“There is where you make your mistake. Those men are in earnest, and they are enthusiastic, but each one has his particular department, his particular set of men to handle, and they are working to bring these men to the acme of perfection.”
“Well, what’s the matter with that?”
“The matter with it is that not a single coacher seems to realize the result of this persistent hammering on the men during these last days.”
“Well, if you see so much, show your wisdom.”
“Instead of driving those men like drag-horses, they should be worked with the utmost care just now. They should do just enough to keep themselves in the best possible condition, without going over the limit the least bit. If a man fails to make a perfect punt, he should not be kept punting till he is sore and lame and tired and disgusted. If a man makes a bad tackle, he should not be forced to tackle till there’s not a good square breath left in his body. If a man fumbles, he should not be forced to fall on the ball till he’s too dizzy to stand without wabbling.”
“Is that so?”
“That is so! The men are being injured, instead of improved, in these last days. They should be kept at signal-work, they should study intricate plays, but they should not be pounded over the field till there’s not enough energy left in them to enable them to walk straight for a distance of ten feet. You must know, Lorrimer, that overtraining is just as fatal as undertraining.”
The manager did not speak.
“While I was on the team,” pursued Frank, “my mouth was closed—to a large extent.”
“You got it open once too often.”