Over the Line

by Harold M. Sherman

The day of the game dawned with a miserable wet rain falling. The Canton High team and five hundred raving rooters arrived by special train at ten in the morning. Nothing seemed to dampen their spirits. They came with the intention of winning a decisive victory and having a big time in the doing.

Judd, hollow-eyed from loss of sleep through dread of the approaching conflict, met with other members of the team at eleven o'clock. Most of the boys were in good spirits. The coach had insisted that they eat at a training table and that he supervise the last meal eaten before the big game. He always got the boys in uniform early and gave them an opportunity to wear off the first wave of excitement before the game was called.

Blackwell managed to sit next to Billings. He saw that Judd was almost beside himself with nervousness, playing with his food and making a sorry pretense of eating.

"I—I'd give anything if I could get out of this…"

"No you wouldn't," prompted Blackwell, "You'd be ashamed of yourself for the rest of your life … and you know it."

Judd hung his head. He had to confess that what Blackwell said was true. Now that he had waged the fight against himself, there was a certain growing spirit which refused to let him stop. He had thought that he would quit on the last night of scrimmage but the next night found him out taking a light signal practice with the team. It was as if he had started an automobile and then wished to stop it only to find that it had gotten beyond his control. The situation was terrifying.

When Judd dressed for the game he took a white slip of paper from his wallet and folded it inside his head gear. Some of the players saw him do it and one asked, "What's that for, a shock absorber?" The question was a harmless thrust but Judd flushed guiltily. They certainly would kid him if they knew what it really was!

In the distance could be heard the yells of the rival schools and the blare of the school bands. Overhead, in the lulls, could be heard the monotonous drip of the rain. What a day for a football game! The gridiron was water-soaked and soggy. A person would get covered with dirt and wet to the skin. Nothing inviting about that to Judd.

"Fellows, I've been your coach for seven years. There has never been a game in all my experience that I have wanted to win more than this one. We will be outweighed; we will be faced by a team of veterans; but we will not be outspirited. Trumbull has always possessed the spirit that never says die. I know that every man on the first team will be out there … when his chance comes … giving everything he has for old Trumbull…." The coach's eyes passed over every boy in the squad, pausing just a moment to rest upon Billings, then moving on quickly.

The last pointed words of the coach failed to impress Judd. He seemed in a daze. Could it be possible that he was actually a sub on the first team and that he might be called upon to play? The thoughts of honor had not come to him … of fighting for his school … of fighting for anything in particular. But he did want to fight to live up to the contract … to the belief that a few people had in him.