1956 fakeout: when the belly series worked very, very well

By ROGER SMALL
“If you look away from something, it might not be there when you look back.” — John Edgar Wideman

On Oct. 19, 1956 I was a senior at Towle High School, Newport. I was the quarterback of Towle’s football team. We played Franklin High School, at their field, behind the school.

Wehn our team bus arrived at Franklin that day, it was discovered that our center had forgotten to bring his uniform. He was an all-A student in the classroom. Forgetting his uniform was embarrassing. Our coach, Bob Underhill, asked the Franklin coach if Towle could borrow a uniform.

Towle’s uniforms were black pants, orange shirt, and orange helmet. His game attire became silver-colored pants, gold shirt, and silver-colored helmet.

In the first quarter, he had three holding penalties called on him. Forgetting his uniform became his downfall, because every motion was highlighted in his Franklin attire. He was pulled from the game and did not play again the rest of the season.

One of my lifelong friends, Jon Bell, replaced him and it was immediately apparent that Jon Bell was a better football player and should have been the starting center since opening game.

Our fullback that day was Howard Greenleaf, usually the second-stringer but starting because John Muller had a sprained ankle. Greenleaf was also a close friend of mine.

Early in the first quarter, Ed Rochford scored the first of the school record five touchdowns, on a long run. Towle High School had a play named “belly series” that was used for more than 20 years. It was the same play as what is referred to as the “wishbone.”

As the quarterback, I handed the football off to the fullback, as he crashed into the center of the line, as my first option. If I put the ball into the fullback’s belly and also recognized that he would gain no yardage, I pulled the ball back out and continued on along down the line of scrimmage, with the football against my outside thigh, concealed from view of the defending team.

My second option then became a pitch, lateral to our halfback circling outside. The final option was for the quarterback to keep the ball and run with it himself.

When Ed Rochford scored his first touchdown, it had been off the second option of our belly series.

When Jon Bell replaced the center on the field, Howard Greenleaf ran up to him and slapped him on the rump and offered him encouragement. They had been pals who had grown up together in the Guild section of Newport.

As soon as Jon Bell approached me, he said, “call the belly series. Give Greenleaf the ball. I want to open a big hole for him up the middle.”

Howard had not carried the ball all season. He watched most of the games from the bench on the sidelines.

On the next play, I handed the ball to Greenleaf and he followed Bell’s block up the middle for a six-yard gain.

“Do it again!” Bell pleaded with me in the next huddle.

Same play. Again Jon Bell opened a hole for his pal Greenleaf — 10 yards. First down.

The play was working to perfection. On the next play everything appeared to be an encore. However, I pulled the ball out of the fullback’s belly and hid it behind my leg as I moved laterally towards the side of the field where the Franklin bench was located. I looked up and saw that the Franklin substitutes and fans were cheering wildly at the action in the center of the field. Fullback Howard Greenleaf had been stopped cold at the line of scrimmage for no gain. Greenleaf and I, however, shared a little secret. He did not have the football.

At the point in time, I was on the right sideline, as the field is viewed from the rear of the high school — between the 40 and 50 yard line markers. I remember a slight sense of panic in my own mind. What if the officials blew the play dead? The men in the striped shirts did not know I had the ball either! Unfortunately — for me — I had faked out everybody.

I moved directly over in front of the Franklin coaches, waved the football in front of them and made a quick pivot.

“The ball’s over here,” I yelled as loud as I could.

The Franklin bench and fans saw and heard my proclamation.

Their cheering stopped abruptly, they were screaming “get 24!” (my jersey number), and pointed toward me. Before they had finished their screams of alarm, I dashed down the sideline toward the end zone.

The Franklin players and the officials sprinted after number 24. The Towle fans were now cheering wildly at the turn of events. I scored the “touchdown,” untouched!

On the front page of the local newspaper the next week, a photo was done of me crossing the goal line — with 11 Franklin players in pursuit.

“One should always play fairly, when one has the winning cards.” — Oscar Wilde

Roger Small wrote a series of 100 essays for the Argus-Champion called “As I Recall” over a three-year period that ended in early 2001. This one first appeared in the Oct. 18, 2000 edition.