# Football for Player and Spectator/Chapter 4

Football from the spectator's point of view
Football the spectacle--where in athletic competitions, ancient, mediaeval or modern do you find its equal? The ease with which the general principle of the game is comprehended by the spectator, the facility afforded for every individual of the thousands assembled to see every play, the contagious enthusiasm that sweeps the most blasé into the fever of excitement that is prevalent on every side--all combine to make the struggle on the gridiron one of absorbing interest.
Let us join the multitude that annually flocks to the scene of one of the contests which form the closing and most important features of a football season.
It is a bright November day, warm enough for comfort in the sunshine but sufficiently crisp to tell us that we should be well wrapped up for the two hours, more or less, that we are to spend on the field. We mingle in the crowd of undergraduates, alumni, invited friends of the students and other devotees of football who are wending their way to the athletic field. Many of them have traveled hundreds of miles to be present today. Some of them are "Old Grads" who, heroes of the gridiron battles of former years, are back at the scene of their old triumphs and disappointments for the big athletic event of the year. Members of the faculty are in the throng. A carriage passes, bearing the venerable president of the University. In a compact body are moving a regiment of students from the visiting university which is the foe today. They flaunt their colors, and their songs alternate with their college cheer. Townspeople, excursionists, sportsmen of all sorts--they are all going to see the game.
Our seats have been selected weeks ago, so there is no occasion to take part in the hurly-burly that attends the acquisition of a place in the general admission stands, for a good view of the game is indispensable. We soon make our way to our places, the sun at our backs, the field sweeping down past us, fifty-five yards on either side.
Although it is still a half-hour before the game will begin, the crowd is already here. The gridiron--for the old name still sticks to the field of play in spite of its present checker-board form--is resplendent in its glaring lines of white, the center of an amphitheatre that seems a continuous bank of people from end to end and from side to side. To the left and right of us and across the ends of the field--everywhere but in that one section directly across from us--gleam the colors of the school whose supporters we are. Over there though, dark against the lighter surroundings, stand out the flags and streamers of the supporters of the visiting team. Outnumbered hopelessly when it comes to a show of vocal enthusiasm, they have gathered together and their cheer, clean cut and following to perfection every movement of the cane of their yell-master, sounds a plucky defiance to the flood of sound that is regularly evoked by the batons of the leaders of the home school who are distributed along our front.
Song follows song, some the music of the old epics of the school, handed down for many years, some of it verses especially manufactured for the occasion by the student bards, and practiced until letter- if not note-perfect at many a mass meeting.
A gate opens at the farther end of the grounds, there is a vociferous cheer from the nearest section and the team in whose success our hopes are centered, trots out on the field, to be met by a tumult of welcome. Big fellows they are, stout of limb and victors through the season over every team they have met. From the other entrance to the gridiron the visitors enter and they seem every bit as strong and fit to maintain the undefeated record which they also boast this year. Footballs are produced, the two teams form in large circles in different parts of the field and begin to toss the ovals about in rapid succession, while the enthusiasts in stands and bleachers cheer their heroes till it seems as if their throats would be insufficient for the strain which one or the other side, if not both, will have to bear through the game that is not yet begun.
From each team a man detaches himself and, with a man in citizens' clothes, looks over the field. He is the captain and his companion is the coach. He tests the consistency of the surface of the field, notes the direction of the wind, the effects of the sunshine and the other conditions which, if properly observed, will give one side an advantage over the other at some stage in the progress of the game. A couple of wet spots are carefully noted, for in a close game these things may mean victory or defeat. There is a fresh breeze from the west and this makes it practically certain that the west goal will be selected by the captain who wins the toss. The effect of the opening rush is most important, for it is a remarkable team that can summon enough reserve power to win a game after having been played off its feet in the opening half. Later in the day, too, the wind will probably lighten, so the advantage will be less important then.
But look! The captains rejoin their teams, the elevens line up in battle array, a signal is called by each of the quarter backs and the lines charge down the field, each practicing the plays that are to be relied on today to bring victory.
Observe, my friend, these twenty-two young men who are to do their best for their schools in the game today. It is no small honor for a man to be selected for duty at such a time as this. Some of them have been denying themselves the creature comforts of life for years, undergoing training that the Spartan of ancient times might have gloried in, just for this chance. In this throng are friends, brothers, sisters--yes sweethearts--who have eyes for but one out there on the field. They trust him today. He knows it and, glorying in his strength, is determined to do or die in this game which is upon us. Over there on that bench where the substitutes sit there are many sore hearts this day, for, when a man is selected to play one of those eleven positions, a full half-dozen are downcast in disappointment.
But the game must soon be started. The signal practice changes a bit and each side passes the ball to its chosen kicker, to allow him a final test of his ability. The captains toss the coin for the choice of goals and the visitors win. The whistle of the referee calls the teams into position and the contest is on.
From now on till this game is finished, each of the twenty-two young men out there will have but one ambition--the transportation of the ball across the enemy's goal line. The objective point of our own team is the final white line over there to the left, while the enemy's eleven will strive in the opposite direction. Each man on each team will have a part to perform, whether it be the carrying of the ball himself or assisting his comrades, and unless each man does that part his team will fail in its attempts. There is one main way in which the ball is legally advanced. This is in the arms of a runner. Passed from hand to hand it may be, and each scrimmage necessarily starts that way, but the passes must never be made in the direction of the opponents' goal. As a last resort the ball may be kicked forward but this, as a rule, only when progress by the regular plan seems impossible. In but two other ways can points be scored: One when a team is able to propel the ball by drop-kicks or by a kick from placement above that bar at the center of the goal line and between the posts which form a capital H at each end; the other method being when one side voluntarily touches the ball down behind its own goal. This is termed a safety and counts two points for the opponents. It is but rarely seen, however, in the big games.
Squarely in front of us forms our team, stretching across the field along the 55-yard line which marks the middle. In the exact center the ball is carefully stood on end, ready for the kick-off, which is the method of putting it in play. Defending the west goal the visiting team, which has won the choice of positions, is so disposed in scattered array over the half of the field that the kick which is coming, regardless of its direction, may fall into the ready arms of some waiting player.
Once more the referee's whistle blows. In front of us the line charges forward and in its middle the kicker meets the ball with the swing of his foot and sends it high in air, straight for the enemy's goal posts.
The full back of the visiting team stands under the goal, arms outstretched. A half-dozen of the others form in front of him. He catches the ball and sprints up the field in the middle of that solid phalanx, running it back. For 15 yards the formation pursues an uninterrupted course. Then one of our tackles plunges low into the interference, the first obstacle which it has met. He is trampled under foot, but another man follows, and then four or five more. The phalanx is broken, but out behind circles the runner, now relying on his own efforts to make the gain longer. From the side darts in one of our ends, launching himself at the runner's knees. The man with the ball tries to dodge but it is too late. Down they go together. The play is stopped.
The referee's whistle blows again and the visitors line up with the ball in their possession. The name of the tackler is cheered from ten thousand throats.
The teams are now playing on the 25-yard line of the visitors. To score against us, the ball must be carried to the opposite end of the field, across the goal line of the home eleven, or else cleverly kicked by drop or placement, between our goal posts. It is a long distance to be gained but there is plenty of time to accomplish the feat if the enemy's eleven has the grit and power to do it.
Watch the referee. He is the official who has charge of the ball and who, assisted by the linesmen who do the measuring, decides whether it has been legally advanced or not and how far. On the opposite end of the line is the umpire. He is the one who notes the actions of the men in each play, guarding against any infraction of the rules which prescribe in detail the lawful ways in which each of these young giants may use his strength, for the play must be clean and the interpretation of the rules is always strict.
You will now see the use of the chalk lines which, five yards apart, cross the entire field. The visitors have no right to maintain possession of the ball if in three trials they fail to carry it at least the five yards intervening between two of these lines. Failing to do this, they will afford our young heroes their opportunity.
Only less important are the lines which divide the field longitudinally. Also five yards apart, these lines assist the officials in limiting the play to strict observance of the rule which makes it obligatory for runners receiving the ball on direct pass from the center to circle at least five yards before progressing toward the opponents' goal.
Note the way the men line up for the scrimmage, the visitors in offensive array--for they have the ball--our men on defense, the line of battle being in each case the one which, with a few variations, has proven the best in the judgment of the men who have made the game a life study.
The centers, as their names imply, are the center men of each line. On either side of them are the guards and outside these, the tackles. The men on the extremities of each line are, quite logically, the ends. The side with the ball, you will note, however, has drawn its ends close in to the general formation, while ours are ranging wide. The men playing the positions mentioned comprise what is technically known as the line, differentiating them from the other four members of the eleven, who are termed backs. The quarter back is the man immediately behind the center. On offense, when his side is carrying the ball, he calls the signals which tell the players of a team, in a language which they alone understand, the play to be employed, the man who will carry the ball and the direction in which he is to carry it. The quarter, when ready, takes the ball from his center, who passes it back between his legs, and, in turn, passes it on again, always backward--for a forward pass is illegal--to the back who is selected to carry it into the enemy's country. The rest assist the runner in the manner in which they have been taught. Frequently in the progress of a game a member of the line is called back to relieve the backs in carrying the ball and their linesmen block opponents out of their way on offense, while the defensive line endeavors to stop the play. On the defense, half backs take the places ours have now--back of the tackles to assist the ends, for this is a frequent point of attack. The full back of the attacking side stands directly behind the quarter, with the halves on either side of him, while our full back is 30 yards or so behind his own line, waiting for a possible punt and acting as a final line of defense, should the opposing runner succeed in carrying the ball past the rest of his comrades.
The location of the ball forms an imaginary line between the teams, across which no player may charge till the oval is snapped by the center.
But watch! The enemy's quarter has called his signal, the ball is snapped back by the center and the left half back, who takes the ball from the quarter, surrounded by the other backs there to protect him from tacklers, charges obliquely across and into our left tackle. Our own half rushes forward to meet the interference and dives into it. Circling around behind the mêlée, which has now been charged by our left tackle also, the runner with the ball emerges all alone and turns toward our goal. Our end closes in, leaps for the runner's knees and throws him fiercely to the ground. The whistle again and the referee calls out, "Second down, three yards to gain". The foe has traveled two yards of that long trip toward our goal.
Again the signals, again the passing, again the rush, but this time it is the enemy's full hack who takes the ball. He plunges straight ahead for our center as if the line of men before him had no existence. Between our center and one of the guards, the runner's line men have made a big hole and through it dashes the man with the ball, to fall into the arms of our quarter back, whom he drags a short distance before being downed.
"First down, five yards to gain", again sings out the referee. The rush has netted the requisite distance without the third attempt and the foe can now begin all over again. On all sides of us the home team is adjured to "Hold them", while from the hostile camp across the gridiron rings out a stentorian cheer for the man who made the gain and the school for which he made it.
Again the full back assaults our center, but this time, with a thud of human bone and muscle, plainly audible where we sit, he is stopped as solidly as if it had been a brick wall instead of a human rampart which he was battering with his head and shoulders. Again the human missile is launched at our center and again the gallant fellow stops the play, although the runner manages to wiggle a scant yard while he is falling.
Once more rings out the signal. The foe's formation suddenly changes. The backs form a wedge with the full back, ten yards back of the center, at the open end. It is the formation for a punt, the kick productive of the greatest possible distance and the inevitable result when a team fails to gain by carrying the ball. Another futile attempt at the ends or the line would have handed over possession of the ball to our team with but 30 yards to travel to a touchdown, and this would have been poor generalship.
Back from the center comes the ball as the kicker holds out his hands and on that instant our men charge. The ball, dropped from his hands and meeting the kicker's foot just before it reaches the ground, is booted high in air and down the field. Under it scurries our own full back, 50 yards behind his own line, while his comrades in front of him are doing their best to keep the opponents from getting through in time to make a tackle far down the field. The catch is beautifully executed and the runner starts sprint ing back. One of the enemy's ends does succeed in getting through, however, and rushes to meet him. The full back dodges, eludes him and comes tearing up the field while, all about us, men are urging him on. Friend and foe now mingle alike before him, one helping him, another endeavoring to bring him down. Full 30 yards he comes and then, dodging one tackler, rushes right into the arms of another. It is our ball and our turn to carry the oval.
But that visiting team has a defense that is every bit as strong as its supporters have told us. Twice our plays are thrown back and it becomes the duty of our quarter to call for a kick, as theirs did a few minutes ago. The punt sails high in air, although not so far as the effort of the opposing full back, who has the assistance of the wind. The oval twists deceptively and seems to travel a spiral course. The man in the enemy's backfield, there to catch it, runs in, stretches out his arms, misjudges a bit and the ball strikes him, falls, takes a bound to the side and rolls away.
"A fumble", shriek ten thousand throats. Like a shot, through the rush of men one of our ends tears in, dives for the ball, rolling over and over. He grasps it in both arms and tries to regain his feet for a run to the opponents' goal, but there is a man who throws himself at him and flattens him to earth again. It is our ball, however, but 15 yards from the goal, and a touchdown almost within our grasp. Can the team make it?
Almost before the enemy's eleven has recovered from the consternation into which the fumble has thrown it, our men sweep them off their feet again. Straight through the center tears our full back for six yards on the first down. Our left half turns three yards more around their end. We have them on the run and our wise little captain knows it. Through the line the full back again plows his furrow, and when he is stopped there is but a yard left to go. Once more the full back is called on but this time the desperate foe is waiting for him and he fails. An attempt at an end run is also thrown back by our plucky foe. It is do or die this time. There is a feint of two or three men at one end, the enemy's defense is drawn away from the center, and once more the full back, with but two men helping him this time, assaults this position.
The play is in plain sight of every spectator except those directly in front of it. Thousands of people give a mighty shove as if to help the runner. He goes through, he keeps going. He falls over the line. It is a touchdown, the regular method of scoring, and the scene in the stands and bleachers beggars description. The undergraduates cheer and do it in defiance of the yell masters who vainly try to infuse into the demonstration some of the system which has been so prominent up to this time. Women shriek, men of middle age throw their hats high in air and forget what directions the headgear take. It is simply pandemonium.
But the referee pulls off the men, and our captain, with a chosen player, accurate in kicking ability, walks out in direct line with where the ball was carried across the goal line. The touchdown has scored us five points. If a goal can be secured by a place-kick, one more point will be added. About 25 yards from the line, almost in front of the goal, the little captain stretches himself prostrate, holding the ball at arm's length a scant inch above the ground. The opponents line up on their goal line. The kicker measures his distance. With an almost imperceptible motion the ball is lowered to the ground, the foot meets it and the opposing ranks rush forward to block the kick. Squarely over the bar and between the posts sails the ball. The score is 6 to 0.
But there is no rest for the players and, having changed goals, they speedily line up for another kick-off. This time it is the opponents who have the chance to start the play, and our men scatter themselves over their half of the field to handle the kick-off. The kick is made and caught and the runner is downed.
The pride of the home university again carry the ball toward the opponents' goal.
But this time the entire length of the field stretches out before them. These visitors have gotten over their panic and are playing the game. A punt is necessary at our 35-yard line and the enemy's little quarter catches truly and circles wide. Watch him, for he is fleet of foot and a famous dodger. One of our ends makes a dive for him with outstretched arms, but grasps nothing but empty air. Clear back to the line of scrimmage he twists, dodges and runs through that open field. From far down near his own goal our full back rushes to intercept him. It is the last chance for a tackle. Right down the edge of the field tears the runner with the ball. There is no room to dodge this time without carrying the ball out of bounds. A clutch follows the dive and the man with the ball rolls over the sideline, stopped, but only after a 40-yard run that is destined to be chronicled as the feature play of the game.
If you are an old habitué of the football bleachers, my friend, you have found a moment in which to take your glance away from that flying runner to the section across the field where his friends are herded, comparatively quiet through all the play that has come before. The glance is well worth the reward. The moments while that runner was tearing down the field were sweet ones over there. Still as the Pacific on a calm day, the dark-hued banners had rested, streamers down, through the gloom that had preced ed. The change is something wonderful. A volcano suddenly sprung into activity could not seeth or roar like that. It is their first chance and how they are making the most of it. But we return their cheer for their runner, with one for the man who made the tackle and saved an almost certain touchdown, then settling our eyes on the visitors' eleven to see what they will do now within striking distance of our goal.
Thirty yards from our goal line the visitors walk back into the field, the referee pacing off 15 yards toward the middle where the teams line up again. Can we hold them?
A half back rushes straight for our goal from his position on the side nearer the center of the field, but is thrown for a gain so slight as to be practically nothing. A wide circling run places the ball squarely in mid-field but no closer to the goal line. It is the third down and the cheers for the plucky defense are deafening. They cannot rush our line; so much is certain, yet there is something else which they may accomplish.
The enemy forms for a drop kick. Back from the center comes the ball, squarely into the hands of the full back, well behind his line. Clear to the ground in front of him the kicker drops the ball, as he swings his foot, while our warriors charge through in a vain endeavor to block the kick. The ball strikes the ground, the foot meets it with a steady swing and the oval rises high, spinning like a top. On it floats, perfectly in line with its desired course. It clears the bar with a foot or two to spare and again the visitors split their throats, while the thousands about us are silent. It has scored four points for the enemy, but we are still ahead, and our captain brings the ball out to the center of the field, there to be kicked off again.
Had the kick missed, a touchback would have resulted, which would have entitled the home team to the ball. It would then have been brought out 25 yards and there kicked again, but back toward the enemy's goal, in order to place it in play again.
It is a great game, and the remainder of the 35 minutes in the first half--for the teams are playing the full length of time allowed by the rules--sees neither team gaining a perceptible advantage, although the school for whose victory the majority of the big crowd is praying is undoubtedly the better on the line of scrimmage. The presence of so fine a kicker on the enemy's eleven makes the contest still doubtful, although he will have to sacrifice some of his accuracy and distance in the half that is coming on account of the change in goals, which will make it necessary for him to kick against the wind.
It is plainly evident in the opening minutes of the second half, after the ten-minute rest is over, that our captain believes he has discovered the enemy's real weakness. Right tackle seems the destination of more than half the plays which our men start, and they gain steadily. From the kick-off the ball is taken straight up the field, the backs handling the oval cleanly and the interference being well nigh perfect. The tackle who is bearing the brunt of the terrific attack lies prostrate on the ground after every play and is plainly weakening under the human bombardment. On his own 30-yard line the visitors' captain calls a halt. With tears in his eyes and sobbing like a little child, the unfortunate tackle wraps a blanket about him and is guided off the field, while a substitute, wild with joy at his chance, rushes in to take his phace.
But the recruit is the possessor of a zeal that is dangerous. Before our center snaps the ball the new tackle charges and meets the ball behind our line. He tackles the runner and throws him for a loss, but the eagle eye of the umpire has seen the infraction of the rules, for no player of either side may cross the scrimmage line before the ball is snapped. The umpire takes the ball in hand and paces off five yards toward the enemy's goal, giving us the ball again. The off-side play was a costly one.
Steadily we approach their goal line once more and their defense, while futile, increases in desperation. Our full back plunges through the line and emerges squarely in front of the defensive quarter. The visitor forgets himself in the frenzy of defeat that seems certain, and his clenched fist shoots home. The blow was covertly given but the umpire is there to see such things. There is another distance penalty and the young man guilty of the slugging is sent from the game, while both sides cheer the decision. Foul play has no part in clean football.
With the further weakening of the visiting eleven there is no chance for them longer to hope to win the game. Over and through them the plays travel regularly. Every formation plunges into the line. Our resourceful captain's plan of attack is just versatile enough to prevent anticipation, while still maintaining a uniformity that invariably yields results. From two to four yards and even more are gained on almost every down. Still the bombardment of that line with those missiles of human brawn continues.
The enemy's ends keep drawing closer to the main body, to relieve their harassed comrades. Suddenly that close formation in which our backs have been playing melts into a thin line that charges widely around in a sweeping circle. The little quarter back takes the ball from the center and this time hugs it to his own breast, scudding along without passing it. It is the direct pass run and it has been signalled at just the proper moment. Behind his flying rampart the quarter back speeds safely along. His interference carries him past everybody but the opposing full back, for the play has caught the enemy's ends out of their places. It is a tackle or a touchdown now, for this is the last line of defense.
The full back leaps forward to make the tackle and just as he plunges, the runner rises in air as if to heap an obstruction. The tackler is cleanly cleared in a spectacular manner and, with the cheers of the thousands deafening his ears, the runner crosses the line for a touchdown and five points more, after a thrilling run.
But the goal line was crossed far from the posts which mark the middle and an attempt to kick goal from the angle which results along such a perpendicular would be hazardous. Accordingly a punt-out is decided on.
In front of the goal and 10 to 20 yards from it, a half dozen of our men line up, while the full back stands, the ball in hand, right where the runner crossed the goal line. The full back punts the ball right into the midst of his comrades and the enemy charges, but all too late. One of the half backs has caught the punt and heeled it, making the place kick possible. The added point from the goal kick which follows is easily secured.
With the score 12 to 4 in our favor it seems certain that the game cannot now result in a defeat in the 15 minutes that remain to be played.
The side whose goal line has been crossed has the kick off, of course. Again we start our march toward their goal, far up the field. It is still a fight, every inch of it, but the visitors are playing now solely to save the name of their Alma Mater from disgrace. Defeat is certain, but the spirit of the team inspires its men to keep playing the game with a zeal that cannot but rouse our admiration. Occasionally their brace gives them possession of the ball and once their feared, fleet runner brings back a punt for a thrilling dash of 30 yards, but he cannot play the whole game alone to a successful conclusion.
Forgetful of the sting of defeat which may be ours some day, the great crowd still cheers every play. From across the field a loyal encouragement is still given by the visitors to their beaten team. The hopes of months are going down to defeat, but the men who are beaten have done their best and, when the final whistle is blown and the game is over, the players of each team gather close together and cheer each other after the style of true sportsmen who have tested each others' mettle with mutual respect.
Let us start homeward. It is time for us to prepare for the festivities of the evening. There will be lively times around the old campus tonight.