"That's a good number you're wearing, " Williams said. "Johnny Olszewski's—Johnny O's."
Olszewski had been a Detroit back on the 1961 team.
"It indicates my talent," I said. Friday Macklem had either Hopalong Cassady's old number available, which was 40, or Johnny O's zero, and he thought the zero had more—well, distinction.
I went back to my locker. My football shoes were up on top, next to the big silver helmet with the blue Lion decal, and when I took the shoes down they seemed astonishingly heavy to the hand. "Hey!" I said.
I spotted Friday coming by again.
"Hey, Friday, what's happened to my shoes?"
He came over. He looked very busy. "What's trouble?" he asked briskly. "Boy, you'd better hop to it. You're going to miss the bus."
"Well," I said, "these shoes seem, well, sort of heavy, that's what they seem."
"Your shoes seem heavy?" said Friday, quite loudly, so that I moved toward him and I said softly, "Well, look here, Friday, heft them for yourself."
He did so, and he looked surprised. "There's nothing wrong."