Final Contests--Track Work.
After training for weeks one begins to look for some satisfactory
results. It is about this time that the boys who have made a special
study of track work, under the guidance of a clever instructor, can
begin to feel enough confidence in his work to warrant his entering for
the final contests.
Oftentimes the boy with the shortest legs has the keenest desire to
enter for the standing broad jump. Is it his fault if his legs have not
kept pace with his will and brain? You really feel the truest sympathy
for him because he always falls an inch or two short. Again he tries,
but no go. How can he help it? His spirit is willing, but his legs too
short.
The big boy with legs so long that he looks like an animated compass as
he strides along is the next to try.
Now you have pinned your faith to him. If he, with those legs, cannot go
in and wrest the honors, then who can? He makes a brave enough start,
but jumps so wildly that he falls, scattering the dirt all over without
gaining enough inches to speak of.
Next to step forward is a spare-built medium sized boy, about the frying
size, with not one ounce of flesh to spare, fine bones, slim little
ankles, broad chest, good eye for measurement and plenty of strength to
carry him over. His followers have great belief in him and frankly tell
him they depend upon his work to gain their side so many extra points.
Sometimes if we endow a man with all kinds of virtues, he will really
try and live up to them, if only to show us that he can make good.
Again he will make good because he wants to do so, both for his own sake
and ours. This boy was of that type, loved to do the best in his power
to oblige his friends and also because it pleased himself.
He made good, as we all knew he would, winning for his side far more
points than they deserved.
The excitement grew so that it was necessary to appoint deputy sheriffs
to keep the peace.
All morning were the running, jumping, hurdle races, short sprints, long
sprints, broad jumps, standing high, hop skip and jump, every jump known
to mankind and a lot that are not known.
The only jump that I did not see done was the one we all are very
familiar with, viz., "Jumping to a conclusion," and the reason that was
not practised was that there was no prize offered for it.
The next event on the schedule was junior running races. All of the
little fellows who had ambition enough, combined with wind and muscle,
were entered. It is one thing to think you can run a race, but quite
another thing to keep on going after the first excitement is over.
All you can think of as you run, run, run, is the beating of your heart,
your breath growing shorter, a sharp pain running through the calves of
your legs, a nasty stitch in your side, and then the worst and hardest
sound of all, the breathing of the fellow behind you. You feel without
looking back that he is gaining on you at every yard.
"If you can only keep going," is your unspoken prayer, until you are
around the next turn. "Go it, old boy," you hear them yell. You don't
know whether it is intended for you or for the man behind you. Anyway
it spurs you on. Why shouldn't you take that yell for encouragement for
you? As you turn into the home stretch, the boys who are friendly to you
run alongside on the infield cheering and pacing you right up to the
wire. Oh! thank goodness, you have broken right through the line, to
fall, happy though exhausted, into the arms of your friends.
One race after another is run off during the morning. It matters not
whether it is a junior, intermediate or senior race; the same rules and
regulations hold good, fair play, no crowding and handicaps where
needed. Then at the signal every man to do the best he can, win if
possible, never quit unless taken ill, run the race through, even though
it is a losing one for you.
In every race there can only be one winner, several who are placed, and
the rest are grouped under one head and called "also rans."
Whether it is horses or men the same spirit prevails. The horse with
grit will go ahead. Sometimes his shoes don't fit. His bridle is not
properly adjusted, hurting his poor mouth fearfully and causing it to
bleed. His harness is loose where it ought to be tight. Tight where it
ought to be loose. The driver is far more of a brute than the beast he
is driving, and yet you will see, in spite of all these drawbacks, that
horse, with so much grit, such a game sport, that he will come in
winning by a nose, though afterwards one can see him being led to his
stable with drooping head and limping feet.
The same with a boy. If he has the pluck, grit, gameness, call it what
you like, he will go ahead in spite of all obstacles; win if possible,
come second if that is the best he can do, and if he lose, why, then he
will look the world in the face knowing he has done his level best.
Separate Games.
Throwing the discus is another manly sport that calls for splendid
muscular action, accurate balancing, steady nerves, good eyes and quick
action.
This game, old as the hills, is still very popular. Its followers try to
play it in both a scientific and artistic manner, taking poses that
remind us of Greek gods. There is keen competition between the
contestants, and prizes are awarded the winners.
Putting the Shot.
This game might have been handed down from the time of David, who so
cleverly put his shot that Goliath was killed, to the surprise and joy
of his enemies. Like throwing the discus, it calls for strength, speed
and courage. It is a particularly good exercise for the arm and shoulder
muscles, but being rather strenuous, is a game for the older boys, who
enjoy it very much. Like all other games at Camp, prizes are awarded for
the best record.
Quoits.
Still another of the good old games that is as popular on sea as on
land. The only difference is that the rings are made of rope for sea use
while of iron for those on shore.
On board ship it looks quite easy to throw the ring over the stick, but
what with the motion of the vessel and poor calculation, it more often
rolls to one side than makes a ringer.
On shore it is not so easy, either. The ground, from being pounded so
often by the iron quoits, becomes powdery, the stake is harder to find
as the player finds out. One ringer, out of a dozen throws, would be
called very fine playing.
It is lots of sport; good to train the eye for measuring distances, the
arms to curb their strength, just as the least little bit too much
muscle sends the quoits 'way off, and last, teaches one to have infinite
patience.
Shuffle Board.
Like quoits, we play this game at Camp as well as at sea. Compare our
dandy big table at Camp with firm floor to stand on with the deck of a
ship. You cannot begin to make the scores at sea that you can on land.
With the best of intentions you send your board along, thinking it will
send your opponents off while giving you an added score. Does it do that
for you? Well, not always. Most of the time yours goes off or stays on
the wrong square, deducting your score while adding to theirs.
On our table at Camp the chances are better for both sides. We play many
a spirited game for fun during the season. When the final contests take
place this indoor game, as well as any other one, has its turn. Sides
are chosen, the losers dropping out while the winners play each other.
When the contestants get down to two men the final game is played. As
usual, the winner receives a prize.
For the smaller fry the games of checkers, dominoes, etc., etc., offer a
chance to even the littlest Camper to compete and win a prize.
Most of the boys would engage in these pastimes for fun, even if there
was not any reward offered, but the promise of some prize always stirs
up the indolent and timid boy.
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