LEFT BEHIND
Summer lingers late in Maryland, and all through the week following
the West Shore game the weather was warm, too warm, in truth, for
those who pursued the elusive football. The early mornings might be
gray with fog from the Chesapeake, but by the time breakfast was over
an ardent sun had burned the mist away, and when half-past three
arrived those who sought fame on the gridiron found woolen jerseys and
stockings and padded trousers very unsympathetic. Jerry experienced
less discomfort than many others, for he was not overburdened with
flesh. He felt rather sorry for Pete Norris, the first-choice center.
Pete’s nickname of “Fat” tells you why! Norris, by the time scrimmage
arrived, fairly exuded moisture. Still, you are not to conclude that
Norris was especially soft, for much of what looked to be fat was
pretty firm flesh and muscle. Otherwise he would never have been able
to play the game he did play in the middle of the North Bank line. But
those mid-October days were hard on him, and he complained to Jerry
one afternoon that if the weather didn’t get cooler mighty soon no one
would be able to tell them apart. That amused Jerry considerably,
for he could have seated himself twice in the space on the bench
occupied――and fully occupied――by Fat!
By Thursday of that week Andy Jackson was relieved of his duty of coach
to the awkward squad. In fact, the awkward squad ceased to be. Some of
the awkwardness doubtless remained, but the squad vanished and the nine
members――there had been additions from day to day during the preceding
week, and one or two members had disappeared――became parts of the four
squads. Jerry found himself with Squad C, and Pentland was with him.
Being placed on Squad C, however, was no greater honor than assignment
to D, or less than going to B. Outside Squad A all candidates were
theoretically on an equal footing, and good players and mediocre
players mingled. The squad arrangement was only for the purpose of
formation drill, and when that was finished the players were classed
according to the position they were trying for: backs, ends, tackles,
guards and centers. For perhaps a half hour each day Jerry followed
around behind Cleary and walked or trotted through simple plays from a
balanced formation. Then with most of the other back-field candidates
he caught and punted for awhile. Some time during the afternoon he
went with a dozen or so others and hurled himself at the swaying
dummy as it rattled back and forth on its cable. There were few idle
moments between three-thirty and five, or later, and few dull ones.
Pentland assured Jerry pessimistically――Pentland seemed to be a born
pessimist――that when the weather got cooler and the season advanced
they would have to stay out until nearly six; that Thorne was a whale
for working his men. About a quarter to five Jerry went to the bench,
drew a blanket about his shoulders, no matter how warm the day, and
watched Squad A do battle with an opposing team composed of remaining
aspirants. Both teams, especially that designated as B, changed their
line-ups frequently and it was no uncommon thing for as many as thirty
fellows to play on B during a twenty-minute scrimmage. Of course
Jerry was likely to be called on to play half on B Team any afternoon
now, but for some reason he wasn’t. Others came and went, but Jerry
sweltered under his blue blanket and almost grew fast to the bench!
On Friday, a full week later than usual, a second team was formed and
took possession of the practice gridiron. Caspar Trumbull was made
captain and, a few days later, a small, bullet-headed graduate came
down from Baltimore and took charge as coach. His name was Tibbs and he
was called “Jump” because “Jump!” was his favorite exclamation during
practice. That exhortation was added to his slightest command, as:
“Johnson, move that water pail off the field! Jump!” or “Clemson, find
Riordan and get a pair of laces! Jump!” Most of this Jerry knew only
by hearsay, for, to his disappointment, he was not delegated to the
second. There was a cut imminent, and he knew it, and it seemed to him
that his one chance of continuing as a football player lay in getting
placed on the second. But the second came into being and Jerry still
adorned the substitute’s bench during scrimmage and tried to think of
a graceful way of telling Tom some day soon that he had been dropped!
Sixteen players went with the second team and about thirty remained
with the first, and, since Jerry had learned from several sources that
the first team squad was always eventually diminished to no more than
twenty-six, he was certain that his gridiron career was about to end.
He tried to be philosophical, but he did wish that they had judged
him good enough for the second. He didn’t appraise his abilities very
highly, but he thought himself able to play half back as well as some
of the second team chaps.
On Saturday the team went off to play Severn School, and, as he had
expected, Jerry was not among those taken. He and several other
discarded ones went to Annapolis and saw the Navy play North Carolina.
Jerry’s sympathies were with the husky, long-legged team from the
south, and he cheered for the honor of his native state long after all
others had ceased and the Blue-and-Gold had piled up a safe lead. In
spite of a one-sided score, the game was interesting all through, with
the visitors never ceasing their threats and, toward the end, opening
up a quite remarkable passing game. North Carolina’s forward passes
made a good deal of an impression on the North Bank group, and on the
way back to school――after they had partaken of the enticing concoction
known as fruit salad at the corner confectioner’s――they discussed Coach
Thorne’s neglect of the aërial game and became quite impassioned in
their denunciation of that gentleman’s disregard of its possibilities.
All, that is to say, save Jerry. Jerry didn’t do any criticizing, first
because he was rather ignorant of the subject, and second because he
had a conviction that Coach Thorne knew his business. He did venture
an observation to that effect, but Furchgott, who was, perhaps, a bit
disgruntled at not having been taken along that day with the squad,
took issue. Coach Thorne, he declared positively, was old-fashioned and
taught football as it had been taught to him ten years ago.
“Why, look at the plays he gives us,” invited the substitute guard.
“Last year the team learned exactly fifteen, and all from one
formation! How are you going to fool the other fellow when every play
starts from the same back-field arrangement? And how long is it going
to take him to learn as few plays as that? Why, gosh, one western
college had thirty-four plays on her list last season! Thirty-four! And
we had fifteen! Can you beat it? No wonder we got licked by Cumbridge.
And I’ll bet you anything we get licked to-day, too. The team’s got
twelve plays and all of them are as old as the hills!”
“It doesn’t make any difference how old a play is,” demurred Dimond,
“if it goes. If the other fellow doesn’t size the play up in time to
meet it an old one’s as good as a new one. Besides, there aren’t any
new plays. What they call new ones are old ones revamped. Take that
‘twist play’ of Cumbridge’s last fall. It wasn’t anything but the old
crisscross with a new name. The only difference was that Cumbridge put
her full back up in the line to hold the opposing tackle in.”
“That’s all right,” replied Furchgott, “but it was new enough to fool
us every time it was tried.”
“But that wasn’t because there was anything novel about it, it was
because they worked it well and we couldn’t see it coming. We did get
onto it finally and stopped it.”
“All the same, Thorne’s an old fogy when it comes to new stuff,”
insisted the guard. “The only forward passes he gives us are short
tosses over the line, and they won’t go for anything when we run up
against a real smart team. Long passes are what we ought to have. Look
at some of those heaves North Carolina made to-day. Why, gosh, one of
them was forty yards if it was an inch!”
“But the Navy got it,” remarked Jerry mildly. “It don’t look to me like
it was much help to the University.”
“Maybe Navy did get that one, but she mightn’t have, and if she hadn’t,
that end would have been across her goal in a wink. You’ve got to take
some chances!”
“That’s right,” agreed another member of the party. “And those kind
of plays worry the enemy, let me tell you. He never knows when you’re
going to spring something and he plays his backs deep and that weakens
his line.”
“Of course it does,” said Furchgott. “Bet you we won’t get away with
a single forward pass to-day. That short heave’s no good. It’s just
as likely to go to the opponent as to your own men, a sight likelier!
Severn will eat that baby stuff up, believe me!”
“Think we’ll get licked, do you?” asked Dimond.
“Sure of it. You wait and see.”
By waiting they did see, and Furchgott was proved a good prophet.
North Bank returned in a chastened mood, having been defeated 11 to
3. Severn’s unusual score had been secured by a touchdown, a field
goal and a safety, the latter when a forward had broken through and
tackled Duveen in the act of getting off a punt just short of his
goal line and borne him back for two points. North Bank had saved
herself from an empty slate when, in the final period, one of the short
passes ridiculed by Furchgott had paved the way for an advance to the
enemy’s twenty-three yards, from where Omstead had put the pigskin
over the crossbar very neatly. But Severn had a good team that fall
and North Bank had missed the services of Tub Keller, still on the
injured list, and so, while the squad came back chastened, it was by
no means apologetic. Indeed, Jerry, listening to the alibis offered by
Joe Kirkham and Billy Conger in Number 7 that evening after supper,
wondered that Severn had not run up several hundred points on a weak
and unfortunate opponent! Anyhow, that was the last beating of the
season. Joe said so, and said so so emphatically that Jerry believed
it, even when Billy drew attention to the fact that St. John’s College,
across the river in Annapolis, was on the North Bank schedule. Joe
snapped his fingers at St. John’s. “They licked us last year, but
that’s not saying they’ll do it this year, Billy. We’ve got twice the
team we had then――――”
Billy expressed incredulity by throwing his hands in the air.
“That’s all right!” declared Joe. “We sure have just the same. I don’t
say the players are any better, but the――the morale is just about three
times what it was last fall. And that’s going to see us through.”
Jerry hesitatingly inquired whether Coach Thorne knew he was courting
disaster by not paying more attention to forward passing, and quoted
Furchgott on the subject. Both Joe and Billy broke into speech at once
and overwhelmed Jerry with assurances that Coach Thorne knew forward
passing from A to Izzard, that the short pass was the best, that long
heaves were too uncertain except against weak opponents and that
Furchgott didn’t know what he was talking about! All of which comforted
Jerry in a measure and vindicated his opinion of the coach’s wisdom.
You see, Jerry had made rather a hero of Mr. Thorne, and one doesn’t
like to hear one’s heroes belittled.
There was another picnic supper at the Cabin Sunday evening, Tom,
Joe and Billy being the distinguished guests, and on Monday, having
survived a Latin review, Jerry appeared at the field cheerfully
reconciled to his impending dismissal. Instead of dismissal, however,
he found another and far different fate awaiting him.