It was early in the game, Post v Chronk grudge match, Memorial Park, flags all in place even on the offensive line persons. The quarterback's brow furrowed, as it was want to do when he was in deep thought. "You," he said to a wide receiver, go over there (left flats) and you (another WR) go right there kinda in the middle. Then he said to me (yeah; another WR), "Get in the coffin." I knew his code and knew what to do.
The defense lined up, puzzled as usual (there were assistant Chronk city editors in the defensive backfield). Our quarterback BARKED the signal (after he took a puff on his cigarette, of course), dodged two rushers (slow feature writers) and threw a precise 30-yarder which I caught in the COFFIN CORNER of the end zone.
We went on to beat the Houston Chronicle that fateful Memorial day, what was it, 64-16 or something like that?
Actually it wasn't that bad but the memory of quarterback George Flynn leading the charge down field still gives me a buzz. After all, we were in our 20s at the time (well, early 30s) and them were the good old days!!
George had fun, whether on the beat, furrowing his brow over a story, hitting a softball or spiraling the pigskin. What a funlover! What a competitor!
I will never forget you, George! Rest in peace, my friend!!
(FORMER Wide Receiver/Fellow Post Toastie)