On Your Mark! A Story of College Life and Athletics

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER VI

  "RIGHT GUARD BACK!"

  November started in with an Indian summer, but by the middle of themonth the spell had broken, and a week of hard, driving rain succeededthe bright weather. Until then Allan had spent almost every afternoonon the cinder-track, running the half mile at good speed, doing themile and a half inside his time, occasionally practising sprinting,and, once a week, jogging around until he had left nine laps behind himand had covered a quarter of a mile over his distance.

  For by this time Kernahan had decided that the two-mile event was whathe was cut out for, but promised him, nevertheless, that at the indoorathletic meeting, in February, he should be allowed to try both themile and the two miles. The trainer's instruction had already betteredAllan's form; his stride had lost in length and gained in speed andgrace until it became a subject for admiring comment among the fellows.

  The Purple, in an article on Fall Work of the Track Team Candidates,hailed "Ware '07" as "a most promising runner, and one who hasimproved rapidly in form since the Fall Handicaps until at present heeasily leads the distance men in that feature. It is Mr. Kernahan'sintention," concluded the Purple, "to develop Ware as a two-miler,since this year, as in several years past, there is a dearth offirst-class material for this distance."

  But the rains put an end to the track work, as they put an end to alloutdoor activities save football, and training was practically droppedby the candidates. On three occasions, when the clouds temporarilyceased emptying themselves onto a sodden earth, the middle and longdistance candidates were sent on cross-country jogs and straggled homeat dusk, very wet and muddy, and much out of temper. A week beforeThanksgiving the sky became less gloomy and a sharp frost froze theearth till it rang like metal underfoot.

  It was on one such day, a Saturday, that the Robinson freshman footballteam came to town and, headed by a brass band, marched out to thefield to do battle with the Erskine youngsters. The varsity team hadjourneyed from home to play Artmouth, and consequently the freshmancontest drew the entire college and town, and enthusiasm reignedsupreme in spite of the fact that a Robinson victory was acknowledgedto be a foregone conclusion.

  Allan and Tommy Sweet watched the game from the side lines; Tommy, withnote-book in hand, darting hither and thither from one point of vantageto another, and Allan vainly striving to keep up with him. The latterhad gained admission beyond the ropes by posing as Tommy's assistant;the assistance rendered consisted principally of listening to Tommy'sbreathless comment on the game.

  "Oh, rotten!" Tommy would snarl. "Two yards more!... Oh; perfectlyrotten!... See that pass? See it? What? Eh, what?... Now, watch this!Watch-- What'd I say? Good work, Seven!... Now, that's playing!...Third down and one to-- What's that? Lost it? Lost nothing! Why,look where the ball is! How can they have lost-- Hey! how's that foroff-side? Just watch that Robinson left end; look! See that?... Threeyards right through the center! What was Burley doing?... Well, heregoes for a touch-down. There's no help now!... Another yard!... Twomore!... Did they make it? Did they?... _Hi-i-i! Our ball!_"

  It was a very pretty game, after all, and when the first half endedwith the score only 5 to 0, in the visitors' favor, Erskine's hoperevived, and during the intermission there was much talk of tyingthe score, while some few extremely optimistic watchers hinted atan Erskine victory. Considering the fact that the purple-clad teamwas twelve pounds lighter than its opponent, this was a good deal toexpect, and Tommy, a fair example of conservative opinion, declaredthat the best he looked for was to have the second half end withthe score as it then stood. But a good many guesses went wrong thatafternoon.

  Erskine had played on the defensive during the first half, and when,after receiving Robinson's kick-off, she punted the ball without tryingto run it back, it seemed that she was continuing her former tactics.The punt was a good one and was caught on Robinson's thirty-yard line.The Brown accepted the challenge and returned the kick. It went toErskine's forty-five yards. Again Poor punted, and the ball sailed downto the Brown's fifteen yards, where it was gathered into a half-back'sarms. Erskine had gained largely in the two exchanges of punts, and hersupporters cheered loudly, while Robinson, realizing discretion to bethe better part of valor, refrained from further kicking and ran theball back ten yards before she was downed.

  And then, as in the first period of play, she began to advance thepigskin by fierce plunges at the Erskine line. But now there was aperceptible difference in results, a difference recognized by thespectators after the first two attacks. Robinson wasn't making muchheadway. Twice she barely made her distance; the third time she failedby six inches and, amidst cheering plainly heard on the campus, Erskinetook the ball on her opponent's twenty-five yards. The first plungenetted a bare yard, yet it carried the ball out of the checker-board,and a line-man dropped back. Tommy set up a shout.

  "It's Burley! They're going to play him back of the line!"

  There was no doubt about it's being Burley. He loomed far above therest of the backs, and even when, his hands on the full-back's hips, hedoubled himself up for the charge, he was still the biggest object onthe field. The stands danced with delight.

  So far there had been no hint of the big right guard taking part in thetandem attacks; in fact, his presence on the team was doubtful untilthe last moment, for Burley's development as a football player had beendiscouragingly slow, in spite of his weight and strength and cheerfulwillingness. Even yet he possessed only a partial understanding of thegame. He did what he was told to do, and did it as hard as he knewhow; that constituted the extent of his science. The stands composedthemselves, and breathless suspense reigned. Poor's shrill pipe washeard reeling off the signals, and then--

  Then the advance began.

  Robinson had played hard every moment of the first thirty-five minutes,and she had played on the offensive. Erskine had played hard too, buther playing had been defensive. To attack is more tiring than to repelattack, and now what difference there was in condition was in Erskine'sfavor. Her defensive tactics were suddenly abandoned, and from thatmoment to the final whistle she forced the fighting every instant ofthe time.

  Peter Burley was, to use Tommy's broken, breathless words, "simplygreat." He knew little or nothing about line-plunging. He didn't do anyof the things coaches instruct backs to do. He merely waded into andthrough the opponents, without bothering his head with the nicetiesof play. If the hole was there, well and good; he went through it andemerged on the other side with half the Robinson team clinging tohim. If the hole wasn't there, well and good again; he went throughjust the same, only he didn't go so far. But there was always a goodgain--sometimes a yard, sometimes two, sometimes three or four.

  When the whistle blew, Burley climbed to his feet and ambled back tohis position, unruffled and unheeding of the bruises that fell to hisshare. Nine plunges brought the ball to Robinson's five yards. Therethe Brown line held for an instant. The first down netted a bare yard,the second brought scarcely as much. The cheering, which had beencontinuous from the first attack, died down, and a great silence fell.Tommy was nibbling the corner off his note-book, and Allan, kneelingbeside him, was nervously biting his lip. Poor drew Burley and thebacks aside for a whispered consultation. Then the players took theirpositions again, and--

  Presto! Erskine had scored!

  Without signals, the tandem had plunged onto the Robinson left tackle,Burley's leather head-guard had been seen for an instant tossinghigh above a struggling mass, and then had disappeared, and chaoshad reigned until the referee's whistle commanded a cessation ofhostilities. When the piled-up mass was removed, Burley was foundserenely hugging the ball to his chest a yard over the line.

  While the stands cavorted and cheered, Poor kicked the goal. Erskinewas already victorious, and Robinson's youngsters seemed to realizethe fact. For, though they fought valiantly and doggedly for twentyminutes longer, it was evident that they no longer looked for victory.With every repulse their defense grew perceptibly weaker, while theirrivals, as though th
ey had husbanded their strength until now, madeeach attack fiercer than the one before, until in the last ten minutesof the contest they simply drove the Brown before them at will. Longbefore the game was at an end the stands began to empty; there wassmall pleasure in seeing a defeated enemy humbled. When the finalwhistle blew, the score stood 17 to 5, and Peter Burley, breathing hardthrough bleeding and swollen lips, said "he guessed he was ready tohave his oats and be bedded down."