"But the real story was Tommy's halftime talk that day. We were behind 10-0 and looking hopeless. In the middle of his talk he turned and pointed at me. 'Now you fellas know Ted here. He's been with me 10 years. I hate to say it, but he's leaving us. This is his last game at DePauw. Frankly, fellas, I'd consider it an honor if we won it for old Ted.'
"Geez, they almost tore the door down getting back out there. We won 13-10. And as you can see, I had no intention of leaving DePauw."
What, I asked, did Tricky Tommy have cooking this time?
Mont smiled without showing his teeth. "Oh, you never know," he said. "Neither team is exactly overloaded [DePauw's record was 2-6; Wabash's 3-6]. Did they tell you we haven't lost up there in 18 years?"
Later at practice, the red-haired assistant coach told me I was "O.K." I said I didn't understand. He said he had checked me out. He'd even called New York. He said they couldn't be too careful this week. "Actually," he said, smiling, "you don't look Mexican."
The telephone at the Lew Wallace jarred me from sleep at five a.m. An adolescent voice, filled with excitement, roared into my subconscious.
"We got the bell."
"The bell. The Monon Bell. Those stupid Kappa Sigs..." He was laughing like a maniac. "Sawed through the chain and carted it the hell out of there."
"Listen, hey. Uh, listen. Who...?"