EXPERTS IN CONFERENCE
There was no work on Monday for those who had taken part in the
Southport game. Even Jim, although he had contributed but some fifteen
minutes of his time to the contest, was excused. The victory had been
an easy one, but it had nevertheless cost Alton heavily, since four of
the first and second-string men had met with injuries. Only Crumb had
fared seriously, however, and not for several days was the full extent
of his injury known to the school at large. Then it was learned that he
had fractured some bone with an unpronounceable name, located in his
left leg, and would be out of the game for some time. In fact, whether
he could get around again in time for the Kenly game was problematic.
This news was received with consternation, for Crumb had shown himself
the best ground-gainer in the Gray-and-Gold backfield, the only one,
indeed, who could be relied on for heavy line-smashes to produce short
but certain gains. Weight, speed and fight made him an ideal full-back,
and his loss, even if it proved only temporary, was going to be keenly
felt. Tennyson, who must fill his shoes, was twelve pounds lighter and
was an almost unknown quantity as yet. He had shown ability in practice
and in the first two games, but had not played against Lorimer, nor
against Southport until the last quarter was well along. However well
he might develop, it seemed certain that he would never show either the
power or the ding-dong fighting spirit that had made Tom Crumb’s work
notable.
Jim’s knee responded readily to treatment, and he could have stood the
gaff on Monday had he been allowed to, which he wasn’t. All he could do
was go to the field and watch the first team substitutes practice and,
later, get mauled about by the second. The only incident of interest
to Jim occurred when Manager Woodruff found him on the stand and
announced: “Todd, you’re to join the training table to-night.”
Jim blinked and considered. Then, “Well, I don’t know, Woodruff,” he
said slowly. “I guess I’d just as lief not.”
“You--what?” gasped Lowell.
“Well, you see I’m getting on right well where I am, and I’m sort of
used to the fellows.”
“You’re a queer guy,” said Lowell, feelingly. “Don’t you know that any
other fellow would be tickled to death to be taken on?”
Jim pondered that. “No, I didn’t know,” he acknowledged finally.
“Anyhow, I don’t really care two cents about it, and if there’s some
one else that would like it--”
“Can’t be done, Todd,” Lowell grinned. “Mr. Cade’s set his heart on
you.”
“He says I’m to go?” asked Jim with more animation.
“He sure does. Them’s his orders, Todd. Show up this evening, eh?”
“Of course. I didn’t quite understand. Much obliged.”
“Quite welcome. Say, you’re getting along pretty well, aren’t you.
How’s the ankle, by the way?”
“Ankle? Oh, it was my knee. It’s all right. Say, I guess maybe I acted
sort of sour the other night.”
“What night was that?” asked Lowell.
“Up in that fellow’s room. What’s his name? The fellow who had the
birthday cake. Yes, Landorf. Well, I guess I seemed like I didn’t want
to talk.”
“Why, yes, I did get some such impression, Todd, but it was your say.
If I didn’t want to talk, I wouldn’t. But I always do!”
“Well, it was like this.” Jim frowned slightly in the effort to
explain. “I sort of thought you were kidding me.”
“Kidding you?”
“Yes, before that. Right along. You were always sort of telling me that
I was getting on great, and things like that.”
“Well, Great Scott, so you were!”
“Maybe I was. I didn’t know. It didn’t seem so to me, anyhow. Seemed
to me I was pretty stupid. And I thought you were sort of having a
joke with me. I didn’t mind, exactly, only-- Well, maybe I did mind a
little.”
“But I wasn’t joking, Todd. I--look here, I’ll be honest. Remember
how you up and flew the coop last Fall? That was Dolf Chapin’s fault.
You needed a bit of patting on the back and encouragement to make you
stick. He didn’t see it. So you got it into your head that nobody loved
you and your pie was all crust. Well, I didn’t want it to happen again
like that this year. Why, bless your dear heart, sonny, I’ve watched
you the way a fond mother watches her favorite kid. Every time I’ve
seen you sitting down there on the bench looking kind of lonesome I’ve
had heart failure. I wanted to go over and tell you funny stories
and sing songs and do tricks to bring the light of happiness back to
your sad eyes! I dare say I sounded like a silly ass sometimes when I
tried to cheer you up, but that was because you aren’t what I’d call
responsive, Todd, and I always had the feeling that you thought I was
a blamed pest. You know, anything like that does kind of take the zest
from a chap’s conversation!”
Jim was smiling, and as Lowell paused he chuckled and said: “Gosh, I
thought all the time that you thought I was rotten and didn’t know
it, and were just having fun seeing how much I’d swallow! Say, I hope
you’ll excuse me, Woodruff.”
“Sure will! Anyway, I fancy it was my--well--method of approach that
was at fault. I was so gol-derned anxious to make you one of our happy
little family so you wouldn’t jump the traces again that--well, I
guess I was _too_ anxious! Believe me, though, I wasn’t making fun of
you, Todd. Wouldn’t have had a chance, anyway. Why, hang it, you’ve
made more progress than any geezer in the bunch! You didn’t know much
football, when you come right down to it, and you _learned_. Now you
know more than a lot of the fellows who have been playing for four or
five years.”
“_Me?_” ejaculated Jim. He looked at Lowell with something of the
old suspicion. But the manager met his eyes squarely and nodded
emphatically.
“You, Todd! Why, you’re coming ahead so fast that you’ve got Johnny
Cade blinking. I could tell you something that would make you open
your eyes, but I mustn’t. Well, I’ve got to be getting back down there
and earning my princely wage. Don’t forget to show up at training table
to-night. I’m responsible for you.”
“I won’t. And--say, I’m glad you really think I’m getting on. It was
right hard at first to get the hang of things. Maybe I ain’t got the
hang of ’em yet, but I guess I’m some better.”
“Rather! That’s speaking very mildly, too. See you later!”
Being only human, Jim sat there and basked in the sunshine of Lowell’s
praise for some time. He had worked hard and faithfully and until now
he had never been assured that he had really won success. Of course,
Clem had spoken encouragingly many times, but Clem was a friend and
no football man and maybe didn’t know. Lowell Woodruff was different.
Lowell knew football and football players and he was on the inside. Jim
hugged his knees and felt that life was a very satisfactory affair.
And then, when practice was over, he followed the players back to the
gymnasium, realized that he had no reason for going inside and so
wandered across the campus and through State street and at the next
corner met with an encounter that caused him to reconsider his opinion
of life.
There was a conference in Coach Cade’s quarters that Monday evening.
The coach occupied rooms in the old-fashioned white house at the
corner of Academy and State streets, opposite the main gate to the
campus. His living-room was a comfortable place of faded carpet and
old walnut furniture brightened by such modern things as a handsome
electric lamp on the big round table, a steel filing cabinet and many
books and magazines littering the apartment. To-night were present the
host himself, Captain Gus Fingal, Lowell Woodruff, Johnny Barr, Pep
Kinsey, Steve Whittier, Rolls Roice, Billy Frost and Charley Levering.
Coach Cade, seated by the table, held several sheets of paper in one
hand and a briar pipe in the other. The visitors sat around the table
or adjacent to it and were respectfully attentive to the coach’s words.
“I thought,” Mr. Cade was saying in his quiet, pleasant voice, “it was
about time for some of us to get together and look over the ground. I
asked two or three more to be present to-night, but I don’t see them.
Perhaps they’ll show up later.”
“My fault, Coach,” said Lowell. “I couldn’t get in touch with them in
time.”
“Then it wasn’t your fault, Lowell. But there are enough of us here to
discuss things, and a discussion is about all I had in mind. You see,
fellows, Saturday’s game finished the half-season. From now on we’ll be
pointing to the Kenly game. What comes before that must be met as best
it can. Our job now, and it’s a big job, too, is to build up for Kenly
Hall.”
“Don’t forget Mount Millard, Mr. Cade,” said Billy Frost. “We’ve got to
lick them, sir, after what they did to us last year!”
“We’ll do our best, Frost, but we mustn’t go out of our way much.
So far, we’ve come along pretty easily, fellows. We’re fairly
well grounded in the rudiments, although there’s still chance for
improvement, of course, and we’ve developed some team play. Now,
however, we’ve got to consider a plan of campaign. In doing that we
must take into account our own material and Kenly’s, decide what sort
of a game we are best fitted to play and what style of game we may
expect from the enemy. The one outstanding feature of our team so far
is speed. We’ve shown more speed than we showed at any time last year,
and I’m convinced that we can show still more. I like speed, fellows,
speed in starting and speed afterwards. I’ve seen a fast team win from
a team that knew more football and played far smoother more than once,
only because the better team--better theoretically, that is--lacked
speed. The simplest plays will go well if they go fast, and the
cleverest, most deceptive ones will fail if they’re run off slow.
“This year we’ve got a fast line and a fast backfield. We aren’t quite
as heavy in the line as we were either last year or the year before
that, and we don’t begin to have the weight in the backfield. But lack
of weight can be more than offset by speed, and so it’s speed and more
speed that we must go after. It’s rather early to say what we’re to
expect from Kenly. She’s made a good start, but no better than our own,
and hasn’t had to show anything but ordinary formations and old-stock
plays. But we know that she’s got most of her last year’s line back
again and three or four of the backs that gave us so much trouble. Her
line is heavy and her backfield’s heavy, and it’s reasonable to suppose
that she’ll build her game on those facts. Kenly has always favored the
line-smashing game and I’d be surprised if she changed much this year.
However, we’ll know more about that later.”
Mr. Cade studied a paper a moment. “It comes to this, then,” he
resumed. “Granted that Kenly will rely on line bucks and runs outside
tackles for most of her gains, it’s up to us to build a defense that
will meet that style of play. Weight won’t do it, for she’ll beat us
there. She’ll go through us if we give her the start. The only way to
stop her is to not let her get started. We must get the jump on her,
fellows, and that means speed. If we can hold her in the line we can
meet her on equal terms in other departments, I think. We may even
have a slight edge on her when it comes to the kicking game. What Kenly
will bring in the way of forward passes I can’t say. That, too, is
something we’ll have to get a line on later. But she has never been
dangerous with her overhead stuff. Her coach has never taken to that
style of game much. But if she does develop a good passing game we’ve
got to meet it with the same stuff, speed. Speed, then, is going to be
the big cry here this Fall. I want to impress that fact on you here and
now. I want you to go away from here thinking speed, and I want you to
keep right on thinking it until the last play of the Kenly game is over.
“Now let’s talk about offense a little. For the sake of argument, we’ll
say that we’ve got the edge on Kenly for fast playing. We’ll assume
that our line charges quicker than hers, that our backs get started
faster and run faster, that we pull off our plays and our kicks faster.
Now, then, what sort of an attack are we going to use? What style of
offense are we going to build on? What do you think, Captain Fingal?”
“If we’re faster than Kenly, and speed makes up for the difference in
weight, we’re starting even, aren’t we?”
“Possibly, yes. We’ll say so.”
“Then we can play any style there is, can’t we? I mean, Coach, we
stand just as good a chance of making our line plays good as she does;
and the same with kicks and passes and end runs.”
“True, assuming that the teams are evenly balanced, which we are
assuming. But what we want for an attack isn’t something just as good,
Gus, but something better. Now, suppose--”
“I’d say we ought to dope out a passing and running game, Coach,” broke
in Pep Kinsey. “Something based on speed that might take them off their
feet. Say we had a formation that was good for a punt or a pass or a
run outside tackle. Then suppose we put a lot of fizz into it and had
them guessing what was coming. If Tom Crumb’s out of the game we can’t
look for a whole lot against their line between tackles, I guess. I
don’t know how Sam Tennyson will develop, but he’s light, sir, and the
rest of us aren’t whales. I guess you’ve got the right dope, all right,
when you talk speed!”
“A corking good passing game is our best bet, Mr. Cade,” offered
Levering. “Don’t you think so, sir?”
“I’ll tell you what I think, Levering. I think whatever we build on
that thing’s got to have speed underneath it. All right. Here’s speed.”
He held a hand out, palm upward. “Now what? What shall we put on next
for a second story?”
There was a moment’s silence. Then the quarter-back spoke eagerly.
“Deception!”
“Right! Speed and deception, fellows. That’s a tough combination to
beat. And it’s tougher than ever if the other fellow is slow in getting
off. Kinsey’s idea of a triple-threat formation is what I’ve had in
mind. That’s what we ought to have, I’m sure. Last Fall showed me one
thing conclusively, and that is that having more than two formations,
one for kicking and one for everything else, is a big mistake. You
remember that we changed our backfield all about when we made a
forward-pass. Of course, we did run from that formation now and then,
but the thing was a give-away, just the same. When Kenly saw that ‘C
Formation’ she knew pretty well what to expect, and after the first
half she looked for a pass every time and, if I remember correctly,
we made just five out of fourteen attempts. This year I propose that
we find a formation for the backs that will answer every purpose of
attack, even punting. When we decide on that we’ll build our plays on
the formation instead of suiting the formation to the plays.”
“That sounds good,” said Gus. “Only I don’t just see how it’s to be
done. If we place our backs too far behind the line we can’t get them
through on quick openings. If we put Steve too close he won’t be able
to get punts off before Kenly gets on top of him.”
“As for the latter,” said Coach Cade, “I don’t agree. Remember, Gus,
we’re building on speed. If Steve gets his kicks off a bit quicker than
he does now he can kick from nearer the line.”
“Besides,” said Pep, “how is Kenly going to know that it is a kick if
Steve doesn’t go back? Seems to me that’s the beauty of it. Keep ’em
guessing every minute! Hot stuff!”
“We’ll take up the matter of that formation later,” said the coach.
“Just now there’s another thing I want to talk about. What kind of a
passing game can we work out? I have my own idea, but I’d like to hear
from you.”
“Whatever it is, it’s got to be a heap better than last year’s,” said
Rolls Roice. “As you said, Coach, they were looking for our tosses
every time toward the last and they didn’t go for a hang. If Kenly had
had the sense to grab the ball sometimes instead of knocking it down
she’d have licked us worse than she did.”
“There’s one thing about the passing game,” said the coach. “If you
can’t have a good one you’re better off with none. And having a good
one isn’t so easy. You can plan it out on paper so that it looks
like a world-beater, but if your ends and backs can’t reach the ball
and handle it perfectly, your plan’s a fizzle. You didn’t have much
luck last year, Pep, and neither did Knowles or Suydman. Catches were
mighty few, even when there was a fair chance. I’m not saying this
in criticism of you, but just to emphasize the fact that it’s the
individual player who counts in the passing game, and that if we’re to
show anything in that line, anything worth while, we’ve got to go into
the business in real earnest. Half the value of the forward pass is in
keeping the opponent scared. If you have a passing game and he knows
it, he’s looking for it more than half the time. But you’ve got to
really have something. If you haven’t, he soon discovers it and pulls
his backfield in. Just as long as you’ve got the goods, even if you
don’t deliver them, he will play a fifth man back and weaken his line
by just so much. That fifth man is almost invariably the center, and a
quick plunge at the center position will usually gain. Personally, I
think that no one has yet discovered nearly all the possibilities of
the forward-pass as an offensive play. I believe that, unless a change
in the playing rules comes that will place restrictions on the pass,
another five years will see the old line-plunging game subordinated to
it. But I’m getting away from the business of this gathering.
“Suppose you fellows put your minds to work along the lines suggested
this evening. Start with the fact that, no matter what else we have
when we meet Kenly, we’re going to have speed, and lots of it. Then try
to think of the best way to use that speed on attack. I’ll take care
of using it for defense. Figure out a--let us call it an all-purpose
formation, a formation from which we can hit the line, run the ends,
punt and pass. It’s possible. I’m not certain that the Princeton
formation doesn’t come pretty close to it except as to punting. Anyhow,
put your minds to work, fellows, and see what comes of it. We’ll get
together again Wednesday evening here, and we’ll try to get more of the
team on hand. Remind me about that, Mister Manager, and I’ll tell you
who I want here that evening.”
“Shucks,” said Charley Levering, “I never could dope out plays. On
paper, I mean.”
“As long as you dope them out on the field we’ll be satisfied,” replied
Mr. Cade. “I’m not looking for plays from you, Levering. We can find
plenty of those when we’re ready for them. What I want is ideas. You
know the team and you know pretty well what its merits are and what its
faults are. Credit it with speed. You can do that fairly enough, for
I’ll say frankly that you fellows look mighty good to me at that angle.
Then try to think up the sort of game we can best play to make full
use of that speed. Never mind trick plays and all that sort of thing.
Those will come later. Consider the Kenly game as a campaign and decide
how, if you were the General in command of our Army, you’d conduct it.
Not as to detail. A General can’t foresee the skirmishes, sometimes not
even the battles. The best he can do is plan. I’m hoping that some of
you will bring ideas that will help in determining our campaign. Two
heads are better than one, you know, and so eight ought to be still
better. Now, if any one likes Swiss cheese, made in Wisconsin, and
pilot bread and ginger ale, we’ll blow the whistle!”