"How about that fumble?" shouts every one else.
The announcer goes behind the scenes to talk it over with the man who
works the Punch-and-Judy, and emerges, smiling.
"In the play preceding the one just announced," he says, "Gumble
fumbled and the ball was recovered by Breakwater, who ran ten yards
for a touchdown--"
Pandemonium! The bond-salesman leads himself in a cheer. The witty man
says, "Nothing to it."
There is comparative quiet again, and every one lights up the old
pipes that have gone out.
The announcer steps forward with his hand raised as if to regulate
traffic.
"There was a mistake in the announcement just made," he says
pleasantly. "In place of 'touchdown' read 'touchback.' The ball is now
in play on the 20-yard line, and Kleenwell has just gone through
center for three yards."
By this time no one in the audience has any definite idea of where the
ball is or who has it. On the board it is hovering between midfield
and second base.
"On the next play Legly punts--"
"Block that punt! Block that punt!" warns the bond-salesman, as if it
were the announcer who was opposing Legly.
"Sit down, you poor fish!" is the consensus of opinion.
"Legly punts to Klung on the latter's 25-yard line, where the first
period ends."
And so it goes throughout the game; the announcer calling out gains
and the dummy football registering corresponding losses; Messrs. A.T.
Blevitch and L.H. Yank being wanted on the telephone in the middle of
forward passes; the noisy person in the back of the room yelling "Yea"
on the slightest provocation and being hushed up at each outbreak; and
every one wondering what the quarterback meant by calling for the
plays he did.
In smaller cities, where only a few are gathered together to hear the
results, things are not done on such an elaborate scale. The dummy
gridiron and the dummy announcer are done away with and the ten or a
dozen rooters cluster about the news ticker, most of them with the
intention of watching for just a few minutes and then going home or
back to the office. And they always wait for just one more play,
shifting from one foot to the other, until the game is over.
About a ticker only the three or four lucky ones can see the tape. The
rest have to stand on tip-toe and peer over the shoulders of the man
in front. They don't care. Some one will always read the results
aloud, just as a woman will read aloud the cut-ins at the movies. The
one who is doing the reading usually throws in little advance
predictions of his own when the news is slow in coming, with the
result that those in the back get the impression that the team has at
least a "varied attack," effecting at times a field goal and a forward
pass in the same play.
A critical period in the game, as it comes dribbling in over the
ticker, looks something like this:
YALE.PRINCTON.GAME....CHEKFMKL.......KLUNG.GOES.
AROUND.LEFT.END.FOR.A.GAIN.OF.YDS.....A.FORWARD.
PASS.TWEEDY.TO.KLUNG.NETS.....
(Ticker stops ticking).