But the shocks weren't over yet. You remember I told you the Wranglers were strongly favored to take the Rocketeers down the ramps? Well--this was evidently just another example that in a traditional battle anything can happen--and usually does! We had had the radio on barely five minutes when the Rocketeers blocked a Wrangler kick, fell on it, and took possession on the Wrangler nine yard line. In two power plays the eleven from Cap Hanson's academy had plunged over for a touchdown. One minute later they made the conversion and the score was 7-0 for the supposed underdogs. The faces around that room were a sight! Hanson and Garrity looked like Venusian bunny-men in a carrot patch; those of us who acknowledged the Academy as our Alma Mammy would have soured milk with our smiles. The expression on Lancelot Biggs' face defied description. He looked faintly startled, faintly pleased, like a man shouting echoes against a mountainside. Cap Hanson groped in his hip pocket; brought forth a wad of hoarded Earth and Venus credits. "Well, you broken-down Wranglers--any of you like to lay a few creds on your team making a come-back?" He got plenty of takers. After all, one touchdown isn't a football game, and the Wranglers _were_ favored to win. I shelled out to the extent of thirty credits, Todd staked a few. Chief Garrity unbuttoned his ancient wallet, shooed away the moths, and risked some of his own credits after demanding three to one odds. And the game went on. The first quarter ended, amazingly, with Rocketeers still leading by that score of 7-0. In the second quarter, Cap Hanson, overflowing with the milk of human I-told-you-so, turned to Lancelot Biggs, crowed tauntingly, "Well, Mister Biggs, I take notice you're careful not to lay any bets on that team of your'n?" Biggs, whose eyes had been fastened hungrily on a girl in that room--guess which one!--gulped, and his neck-elevator bobbled. He said, almost embarrassedly, "I--I don't know whether I should, Captain--" Hanson snorted. "Just what I might have expected of a Wrangler. Well--" Then Chief Garrity shushed him suddenly. "Quiet, skipper! Something's going on!" Something was, indeed. The radio announcer was in a dither. "--and it looks bad for the Wranglers, friends! The Rocketeers' quick kick has them on the one yard line ... now they're lining up to kick out of trouble.... Wait a minute! Here comes a substitute from the Wrangler bench. It's--we don't have time to get you his name, folks, but it's number 36. He's going in at quarterback for O'Doule--" Hanson gibed, "Well, Biggs?" The announcer continued, "Number 36 in at quarterback, folks. Now he's calling signals. There's the snapback. The new man is going to kick.... No, he's going to pass.... No, he's going to run.... No--he's fumbled! "There's a pile-up behind the goalposts! They're unscrambling the players. And--it's a touchdown for the Rocketeers, folks! The score is 13-0!"