Harold M. Sherman

“ Temporarily shot to pieces by the disheartening fumble, it was not until Delmar had swept into Elliott territory again that John Brown's team found itself enough to brace and rock the stadium with the thrill of stopping Delmar's smashing advance by taking the ball on downs! Even this sudden flare-up of spirited defense was lightly regarded by the stands who saw in Elliott's improved play but the last spent effort of a dying ember whose light is always brightest before it fades into oblivion. ”

“ By fifteen minutes before game time every possible nook and cranny of Elliott field was jammed with heart-palpitating humanity. The great stadium was packed, aisles and all, with the greatest crowd its historic confines had ever held. And thousands more stormed the gates outside, beseeching entrance.
In the clubhouse, eleven Elliott men—the choice of Red Murdock to start against Delmar—sat in a rigid circle while their assistant coach delivered his last admonitions. ”

“ Harvard would need a dry field this year to stand an even chance at winning. Her back field was light, fast, and shifty. It depended on a quick get-away and a sure under-footing. Yale's eleven was solid, heavy from end to end, with a stubborn defense that had allowed but two touchdowns so far that season, and a pile-driving back field that moved slowly but surely behind a battering forward wall. If it rained, Davies reflected, Harvard's last vestige of hope was due to be trampled in the mud. ”

“ My idea of perfect play Is when a team performs strictly as it has been coached to perform ... following a system through to the very last regardless of the breaks of the game or the preconceived notions of the individual players. That is team-work in the fullest—that is genuine football. That you failed to win does not alter the fact that you gave a faultless exhibition insofar as your experience and training permitted. ”

“ Tincup stares at the human cyclone, his mouth so wide open that you can see all the gold in his teeth.
"Come here!" he shouts, waving his arms.
"I'm sorry!" calls "Butter Fingers," "We didn't mean to do what we did but this is our ball and we got a right to it!"
"You've got no right to be playing football!" raves Mr. Tincup, beginning to shiver now as the air's kind of cold. "And I'm going to see that you don't play football hereafter!"
"Gee!" I says to "Butter Fingers," when we've beat it. "I don't know as that was such a bright stunt—your rescuing that pigskin. ”

“ Coach Brock shook his head. "No, there's only one thing that can have any effect upon Speed," he said, decisively. "He's got to be told that he can't play on Saturday. This will bitterly disappoint him, of course, but it will relieve him at the same time. But the fly in the ointment is how to make Speed believe that he's really not going to play. He knows very well that I wouldn't remove the star of the team without definite reason. Obviously, then, the only way we can put one over on Speed is to catch him breaking one of the strict rules I've laid down for members of the squad." ”

“ Can you imagine what sort of an end a guy with a powerful grip could make? Can you figure what would happen to a football if "Butter Fingers" ever laid his grapplers on it? And can you picture a runner trying to get away from a tackle by a bird like "Rus"? A fly might as well try to pull its feet off a sheet of sticky fly paper as a runner to jerk loose from "Butter Fingers" once he's got him. ”

“ But the mere fact that Brown had come to the head of things at Elliott was cause for the schools on Elliott's schedule to regard their proverbially weak opponent with new respect and wonderment.
The game with Hale had been a genuine eye-opener. Elliott's 20 to 6 victory had hardly been looked for and neither had the startling performance of one Tim Mooney whose open field running had made two touchdowns possible and whose talented toe had kicked two field goals. A new star had arisen to add to Coach Brown's constellation of developed gridiron heroes. ”

“ The coach shook his head, giving a sharp, deep-throated laugh. Then the lines in his face hardened, the furrowed crease stiffened—ridge-like—and he leaned forward compellingly.
"You are not sorry because Tim Mooney's loss to the team may mean the loss of the game—or games. You are sorry only for Mr. Mooney and the limelight his playing might reflect upon you. Pardon my frankness but I know your type well. You are a disciple of this individual freedom cult which has swept the world. You have regarded rules as being made only for the thrill and pleasure of breaking. ”

“ That's why I came to Grinnell!"
"But why Grinnell—Pomeroy's bitterest rival? Of all the schools you might have picked...!"
Mack grinned, sardonically. "My brother didn't think I'd ever make a good football player. I'd hoped to be able to show him."
"That's just your greatest fault," spoke the coach, frankly. "You want the limelight every move you make. You're wondering all the time if everyone's looking at you ... and it's hurting your game. No good player can be thinking of starring and playing at the same time." ”

“ It may be the end of us but it's not the end of our ball so far as "Butter Fingers" is concerned. He's over the fence in a jiffy and streaking for the pigskin as though he's on a football field. Mr. Tincup doesn't suspect any opposition on picking up what "Butter Fingers" regards as a free ball. He's too dripping wet and ripping mad to suspect anything. As he stoops down to pick up the ball which is also wet, it slips out of his fingers. To make matters worse he kicks it accidently with his foot and it rolls along in front of him. ”

“ The next instant an insane man races across the street and grabs the kid in his arms and sits down on the damp curb and breaks into sobs.
"Boy," said the truck driver, extending his hand to "Butter Fingers," "that was the nerviest stunt I ever seen! Look how far that old wagon skidded past where you were!"
"Butter Fingers" looks.
"Been a bad place for a fumble, wouldn't it?" he says, then glances quick at me. "Say, Mark—we'll have to be legging it or we'll miss out seeing the team!"
"Just a minute!" says a choky voice from the curb. "Where you boys going?"
"To see the game!" ”

“ The following Saturday, minus the services of Tim Mooney, Elliott went down to a bitter, heart-rending defeat at the hands of Larwood, losing by the hard-fought score of 7 to 0. Five times during this blood-tingling conflict, Elliott drove the ball down inside the enemy's ten yard line but somehow, every one of these times, just missed the punch which would have taken it over. Throughout the game, and especially at the moments when Elliott was in possession of her golden scoring opportunities, the stands had madly implored for Mooney. ”

“ The athletic world figuratively wore a mourning band on its arm but there had been born a sense of thrill in its heart such as the prospects of no other gridiron battle had aroused. The demand for seats at the Elliott stadium became unprecedented. Authorities, harassed from all sides by the frenzied petition for pasteboards, ordered the construction of temporary stands but the clamor soon outgrew all bounds of accommodation.
It was estimated that some fifty thousand fans must be denied the spectacle of Coach John Brown's last team meeting the tartar of all football elevens in Delmar. ”

“ Coach Edward's smile faded as he met Mack's challenging glance.
"I want to know why I've been kept so much of the time on the bench?" the substitute back fired, point blank.
"Because," answered Coach Edward, evenly, "there were eleven better men on the field. That's ordinarily the only reason any man's kept on the bench."
"I don't believe it," retorted Mack, feelingly. "You've had it in for me because my brother is coach at Pomeroy. That's the reason! And you'd like to be coach at Pomeroy yourself!" ”

“ Eccentricity was expected of a man who had been in the habit of accomplishing such astounding results with raw human material and a football. To those who flattered themselves that they reasoned, it was decided that John Brown, incurring popular disfavor, had taken the simplest and most effective course of curbing drastic comment by giving his antagonists no object to shoot at. After all, right or wrong, Coach Brown was in charge of the team and it had been through his efforts solely that Elliott had been able to even give Larwood a fight. ”

“ It was not a question now of who would win, but could Yale go over the goal line in the time that was left? Harvard had put up a surprising battle against an eleven which had been favored to defeat her by at least twenty points. And Yale was a bit miffed at this, sternly desirous of adding to the score by hammering through for a touch down. A victory won solely through the talented toe of the great Nixon was hardly sufficient tribute to the supposed offensive power of the team itself.
There were two minutes left to play when Yale brought up on Harvard's three-yard line for a first down. ”

“ For Pomeroy, the Grinnell contest had customarily been booked as a "breather" between big games. There had been little disposition in previous years, as a consequence, to take Grinnell's opposition too seriously. Thus, most of the excitement and enthusiasm had been provided by wide-eyed Grinnell supporters who had hypnotized themselves almost to the point of believing that the impossible was about to happen—a Grinnell victory! That these loyal rooters had been disappointed as regularly as the annual conflicts arrived, did not seem to dampen the ardor of the next season's support. ”

“ Team members instinctively knew that, so far as Tim Mooney was concerned, John Brown would regard him as though he had never lived. The coach would chalk up the defeat—not against Mooney's absence from the line-up—but against the team individually or collectively failing to come through in some particular. They knew this because John Brown had emphasized, in some outstanding past instances, that "Games are never won by the men on the sidelines but by the eleven on the field." ”

“ It isn't long before all this extra practicing that "Rus" is doing begins to show up on the football field. In scrimmage he gets the reputation of being "sure-fingered" because he drags down passes, recovers fumbles and handles the ball so smoothly that it seems like he can't miss getting hold of it no matter how wild it goes. In comparison the rest of us look pretty sick, all excepting me ... and I'm a little better than average because of my experience with "Rus." Several times, while I'm playing my position at left half, there's a poor pass back from center and I have to drop on the ball. ”

“ Phil answered. "And one's as good as another!"
"Well, you've got to find him!" the Coach ordered. "You got him in this mess!"
"Us?" mumbled Phil and Milt, all but overcome.
"Don't argue!" snapped the Coach. "Get out and hunt him up! If Speed Bartlett doesn't play today, the game's as good as lost!"
"End of first half!" cried the radio announcer. "And what a game this has been!... But Hamilton's great team is proving too much for Medford today. They're out in front, two touchdowns, thirteen to nothing, which just about indicates the difference in playing strength. ”

“ He's crazy to make up for his fumble in last season's game. Have you seen him lately?"
"Not in three days. Have you?"
"No. I called around at his dorm yesterday but he wasn't in. About time we got together again. Speed's a great guy."
"And a mighty sweet football player," complimented Phil. "Well, here we are—outside the sanctum of the man who controls the destinies of Medford pigskin chasers. Shall I rap?"
"Sure—don't you see it says 'private'?"
A voice bade the callers to "come in!" and Phil and Milt presently found themselves standing before the genial-faced coach. ”

“ Well, for some reason, Speed has the feeling that Hamilton's not to be sniffed at. All the other games are just dress rehearsals but this contest is the real thing!"
"That's bad," declared Kinky, seriously. "Bad for Speed and bad for the team. The other fellows can't help but be depressed by the way he's taking it. And after what happened last year it'll be a wonder if Speed don't have the whole eleven on edge."
"You said it," agreed Sober. "But what can we do about it? That's a neat little problem for Coach Brock to solve!" ”

“ Believe me, I'm mighty thankful then for the special training I've picked up!
"This game of football is just a matter of following the ball," "Rus" airs to me one night, "I don't care what these wise birds say. There's breaks in every game that, if we could take advantage of 'em, would do more than all the fancy plays ever invented. Look at last week when we played Madison. We have 'em down on their own ten yard line and we break through and block the punt and two of our fellows dives for it. Do they get the ball? Yes, they do not! ”

“ And as for scooping the ball up on the run, wasn't I pitiful? But that's what an end's got to be able to do and yours truly isn't going to make a bad muff in a game if he can help it!"
Being a friend of "Rus's" and practically a next door neighbor as well as a team-mate, I can't really turn the serious-minded bird down. Besides, I have to admit to myself that it's darn interesting watching the vim that "Rus" puts into this secret practice. Some nights it's mighty chilly and with the grass wet down it's enough to make your spinal column wriggle, but "Rus" never seems to mind. ”

“ Behind the speeding man with the ball, trailed three desperate Yale players, while another was cutting across the gridiron in the hope of intercepting the Crimson runner from in front. Back near the Harvard goal line, teammates on both sides, now completely out of play, yelled encouragement to pursuers and the one pursued.
Davies, eyes glued on Broadhurst, jabbed out an arm and grabbed the Yale supporter by the shoulder. "Yea! How'd we get the ball?" the hero of twenty years before demanded. ”

“ Discovering that he was being talked about, Speed lagged curiously behind.
"Speed's got sand all right," he overheard Phil say. "But he worries too much before hand. You can imagine how bad it must have been for the training table with Speed sitting there like a guy with a load of lead in his stomach. The whole eleven's better off. It's a blow to have Speed suspended but Medford'll take the field tomorrow with a world of fight.
"And when Coach sends Speed into the game—maybe Medford spirit won't rise sky high!" chuckled Milt. "Boy, I guess maybe we didn't play our parts to perfection! ”

“ He reached up and picked it out of the air on Pomeroy's twenty-five yard line, being hit before he could move by Dizzy Fox.
"Yea, Carver!" yelled the stands.
Mack, all but bewildered by the way plays had revolved about him, was pushed into the huddle as time-keepers consulted their watches.
"What'll it be?" demanded Bert. "Shall we chance another pass?"
"A field goal would do it?" cried Steve, with a glance at the scoreboard. "But Frank's toe hasn't been so hot today!"
"We've only time for one more play," reminded Bert. "Can you fellows hold that line? ”