DEFEAT
Monday was an easy day for both First Team and Scrub, but on Tuesday
the hard grind began again. “Cocky” never let a session go by without
trotting his squad over to the tackling dummy, and Clif, for one, had
grown to hate that limp and headless object with an almost passionate
intensity. Perhaps this was largely because his tackling was not of the
best and didn’t seem to improve with practice. Mr. Babcock frequently
told him that he would never become a really good end until he could
make his tackles surer. Secretly, though, Clif considered that he did
as well as Jeff Adams, who had asserted his right to the left end
position, and a heap better than a lot of the others. He wished he
might convince Mr. Babcock of it!
The field was a busy place now, for the third gridiron was in use
by the class teams, and from around the corner of East Hall floated
frantic shouts and commanding bellows and the thud of booted balls.
Practice over there was intensive, for, since there were four squads
and but one gridiron, they worked two teams at a time, limiting that
time to an hour.
On Monday the Scrub was enlarged by the addition of Joe Craigie, a
guard candidate released by Coach Otis. The First was getting its
stride now, and most of the positions were settled on. The impression
that this was to be another winning year was gaining ground daily, for
the team was ahead of the season in development and coming steadily.
Mr. Otis, switching from last year tactics, was building his attack
around Fargo. Last season, playing very modern football indeed, Wyndham
had been beaten; although the defeat was attributable to the renowned
Grosfawk rather than to Wyndham’s offense. A coach must build his game
about his material, and “G. G.’s” principal assets this year were a
powerful fullback who was seldom stopped without some gain and a flashy
halfback, Jensen, who had a positive genius for finding fissures in the
enemy line and making chasms of them. So, while the passing and running
games were not neglected, it was the old, reliable line-bucking style
of play that the Head Coach was teaching the First. And this meant that
the Scrub had to stand some tough onslaughts those days. It was lucky
for the Second that its line held such weighty, non-breakable veterans
as Clem Henning and “Babe” and “Wink” and Al Greene and Jimmy Ames, for
a lighter or less experienced lot of forwards would never have stood
the strain. When “Big Bill” Fargo smashed in, you knew without being
told or reading about it that something had happened!
Mr. Otis had sought to provide a strong, heavy line, sacrificing
something of speed in the effort, and Raiford and Higgs and Quinlan,
early season probabilities, had been put aside in favor of sturdier
men. Billy Desmond seemed sure of right guard position, Carlson was
in center in place of Higgs, and Weldon had ousted Raiford at right
tackle. It was only at the end positions that “G. G.” placed speed
above brawn, and Archer and Drayton were first choices there. Stoddard
still had a perceptible edge on Houston at quarter, while Whitemill and
Sproule were fighting for left half back’s place.
On Thursday the Scrub was instructed to use one forward-pass in every
three plays in order that the First might work up a better defense
before meeting Horner Academy on Saturday. Clif, who had shown fair
ability as a receiver of thrown balls, came through with only an
ensanguined nose, a strained wrist and a few minor abrasions, and
considered himself lucky. He accused Tom of trying to kill him off by
putting him into almost every forward-pass, but he was really very much
tickled. One of the passes gave Clif a seventeen-yard run and led to
the only score made by the Scrub that week. But most of the attempts to
gain by the aerial route failed, for Coach Otis had worked out a very
satisfactory defense and it was difficult for Tom and Sim to find an
eligible and uncovered man to throw to. Although the Scrub was given
the ball many times when she hadn’t earned it, the First held it some
of the time and didn’t have very much trouble in making two touchdowns
and a like number of field-goals. Friday saw another hard session and
then, on Saturday, Nemesis in the shape of some twenty-five husky
youths with blue-and-brown-striped stockings came along and upset
calculations horribly. Horner came from a long way off, but a hard
railway journey had not hurt them a bit, it seemed.
Wyndham scored first, in the second quarter, when, held firmly on
Horner’s nineteen yards, Stoddard kicked a goal from the twenty-eight.
But that was the last of such performances, for after that the game
was all Horner. The Blue-and-Brown took the ball on its forty-two when
the third quarter arrived and rushed it straight down to Wyndham’s
twenty-six, using off-tackle and round the end plays varied with one
forward-pass that was good for eight yards. Wyndham held for two downs
and then succumbed before a tricky play that should have been either a
kick or a pass and was a quick quarterback plunge at center that landed
the ball just short of the required distance. A wedge on the left of
the dark blue line made it first down, and from the fifteen Horner took
the ball over in six plays, battering at Desmond and Weldon until the
right of the Wyndham line finally crumpled and the last charge yielded
four long yards and a touchdown.
“G. G.” replaced Desmond with Smythe and, still later, sent half a
dozen other substitutes dribbling in. But Horner couldn’t be seriously
dented between tackles, and although, as a final desperate enterprise,
“G. G.” sent Sproule in for Whitemill with instructions to round the
ends, Wyndham came no nearer another score than the enemy’s thirty-two
yards, from where, well along in the fourth quarter, “Big Bill” made
a desperate and well-nigh hopeless try for a goal from placement. The
ball came down near the five-yard line. Horner was still not through,
and in the last six minutes of the twelve-minute period, she added
insult to injury by plowing her way from midfield, where she had taken
a short punt, to the seventeen yards and, when stubbornly held there,
shooting a forward toss over the middle of the line for another score.
As a doughty fullback kicked an easy goal after each touchdown the
final humiliating score was 14 to 3.
Well, a team can’t always win, and Wyndham had feared Horner beforehand.
Unfortunately, though, she hadn’t feared her enough. Wyndham’s defense
against the forward-pass, which had worked nicely when opposed to her
Scrub, had failed badly. Horner had tried the air three times and each
time had succeeded. Her style of passing was, however, different from
the Scrub’s, and the First had failed to solve it. Evidently, then,
there was still much to be learned as to protection against the passing
game. Even Coach Otis’s big line of forwards hadn’t gained much glory.
More than one Horner plunge had torn it wide apart, while the enemy’s
persistent attack on Desmond and Weldon had shown conclusively that the
right side needed something at present lacking. Wyndham’s ends had been
boxed time after time, and even “Big Bill,” the pride and boast of the
School, had fallen down badly on the defense. Altogether, then, the
coaches had much to ruminate on that Saturday evening. Especially as
Horner Academy then rated about 60 to Wolcott’s 100!
But other things besides football games and practicings occurred during
that week preceding Wyndham’s first defeat. For instance, there was
a stupendous chess combat between Loring and Tom. That took place on
Wednesday evening. Clif had almost despaired of inducing Tom to visit
Loring. Tom was studiedly indifferent on Sunday and Monday, agreeing
with his chum that it was extremely likely that Loring Deane could
beat him at chess. Tom stated humbly that he really wasn’t much of a
player. Clif contradicted the assertion indignantly, almost spoiling
his conspiracy by declaring that maybe Tom could lick Loring after
all. On Tuesday, having recovered from an attack of jealousy, Tom said
that a fellow who didn’t have much else to do but play chess ought to
be pretty good at it. On Wednesday he capitulated and followed Clif
over to East Hall when supper was over. No one could well help being
attracted to Loring, and Tom forgot his prejudice instantly. Soon they
were seated with the chess-board between them and the game was on.
Clif watched, at first with interest, then, as time passed, merely
for want of other occupation. Wattles was not present. After serving
Loring’s supper――Loring had all his meals in his room――he was free
until half-past nine, at which time he returned to get the boy to bed.
Sometimes Wattles went to the village and attended the moving pictures,
but more frequently he was to be found in the library or reading room
in West Hall. Clif wished he were present. Talking to Wattles would be
far more amusing than watching the interminable game.
When, finally, Loring won, Clif got the impression that the host would
have preferred to lose. Loring was almost apologetic and found numerous
excuses for Tom. Tom, however, was a good loser, and he refused to take
refuge behind the excuses. “Heck,” he said, “you just played better
chess, Deane. Where I made my mistake――”
And then they played the whole thing all over again, and had scarcely
more than finished when the gong warned of study hour!
The next evening Tom hurried through his supper and was almost
impatient with Clif because the latter, in spite of many honorable
wounds received in battle that afternoon, was hungry and insisted on
satisfying his appetite. When they got to Loring’s room that youth
was still eating, and Tom had to wait a good ten minutes while Loring
finished and Wattles removed the tray and the small table was placed
close to Loring’s chair. Then another battle began, and Clif selected
one of the books on football and fairly turned his back on the game.
This time, though, the contest was soon over, for Loring made a
fatal mistake soon after the start. As there was scarcely time for
another, the chessmen were put away, Clif returned the book he had
been reading to the shelf and they talked. Presently Tom asked to see
the collection of football diagrams of which Clif had told him and the
rest of the time was spent in discussing them. Tom was loud in his
praise of them, but he thought some of them not workable, and that led
to a three-cornered discussion during which the chess-board was again
produced and several plays were rehearsed. Tom proved his contention
with regard to one of them and Loring cheerfully crumpled a sheet of
paper up and tossed it into the waste-basket. Going back to West, Tom
confided to his companion that Loring Deane knew a lot of football and
that it was a plaguey shame he couldn’t get out and play like other
fellows.
By the last of that week going over to Loring’s after supper had become
a habit with Clif and Tom, and by Saturday evening the intimacy had
reached the point where the chums were calling Loring by his first name
and Loring was saying “Tom” and “Clif” quite naturally. Discussion of
the First Team’s defeat by Horner delayed the chess game that evening,
to Clif’s delight, and the subject was well thrashed out between them
before the board was set out on the little table. In an argument
between Tom and Loring on the subject of Stoddard’s choice of plays,
Loring, in Clif’s opinion, won conclusively.
“Well, maybe he made mistakes,” Tom conceded at last, “but he’s better
than Houston, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” answered Loring, “but neither of them is my idea of a
corking quarter. But then, I’m not keen on their style, anyway.”
“How do you mean, Loring?” Clif asked.
“I mean that if I were a football coach I wouldn’t ask my quarterback
to carry the ball much. Football’s a lot like war, Clif. The coach
is the commander-in-chief who lays out the plan of the battle. The
quarterback is the general who carries out his orders. But the coach
can’t plan in detail because there’s no way to know beforehand what
situations will arise. That’s where the quarter is called on for
generalship. There’s no chance to confer with the coach. He’s got to
size up each situation as it arrives and decide what to do. It’s up to
him to move his forces so as to win. I’ve never played quarterback,
but I think I know pretty well what a quarter’s up against. He’s got
to consider a lot of things, such as the situation of the ball in
regard to the goals and the side lines, the number of the down, the
distance to be gained, the strength and weakness of the enemy, the
ability and condition of his backs, a dozen more things. And he’s got
to reach a decision in mighty short time usually. Well, now I think
all that’s quite enough to saddle one fellow with when his side is on
the offensive. He’s got enough to do without being called on to carry
the ball, and if he was my quarter he wouldn’t be asked to get into
the interference too often. If he could run the team I wouldn’t care
whether he ever gained a foot of ground himself. Just knowing what
plays to call and calling them correctly and keeping his team fighting
every minute――why, I’d forgive him even if he wasn’t a wonder on
defense. He could fumble a punt now and then and I’d still call him a
corking quarter!”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Tom. “Still, lots of fellows can run the team
and carry the ball, too. Some of the finest quarterbacks have been
all-around men.”
“I know, but they aren’t so numerous, Tom. The average fellow,
especially if he is prep school age, can’t do a lot of things at once
and do them all well. Any quarter, I don’t care who he is, will be of
more value to his team if he just has to run it and isn’t expected to
carry the ball himself.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Tom doubtfully. “If he’s a cracker-jack
runner and hard to stop――”
“Make him a halfback then and find another quarter,” said Loring.
“Yes, but he might have ability to run the team, too,” objected Tom.
“No, I don’t believe I agree with you, Loring. I’ve seen some mighty
good quarters who could do both things.”
“I’m not saying there haven’t been some or won’t be more,” replied
Loring pleasantly. “But they’re the exceptions. A fellow only has one
brain and it will hold only so much. When he tries to get too much into
it he crowds it. If he has too much on his mind he’s bound to trip
up now and then, and now and then is far too often. To-day Stoddard
wouldn’t have made three or four glaring mistakes in judgment if he’d
had only the running of the team to think about. I’ve never played the
game, Tom, but you can’t make me believe that a fellow, the average
fellow, anyhow, can take the ball, run thirty yards with it, dodging
three or four tacklers, be thrown hard and sat on and then get up with
a clear head and know almost instantly what the next play ought to be!”
“He surely can’t,” agreed Clif. “I think you’re dead right, Loring.”
“Heck, might as well let the quarter sit on the bench alongside the
coach, then,” grumbled Tom. “Nothing to do but call his signals!”
“Why not do away with the quarter entirely?” asked Loring, laughing.
“Let the coach run the team from the side-line by radio!”
“Fine,” applauded Clif. “Then, if he lost his game, he could blame it
on static!”
“Well, we’ve got a quarter who knows both branches of his trade pretty
well,” said Clif. “Sim’s a mighty fine player, I think.”
“That’s Jackson?” asked Loring. “He’s the dark-haired chap, isn’t he?
Well, have you ever noticed how seldom he takes the ball himself?”
Tom blinked. “I guess we haven’t got many plays for quarterback,” he
answered. Then he caught an amused twinkle in Loring’s eyes. “Oh, come
on and let’s play,” he laughed.