Tommy Remington's Battle

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

As a consequence of this change of spirit, when the second half opened, Princeton found herself pushed down the field for small but decisive gains. In vain she attempted to stem the tide of that advance. It seemed certain that Lawrenceville must score, and their partisans cheered themselves hoarse. But Princeton made a stand on her ten-yard line, rendered desperate by prospect of defeat, succeeded in getting the ball, and, by a long punt down the field, placed her goal out of danger. How Princeton cheered as that ball sailed twisting through the air!

For a time after that it was nip and tuck in the middle of the field, and, as the minutes passed, Blake knew that the time for play was getting dangerously short. If anything was to be done, it must be done without delay. He looked his men over with calculating eye. Undoubtedly Remington was the only man for the play, for he seemed quite fresh, despite the rough time he had been having with the man against him. Blake looked at his bright eyes, firm-set lips, and distended nostrils, and made up his mind on the instant. He took advantage of the first opportunity, during a moment’s intermission while one of the boys was rubbing a twisted ankle, to outline his plan.

“Now, Remington,” he said in a whisper, “I’m going to let you run with the ball. We’ll push it as far down the field as we can, then, after the third down, Reeves, here, will pass it to you. Put all your steam into your legs, old man. I’ll give the other boys the word.”

Tommy went back to his place with a queer tingling at his heart. Ordinarily the men in the line do not get a chance so to distinguish themselves. It is the half-backs and the full-back who make the so-called “grand-stand plays”—those long, zigzagging runs down the field with the ball which raise the spectators out of their seats, and send flags to waving and men to shouting. The average looker-on, knowing little of the inwardness of the game, does not appreciate the hard work which the men in the line are doing every minute of the time—there is nothing showy about it, nothing spectacular; it is merely downright hard work. So Tommy, knowing that this would be his one chance, determined to make the most of it.

Lawrenceville, nerved by the thought of a final effort, made three good gains, carrying the ball to Princeton’s twenty-five-yard line. But the Princeton captain had seen Blake’s conferences with his men, and suspecting that something was about to happen, passed the word around to his players to be on their guard. They made a desperate stand, and succeeded in holding Lawrenceville for the second and third downs. Reeves pinched Tommy’s leg to remind him that his time had come—as if he had any need of a reminder! He took a deep breath, there came a quick signal from Blake, and in an instant he was off, with the ball tucked snugly under his arm.

As he sprang forward, he saw the guard opposite him whirled violently to one side, and he knew that the other members of the team were clearing his way. He saw one of the Princeton backs before him, but he, too, was thrown aside; and then Tommy saw that it was Blake himself who was interfering for him. Away down the field in front he saw the Princeton full-back sweeping toward him, and behind him came the pounding of many feet. Whether they were friend or foe he did not know, and he dared not glance around, but they seemed ominously near. Dimly and confusedly he heard the cheering of the crowd. Then the full-back was upon him. Tommy remembered the advice little Reeves had given him, and sprang full at his opponent at the instant he stooped to the tackle. Together they were hurled to earth, Tommy clutching the ball with a grip only death would have loosened. He tried to hitch himself along toward the goal-post just ahead—so near he could almost touch it. He gained a foot—two feet—a yard—with those desperate hands still clinging to his legs; and then, just as a crushing avalanche of men fell on him, he stretched the ball forward at full-arm length and called:

“Down!”

There was an anxious minute as the referee untangled the heap in order to get at the ball. At the bottom he found Tommy still grasping it tightly, and Blake gave a yell of triumph as he saw it.

“It’s a touchdown, fellows!” he cried. “It’s six inches over the line!”

Tommy, gasping for breath, heard the words, and for an instant his head fell forward in the sheer exhaustion of joy. Then it seemed that a thousand hands were lifting him, and when he opened his eyes a minute later, he found himself on the shoulders of a yelling mob which was parading around the field. They paused for an instant to watch Reeves kick the goal, and then started off again like madmen.