Brief description:
‘People will talk about West Point as the place where Happy Hooligan played football,” Hooligan bragged. Silence was his answer-- grim bitter silence. The cadets had decided to break this line crusher who sought to stage a one-man show on a no-star field."
The Colonel’s car pulled to a stop in front of the temporary bleachers. A trim, smiling youth in the uniform of the United States Military Academy leaped to the ground as soon as the big automobile had stopped rolling and ceremoniously handed out a slim, dark-haired girl who rewarded him with a flashing smile. A similar-clad youth made a motion as if to lend the same assistance to a red-faced, white-rnustached officer.
“Darn me, I can still climb out of my own car,” snapped Colonel Mike Mitchell, thrusting off the helping hand.
"Of course, Dad,” smiled‘ the youth. He was obviously cut of the same general pattern as the colonel. but lacked his father's severity of expression and twinkling eyes. That was ColoneI Mitchell for you, cussing like the devil with his mouth and his mustache but with blue eyes twinkling merrily and sympathetic.
“Colonel. the officers at the club told me your team didn't have a chance" teased the girl. She was his daughter, Myra.
“Hmph!” snorted Colonel Mike. “You spend too much time with those air corps whippersnappers. I tell you, we got a boy. . . hey, there he is!”
A group of football players were trotting toward the field. The usual formalities of a football game were missing at Clark Field, Philippine Islands. Instead of parading out from the dressing rooms in one stream while the spectators thundered down an ovation from high concrete tiers, the players came from widely scattered barracks, making an informal entrance with no more demonstration than perhaps a few cat-calls from fellow soldiers. The spirit of competition was there, however. The Sixth Air Force was boasting all over the islands what it would do to the Thirty-Third Infantry. “just a bunch of thick-headed foot soldiers,” they said about the infantry. “We’ll take ’em.” “Yeah!” the infantry snorted back. “Wait ’til Hooligan gets a hold of you panty-waists. You tea-sippers! You gold-bricks!”
At the Colonel’s wave the five players stopped, turned and came slowly to the car. Colonel Mike waved one hand high.
“Well, buckos, how is the infantry going to do?” he shouted. Colonel Mike’s dramatic actions might have been comical on the post had he not been so serious with them. It was the way he thought a soldier should act.
“We’ll give ’em, a ball game’ grinned one of the players. He was a tall, broad-shouldered giant with sandy hair and light blue eyes. Scars of a dozen rough-and-tumble fights showed on his face. “Sure you will, Hooligan,” cried the Colonel. “You tear into those fair corps boys and show ’em what a rough-and-tough infantryman can do.”
"Are those orders, Colonel?” grinned the big man.
"Those are orders,” snapped Colonel Mike. “We can't have fun poked at the infantry. We've won every war this country has ever fought and we’ll win the next one. They can take their infernal flying machines and be damned. When it’s rough and tough. the infantry has to take over......
The Colonel’s car pulled to a stop in front of the temporary bleachers. A trim, smiling youth in the uniform of the United States Military Academy leaped to the ground as soon as the big automobile had stopped rolling and ceremoniously handed out a slim, dark-haired girl who rewarded him with a flashing smile. A similar-clad youth made a motion as if to lend the same assistance to a red-faced, white-rnustached officer.
“Darn me, I can still climb out of my own car,” snapped Colonel Mike Mitchell, thrusting off the helping hand.
"Of course, Dad,” smiled‘ the youth. He was obviously cut of the same general pattern as the colonel. but lacked his father's severity of expression and twinkling eyes. That was ColoneI Mitchell for you, cussing like the devil with his mouth and his mustache but with blue eyes twinkling merrily and sympathetic.
“Colonel. the officers at the club told me your team didn't have a chance" teased the girl. She was his daughter, Myra.
“Hmph!” snorted Colonel Mike. “You spend too much time with those air corps whippersnappers. I tell you, we got a boy. . . hey, there he is!”
A group of football players were trotting toward the field. The usual formalities of a football game were missing at Clark Field, Philippine Islands. Instead of parading out from the dressing rooms in one stream while the spectators thundered down an ovation from high concrete tiers, the players came from widely scattered barracks, making an informal entrance with no more demonstration than perhaps a few cat-calls from fellow soldiers. The spirit of competition was there, however. The Sixth Air Force was boasting all over the islands what it would do to the Thirty-Third Infantry. “just a bunch of thick-headed foot soldiers,” they said about the infantry. “We’ll take ’em.” “Yeah!” the infantry snorted back. “Wait ’til Hooligan gets a hold of you panty-waists. You tea-sippers! You gold-bricks!”
At the Colonel’s wave the five players stopped, turned and came slowly to the car. Colonel Mike waved one hand high.
“Well, buckos, how is the infantry going to do?” he shouted. Colonel Mike’s dramatic actions might have been comical on the post had he not been so serious with them. It was the way he thought a soldier should act.
“We’ll give ’em, a ball game’ grinned one of the players. He was a tall, broad-shouldered giant with sandy hair and light blue eyes. Scars of a dozen rough-and-tumble fights showed on his face. “Sure you will, Hooligan,” cried the Colonel. “You tear into those fair corps boys and show ’em what a rough-and-tough infantryman can do.”
"Are those orders, Colonel?” grinned the big man.
"Those are orders,” snapped Colonel Mike. “We can't have fun poked at the infantry. We've won every war this country has ever fought and we’ll win the next one. They can take their infernal flying machines and be damned. When it’s rough and tough. the infantry has to take over......
Publication
Football Action Magazine, 1945