Once outside of the great Yale Bowl, Panama stopped to roll a cigarette as his fellow noncoms followed suit.
“I wonder what is going to become of that poor guy?” he said, somewhat absently.
“You mean, Phelps?” asked the noncom who lost the money on the game.
Panama nodded his head and proceeded to light his handmade weed.
“I don’t know what’ll happen to him,” the third Marine added, “but if it was me, I’d blow my brains out.”
Williams again was overcome with a fit of laughter, managing to add as a final retort: “That’s impossible, Red. That guy ain’t got no brains!”
CHAPTER II
Alone in the locker room for more than an hour after the game, Lefty worked out in his mind, the plans for the future.
As much as it hurt him to reach the decision, he came to the conclusion that he would have to leave Yale, and the sooner he went, the better matters would be for all concerned.
There was no other way around it, half the world thought him to be a blithering idiot, while the rest of humanity would whisper that his play was intentional, meant to throw the game to Harvard.