Judd followed the other subs to a bench along the edge of the field. He sat down with Burton, second team quarterback, beside him. They watched the Trumbull eleven as it took the field amid a riotous welcoming from the umbrella packed stands. Judd studied the blue jerseyed youths of Canton in comparison with the dark red clad boys of Trumbull. It seemed to him that the Canton team was better drilled, the players moved with more snap and machine-like precision. Judd felt nervous and fidgety.
Trumbull won the toss and chose to kick off. There was a tense hum of sound as Barley, Trumbull quarterback, knelt and pointed the ball on a wet clod of dirt. Rudolph measured off the distance to kick. The opposing captains raised their arms, the referee's whistle shrilled, and the wall of red clad Trumbull warriors moved forward as the ball spun into the air.
Rudolph's kick carried to the ten yard line where Drake, Canton fullback, gathered it in and fell behind his quickly formed interference. He slipped and slid through the mud as he ran. A Trumbull player, meeting the solid phalanx at the twenty yard line, plunged low into the interference, being trampled under foot. But he succeeded in breaking the formation. Fellow team-mates tore into the advancing runners and the big fullback was downed on the thirty-five yard line after a brilliant opening run. The stands were in an uproar.
Judd had watched the play, being conscious of a peculiar pulsation in his throat. The very atmosphere seemed suddenly charged with fighting spirit … he saw the Trumbull team … now transformed into mighty gladiators … and he experienced a shocking sensation at the thought that he was one of them … in reserve.
Button pounded him on the back. "Wow! They failed to gain!" as the first onslaught of the Canton line was repulsed for a two yard loss.
Before the game was five minutes old it was sadly evident that today—of all days—weight was very likely to tell. The wet field was bound to greatly handicap the work of both teams. There would be little opportunity for fast, open field work or much passing. The plays would have to be through the line or around the end—straight football largely.
As the first quarter drew to a close, Canton had the ball on Trumbull's thirty yard line, benefiting by a series of punt exchanges. Holding desperately to prevent Canton gaining another first down, Trumbull was slowly but surely pushed backward through the mud. With one yard to go, Drake came crashing through center for three yards, battering his way with scarcely any interference to help him.
Judd seemed to feel each impact as the opposing lines strained against each other. He cringed inwardly as he heard the smack of Drake's collision with Barley, who brought the big fellow to earth. Canton's first down on Trumbull's eighteen yard line!
The first down seemed to give the heavier Canton team new life. They went to the attack with a savageness which was not to be denied. Using the sledge-hammer power of Drake … the Canton team pounded again and again at the Trumbull line. The players could scarcely be recognized for the mud with which they were bespattered.
Judd noticed Blackwell, hobbling up and down in his nervous eagerness, looking appealingly at the coach. But Coach Little shook his head. He was taking no chances by putting Blackwell in so long as there was no opportunity of his doing much good. Blackwell's value, in his present condition, would lie in his offensive ability—if he could be used at all. Judd wondered why Blackwell wanted to get into such a combat. He recoiled at the very thought that he might be called upon.