GRAFTON SCORES
The second team were not exempted from work on Saturday, rather to
their annoyance, and it wasn’t until the Rotan College game was nearly
half over that they were dismissed and allowed to flock over to the
first-team gridiron and crowd into seats at the end of the stand.
Rotan had already scored once and the board announced “Grafton
0――Visitors 7.”
Rotan was a small college, but it rather specialized in football and
its teams were invariably clever. Naturally the eleven blue-stockinged
youths averaged superior to Grafton in age, size, weight and
experience, and a defeat for the home team was a foregone conclusion.
Rotan had played a mid-season contest at Grafton regularly every fall
for six years, and in that period Grafton’s best performance was a
0 to 0 game four years previous. Rotan was a light team, as college
teams went, but it knew a lot of football and provided just the
experience that Coach Bonner desired for his charges at that period of
development.
It was soon apparent to the second team members that their champions
were in for a severe drubbing today. Rotan was using a wide-open
formation and running her backs around the Grafton wings about as
she pleased, varying this pastime by an occasional short punt and
a quarter-back plunge at the center. The Rotan backs were tall and
heavy and hard to stop even when the home-team players were fortunate
enough to get to them. But it was the dazzling unexpectedness of the
attack that was principally accountable for the helplessness of the
Scarlet-and-Gray. Rotan’s forwards would string across the field
almost from side line to side line, her backs would retreat ten and
even twelve yards behind them, there would come a quick, short signal,
the ball would go back, the back-field would start on the run to one
side or the other, the ball would be caught by one or another of the
moving backs, Grafton would come plunging through and then――well, then
a blue-armed youth would be suddenly seen running blithely away with
the pigskin tucked to his body and not a Graftonian nearer than five
yards! How they did it not even the spectators could see. They seemed
to possess an absolutely uncanny ability to guess where the openings
were to be. Hanser, who was Hugh’s neighbor on one side, muttered
disgustedly when a Rotan half had taken the ball over three white lines
and placed it twenty yards from the home team’s goal.
“Why doesn’t Ted play his ends deeper?” he asked. “What’s the idea of
tearing through and not knowing where the ball is? They can’t stop ’em
that way. What’s Bonner thinking of, I’d like to know.”
“It looks to me,” said Bellows, from further along, “as if those
fellows started before the ball. You watch this time, Frank.”
“I have watched, and they don’t. They’ve got it down pretty fine,
that’s all. That full-back does start before the ball, but he runs
back a little and he’s all right. Then when the ball is snapped he
straightens out again and half the time he doesn’t get into the play at
all. If one of those chaps would only fumble once it would be a cinch!”
“They won’t, though. They’re wizards at it. Watch the way they put
Kinley out every time. Musgrave too.”
“Yes, and look at our ends. Might as well be sitting on the bench for
all the good they do. If I was Ted I’d close the line up and make them
show their hand more. That was Neil Ayer. They’ll have to quit that
foolishness now, though. They won’t be able to run the ends inside the
twenty.”
Rotan didn’t try to. She closed up and piled her backs at the left of
the Grafton line and made three past Kinley and Franklin. She repeated
the play for two more and then tried a skin-tackle play off Ted
Trafford that worked for a scant yard. With four to go on fourth down
her full-back dropped behind to the thirty yards and held his long arms
out. But he didn’t kick when the ball came to him. Instead, there was a
straight heave across the center and for a breathless instant it seemed
that the visitors had again scored. But the end, who had managed to
post himself behind the goal line, couldn’t hold the ball when it came
to him and the pigskin changed hands.
Hugh watched interestedly then to see how Pop Driver and the
redoubtable Lambert were getting on. But the play was at the far end
of the field and details were beyond his vision. Two tries netted the
Scarlet-and-Gray less than five yards and Keyes punted high and far.
Roy Dresser nailed the Rotan quarter on the enemy’s thirty-eight and
once more Rotan started her open game. Four yards, eight yards, six
yards, and the linesmen scampered with the chain. So far Rotan had not
once tried a forward pass in the middle of the field, but when two
tries netted but seven yards, she gave a remarkable exhibition of her
ability in that department. The full-back went back to kicking position
and the ball sped fast and true to him. Then, with two backs forming
a tandem interference, he sped to the left. Tray, the Grafton right
end, failed to get through and it was Ted Trafford who almost upset
the runner well behind his line. But Ted’s tackle just failed and the
full-back stopped short, turned and heaved the pigskin far down the
field and to the right, where his own right end, quite uncovered, was
waiting. Nick Blake brought down the runner on his thirty-six yards
and won a salvo of applause. But after that there was no hope. Rotan
snaked through the Grafton left side, ran both ends, faked two kicks,
and finally, when the defenders fully expected a forward pass, massed
on the center of the line and piled through Musgrave for the second
touchdown. Rotan failed at goal and a moment later the half was at an
end.
“Thirteen to nothing, eh?” muttered Hanser, his eyes on the scoreboard.
“I guess I can pretty nearly predict the final score, Ordway. About
thirty-two to a goose-egg, I reckon. Rotan ought to be able to score
three more touchdowns and kick at least one goal.”
“Maybe we’ll buck up in the next half,” said Hugh hopefully.
“We’ll have to do a lot of bucking,” grunted Hanser as he pulled
himself from the seat. “I’m going down to look for a fellow. Keep my
seat, will you?”
School and village had turned out well for the game, and Rotan had
brought some half-hundred students with her, and so between halves
there was a good deal of cheering from both sides of the field, and the
visiting contingent sang a couple of songs and were politely applauded.
Then Hanser ploughed his way back to his seat, the teams trotted around
the corner of the stand and Rotan lined up for the kick-off.
Bert Winslow, playing back with Nick, caught the ball and ran it a good
twelve yards before he was spilled. Then Grafton, evidently smarting
under the coach’s remarks in the field house, went at it with a new
vim. Unable in the first half to make much headway through the blue
line, she began to bear down hard on the ends and tackles. The first
attempt gained many yards, but it was across the field instead of down
it, and the pigskin came to a pause on the same line from which it had
started. But the next attempt proved more successful, for, with Keyes
carrying, the pigskin slipped around the Rotan left end for a first
down. Then Bert plowed through between center and right guard for four
and Roy Dresser, on an end-around play, added another five. Keyes
plugged through on the left for enough to make the distance. By this
time Grafton was shouting enthusiastically in the stand and the ball
was past the center of the field and in Rotan territory.
Bert again made four on a delayed pass around the opponent’s right
wing, and once more Keyes, from kick formation, ran wide for a scant
gain. With four to go, Nick slipped straight ahead for two and then
Keyes faked a kick and made it first down. The ball was near Rotan
thirty-five yards now and visions of a touchdown floated before the
Grafton supporters. But when two tries had failed to yield more than
four yards and Keyes got a forward pass away to Roy Dresser and that
youth failed even to touch it, a punt was in order. Rotan caught on
her five yards but failed to gain. Then, since the play was now nearly
opposite his end of the stand, Hugh could watch the doings of Pop and
his adversary. And they were well worth noting.
Lambert was a big, rawboned fellow with a shock of yellow-brown hair
which, since he had lost his head-guard, made a vivid note of color.
It was evident to Hugh that both Pop and Lambert were engaged in a
private and personal rivalry that was of absorbing interest to them.
And both youths looked as if they had had hard wear. Lambert sported
a strip of plaster across his nose like a saddle and Pop had one very
discolored eye. On offense Lambert played well outside of Pop Driver,
for the Grafton line was no longer attempting to stretch as wide as the
opponent’s, and, theoretically at least, it was Captain Trafford who
should have engaged the shock-haired left guard. But Hugh noted with
amusement that almost every time it was Pop who tried conclusions with
Lambert, often, as it appeared, most impolitely ignoring the center’s
efforts to interest him. Hugh couldn’t see anything that looked like
slugging, however, in spite of the visible marks of combat. It was
merely a very pretty struggle for supremacy, with the honors fairly
even, Hugh concluded. But a few minutes later, when Rotan, having
failed at a run around Roy Dresser’s end and lost three yards on a
forward pass that went awry, finally punted to midfield and the two
teams lined up close to the fifty-yard line, he began to have his
doubts. With the ball in Grafton’s possession and the lines playing
close and compact, Lambert and Pop faced each other at arm’s length.
On the first play, a direct plunge at the guard position on the left,
Hugh, watching Pop and his adversary rather than the runner, saw
the rivals clash together and Lambert’s fist, under cover of the
confusion, jerk upwards to Pop’s chin. He almost, he thought, heard
the thud of the blow. He saw Pop’s head go back and Pop reel for an
instant. Then the Rotan line buckled and the whistle shrilled. Hugh
turned to Hanser, but it was evident that the incident had escaped
him just as it had apparently escaped everyone else, including the
officials.
“That chap Lambert there is slugging like the mischief,” said Hugh.
“Is he?” Hanser chuckled. “He’d better not try it on with Pop Driver,
then. Pop’s sore with him, anyway, after last year’s game.”
“I fancy he’s sorer now,” replied Hugh dryly, “for Lambert just drove
his fist under Pop’s chin.”
“Lambert did?” asked Hanser incredulously. “Did you see him?”
“Rather!”
“Then it’s good-by, Lambert, all right, all right! Pop’ll get him
before long.”
But the next play drew Pop further out and set him to boxing the
opposing tackle, and he and Lambert didn’t get together. Grafton lost
on an attempt at a skin-tackle play and Keyes went back to kicking
position. When the ball was passed from center Pop met the onslaught of
Lambert with all the weight of his body and bore him back far behind
his own line, to the annoyance of Lambert and the amusement of those
who watched. When the ball was sailing down the field Lambert was
still giving ground before Pop. Infuriated, he drew back his arm as
they separated and aimed a blow. But Pop ducked inside his guard and
Lambert’s fist shot harmlessly into air. For the space of two or three
seconds the two players stood there, their faces close, and Hugh could
see Pop’s lips move. Then, as a Rotan player shoved in between them,
Pop drew off and trotted down the field. Hugh wondered what he had said
to Lambert.
Rotan came back with a vengeance and eight plays put the pigskin back
where it had been. Then another long forward pass was successful and
once more Grafton was defending her last ditch. This time the enemy
had harder work getting across that last line, but cross it she did
eventually, her full-back dragging half the defending team with him
as he won the final three yards on a plunge through Yetter, who had
taken Kinley’s place at left guard. It was a fine mêlée, that play,
a confused jumble of writhing, pushing, panting bodies, and when the
whistle blew half the twenty-two contestants were heaped in a gorgeous
pyramid above the ball. One by one they were pulled to their feet while
the referee squirmed under the pile and located the pigskin a good
six inches past the line. But they didn’t all get up, either, for one
player with blue-stockinged legs remained prone on the trampled sod,
and when, a moment later, they raised his head and swashed the big
sponge over his face Hugh caught sight of a mass of yellow-brown hair.
“It’s Lambert!” he said awedly.
Hanser nodded. “I told you Pop would get him,” he replied. “You can’t
put your fist in Pop’s face like that and get away with it――not unless
you smile when you do it! I guess Lambert’s through. Yes, there he
goes. Looks a bit groggy, doesn’t he? And unless I’m mistaken he’s
wondering whether the goal post fell on him or he was trampled by a
stone-crusher.” Hanser chuckled. “He just tried it once too often,
that’s all.”
“I didn’t see anything,” said Hugh wonderingly.
“Nor anyone else, I guess, except Lambert, and he saw stars. Pop waited
until he could do it right and get away with it. If Pop handed him one
you can bet he deserved it, for Pop Driver’s as clean a player as there
is.”
Lambert, supported by a team-mate, was walking off the field, his legs
decidedly wobbly and his head showing an inclination to fall over on
his chest, and a substitute was being sent in. Then Rotan punted out,
caught neatly, and sent a clean kick over the bar for another point,
and the scoreboard changed its figures to 20.
There was no more scoring in that period and none in the last
until well toward the end. Coach Bonner had sprinkled substitutes
liberally by that time, and Rotan, too, was represented by a number of
second-string players. The visitor evidently concluded that she had
piled up a sufficient score and was bent only on holding her adversary
where she was. She punted on second down frequently and managed to
keep the ball in Grafton territory until there were but six minutes
left to play. Then a fumble by a substitute Rotan half-back changed
the complexion of affairs, for Parker, who had taken Franklin’s place
at left tackle, shot through and dropped on the pigskin and it was
Grafton’s on the enemy’s thirty-two yards!
Weston, second-choice quarter, dashed on with instructions and Nick
Blake yielded his head-guard and trotted off. In the stands, Grafton
sympathizers demanded a touchdown. The Scarlet-and-Gray began an
attack on the left of the Rotan center, where Lambert had yielded to
a substitute, and first Keyes and then Bert and Vail tore through for
short but substantial gains. Down to the twenty yards went the ball,
Rotan hurrying on two fresh players to bolster her line. A forward pass
gained four yards and Bert got six past left tackle. Weston carried
the ball on a delayed play straight through center for three more. But
on her seven yards, under the shadow of her goal, Rotan stiffened. Two
plunges at the left gained little, for the secondary defense stopped
the runner in each case, and Keyes dropped back to kick. Everything
favored a score then, but luck was against the home team, for Musgrave
passed miserably and all Keyes could do was make the catch safe and try
to gain a scant two or three yards before the enemy bowled him over.
It was fourth down now, with twelve to go, and, after a hurried
conference, Weston again sent Keyes back. But although a try-at-goal
was to be expected, Rotan was not to be caught napping, and she placed
her back-field players to guard against a forward pass. But the ball
never reached Keyes. Instead, it slanted off to Bert and, while the
big full-back gave a clever exhibition of a youth kicking an imaginary
pigskin, Bert circled wide to his right, Vail leading the way, and
turned in sharply where Tray had cleared the hole. There was an instant
of doubt, for a Rotan back dived for the runner and almost stopped
him, but Bert squirmed on, wrested himself free, crossed the five-yard
line unchallenged, and plunged on in a confused medley of friends and
foes. He was almost across when the Rotan quarter-back smashed into
him. Bert faltered then and gave back, but the next instant the drive
behind him carried him on again above the enemy and buried him from
sight well over the goal line.
Grafton waved and shouted and exulted, and continued to shout until
Weston was lying on the sod with the ball between his hands and Keyes
was cautiously measuring the distance and studying the cant. And
afterwards, when the ball had slanted off at a weird tangent, avoiding
the goal widely, Grafton shouted again, for what mattered it if Keyes
had missed? They had scored on Rotan, scored against a far bigger and
more experienced team, and the figures on the score-board were 6 and 20!
Something that did matter, however, although few paid heed to it just
then, was the fact that Bert had laid where he had fallen until Davy,
beckoning two substitutes from the bench, had had him borne away to the
field house.