Anthony Carlen III outlawed smoking and drinking, strongly recommended lean
waistlines and church on Sunday and scheduled 5 a.m. calisthenics for any
player caught cutting a class. "I tell 'em, 'football is payin' your
scholarship,' " he says, " 'and if you can't learn anythin' in class,
let's go on down and we'll check the teacher out.' I think teachers have a real
impact. I'm not sayin' our kids have become any kind of Phi Beters," he
says, "but they're takin' more interest."
In this, his
third year, Carlen expected to start winning big, for he still has a relatively
soft schedule. He did win, four times. But Penn State and Virginia Tech—the
only class teams among the first six opponents—beat him, and then, suddenly,
here was Kentucky with a 14-0 lead. Carlen's clean-cut abstinents fought back
at this point, however, making it only 14-10 at halftime.
though, Dicky Lyons went to work for his man Charlie. While Bair, the
quarterback, and Makin, the fullback, handled the ball on a drive to the 13,
Dicky amused himself by running out fakes and blocking Mountaineers prostrate.
From the 13 in, he swept end for five yards, then butted three tacklers till
they yielded three more yards. Then he swung wide to his right—straight into a
swarm of West Virginians. For five yards he pushed, slithered, lunged and, just
barely, laid the ball across the goal line. "He may go a long while not
lookin' good," Carlen had said of Dicky earlier, "and he'll lull you to
sleep. Then look out."
third-quarter touchdown Dicky had broken the game open, and in the fourth
quarter he put it out of reach. He carried three times from the nine to
nonexistent openings, skipping through two pairs of West Virginia hands on a
sweep, banging over tackle into West Virginia bellies, and finally sailing the
last yard like an Al Oerter discus. That done, Dicky retired for the day and
watched his guilt-ridden gang cruise to a 35-16 sop for Charlie. Against a
Mountaineer defense loaded up front to stop him, Dicky had made only one
sizable run—a 20-yarder nullified by a penalty—but he had socked out 67 yards
the hard way.
If the mourners
who filed into West Virginia's dressing room viewed the Mountaineers' third
defeat as the beginning of the end for Carlen's campaign to join the football
elite, Sunny Jim, stripped to the waist, stood ready to revive their faith.
"Our day's comin'," he said. "I'd like to have won more games, but
we've had to go with a lot of inexperienced youngsters, and we've had all kinds
of injuries." For the sake of impudence, a reporter pointed out to Carlen
that Dicky Lyons, a Louisville boy, is said to lead the Kentucky campus in
parking tickets and that he is an incurable horseplayer who often can be found
biting his nails while sweating out the race results as they come over the
radio. Would Carlen tolerate a Dicky among his new-image Mountaineers? Carlen
smiled. "Well," he said, "if he can afford to play the horses I
don't suppose I'd object in the least."