"No, Madam," he said, "it is a game of football, and they kick off at 2.30," and off he ran.
On this particular day the Reds won, to the everlasting sorrow of the Blues.
Boys are nice chaps, anyhow. Just as soon as the game is over there is not one bit of hard feeling between victor and vanquished. They shake hands, say better luck next time and are ready for the next game.
If we could carry that spirit with us out into the world, what a lot of good it would do us, as well as the other poor soul who has lost in the game of life. At least let us try and give the other chap a fair show, a run for his money, so to say. Then if we do come out ahead it won't matter so much. A kind word, a loving thought, means a lot to the chap who has lost, while to us it affords some satisfaction to have won modestly, not to fly on the top of the fence, flap our wings and crow like the victorious cock.
