“You give him his first lesson, Sexton,” he said. “Tell him what it’s all about, and let him watch the other fellows awhile, until he catches on a little.”
So Sexton told Tommy about the game: How it is played by two teams each of eleven members, whose object it is to force the ball, an oblong sphere of pigskin, down the field before them, until they carry it past the end of the field, or gridiron. This is called making a “touchdown,” and scores five points. How the ball is then taken out into the field again and kicked, and if it passes between the two uprights and over the bar which are fixed at the end of the field, it is called a “goal,” and scores another point. How if the ball is kicked over the bar from the field while it is in play, it is called “kicking a goal from field,” and also counts five points. Many other niceties of the game Sexton told him, which need not be set down here, and when the candidates for the team were ready to line up, he had a pretty good idea of what they were going to try to do. He watched them take their places and kick off the ball, and was soon shouting up and down the side-lines with the best of them. He had never seen such a game, and it appealed to his every instinct for good, hearty, honest strife and exertion.
“All right, Remington; come on out here,” called Blake, presently, and Tommy ran out. “Now you’re to play left guard,” continued Blake. “You stand right here next to the center. Now the minute you see the ball snapped back, you push this man opposite you out of the way, and charge ahead. If anybody else tries to tackle you, block him off this way with your elbows”; and Blake suited the action to the word. “Of course,” he added, “in a real game you wouldn’t be tackled unless they thought you had the ball, but just now I’m going to break you in a little, so that you’ll learn something about tackling for yourself.”
“All right,” said Tommy, and took his place in the line.
“Now keep your eye on the ball, fellows,” cautioned Blake. “One-six-eight-eleven.”
Tommy had no idea what the string of numbers meant, but he saw the ball snapped back, and he threw himself forward with all his strength. The man opposite him went down like a ninepin, and Tommy caught a glimpse of a little fellow jumping at him with extended arms, and wondered at his temerity. Somebody grasped him about the knees, clung to him with tenacious grip, and down they went in a heap. Two or three others fell over him, and then they slowly disentangled themselves.
“Good work, Remington. Good tackle, Reeves,” commented Blake, briefly; and Tommy saw it was the little fellow who had brought him down with such apparent ease.
“Say, that was game!” said Tommy.
Little Reeves smiled.
“Oh, it was easy enough. You weren’t going fast. Why didn’t you jump?”