Bob Wyczk shook his head. "I don't know, Boogey," he said, "I had it figured all wrong. I thought in terms of character building, in terms of a game that would teach a boy self-reliance, make him better able to deal with the problems he'd have to meet in later life."
"Listen to me, Bob Wyczk!"
The younger man seemed not to hear him. He gazed off through the trees and went on: "I read a speech about football and business that Coach Bryant made to the Houston Kiwanis Club. Mr. Bryant said a boy could learn lessons on a football field that even his parents couldn't teach him as well. It was one of the most beautiful things I ever read, Boogey."
Blenheim fell back as if he had been struck a blow. He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Bryant?" he cried. "Bryant!"
Bob Wyczk raised his head and looked at the old coach.
"Boogey," he said, "after all the things you've told me today, I don't think I want to be a big-time coach ever. Boogey, I just don't think it's worth it."
Blenheim reached out and grabbed the young man's shoulder. His face was livid, his square jaw jutting out, his eyes flashing.
"Not worth it?" he demanded. "Not worth it? You come with me. I'll show you what it's worth!"
Bob Wyczk held back and Blenheim dug his strong fingers into his shoulder and almost pulled him along toward the entrance to the old stadium. He walked with great, strong strides through the gate, under the stands, out onto the green field of the gridiron.
They stood together on the sideline and Blenheim, breathing hard, relaxed his grip on the younger man and waved his long arms around to encompass the stadium.