You played for Army only when you made the varsity—the big team. But that would be only a year away.
Layne clutched nervously for a blade of short grass. In a few seconds Columbia Freshmen would kick off against the Army Plebes. Layne had won a starting assignment as halfback. There had never been any question of that in his mind, or, seemingly, in the mind of others. Practise had quickly demonstrated that his line-splitting runs of high-school and California days had been no press agent’s dream.
Layne heard the thud of boot against leather. He saw the pigskin bearing towards him, in a low, driving kickoff. Layne moved forward swiftly and grabbed the ball knee-high at top speed. It was the kind of kickoff made to order for him. The Columbia Freshmen
charging down under the kick...
Publication
Popular Sports Magazine, Winter 1950