Change Signals: A Story of the New Football

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Yardley had made one change in her line-up. Jensen had replaced Stark at right tackle. Broadwood held Yardley for two downs; took a penalty for off-side play and wrested the ball away almost in midfield. Then she began her real attack. Reid and Rhodes, the heavy artillery, crashed into and through the Blue line for short gains, and Raynor, lighter and first cousin to a streak of lightning, broke around tackle and past the wings for yards at a time. Broadwood’s adherents shouted themselves hoarse with joy. Down past the thirty yards went the enemy, Yardley fighting stubbornly and contesting every foot of ground but yielding nevertheless. It was a terrific onslaught and Those Who Knew on the Yardley side looked grave. But down on the twenty-five the defense grew firmer, the gains shorter. The secondary defense, playing close up, stopped what leaked past the outer breastworks. A yard now; then two; then—

“Third down; seven to go!” cried the umpire.

Yardley stood up to a man on the boards and shouted imploringly: “Hold ’em! Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” And from across the trampled field came the frenzied cries of the enemy; “Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!”

Broadwood meant to try a forward pass, but the ball went back badly, trickled away from the quarter and was pounced on by Fogg. How Yardley yelled when they saw the Green’s quarter trot up the field with hanging head! Norton dropped back as if to kick, but Dan, running behind the line, took the ball at a toss from Simms and cut through between tackle and end. He was clean away before the play was solved, and then it was up to Saunders, the Green’s quarter to prevent a score. But near the forty-yard line Dan swung sharply past him as he dived, shook off a detaining hand and streaked straight down the field and under the crossbar for a touchdown, a half-dozen Broadwood pursuers trailing behind!

What a pandemonium broke loose then on the Yardley stand! Caps flew into the air, the big drum boomed, flags darted and snapped! Beyond the rope two cheer leaders, clasped closely together, danced and cavorted, and the Second Team fellows were jumping around like maniacs. Near at hand, Mr. Payson strolling along the line, pulled his pipe from his pocket, filled it with steady fingers and took his first smoke that day. Even the fact that Hammel missed the goal failed to leaven the joy.

But Broadwood wasn’t ready to acknowledge defeat. Back she went as savagely as ever, but Yardley seemed to have found herself now and, while she couldn’t always stop the Green, she made the going much more difficult. Broadwood lost the ball presently on a fumble and Yardley started back the way she had come. Simms was holding nothing back now. Every play he knew was called on. But the opponents were well blessed with that football sense that enables a team to “size up” a play even while it is getting under way, and few of Payson’s pet tricks netted real gains. It was elemental football that won the most ground for Yardley, plays in which Roeder or Hammel banged, smashed and wormed themselves through the opposing line. Stearns, too, found his holes and did his best. Forty-eight yards went the Blue without a pause, just winning their distance time and again by inches only. Then came a mix-up of signals and Roeder was thrown heavily three yards behind his line.

It took him a minute or two to get his breath back and the Yardley supporters waited anxiously. But presently he was up again, shaking his head like a bulldog who has had the worst of a battle, and a wild shout of joy hurtled across to him. A forward pass, Simms to Norton, gained seven yards, and the whistle blew for the end of the quarter.

The ball was carried to the other end of the field and in a minute or two later they were at it again. It was Yardley’s ball on Broadwood’s seventeen-yard line and nothing, it seemed, could prevent a second score for the Blue. But something did. Something turned a decisive victory into a probable defeat. With four yards to go on second down, Roeder fumbled. Simms fell on the ball. It was third down and eight to go. Roeder plunged straight at right tackle, the line wavered and gave, cries and tumult filled the air. The whistle blew. Somewhere at the bottom of a pile of players lay the ball—and Tom Roeder. When they found the former it lacked a foot of being where it should have been for a first down, and when they found Tom they turned him over and held him quiet while the doctor ran onto the field. It was a blow on the head, or possibly a kick, and Tom was of no more use that day. He was borne off between two substitutes, his head lolling on his shoulder, the little doctor striding along briskly behind, while a great cheer went up for “Roeder! Roeder! Roeder!”

In sped Fayette to take his place. But Fortune had dealt hardly with the Blue. She had lost her best back and she had lost the ball on that play. Broadwood got through for six yards on a fake kick, gained two more around Norton’s end and made her distance through Jensen. But on the next play she was thrown back, and, as the ball was still perilously close to her goal-line, Captain Bishop dropped back and got off a wonderful punt. Down went the Broadwood ends, with Dan and Norton blocking them off. Dan disposed of his man, Scott, right tackle, but Furniss got away from Norton and by the time Simms was under the ball Furniss was ready for Simms. Bishop, meanwhile, had followed his kick very closely, and when the ball descended into Simms’s arms Furniss tackled savagely. The pigskin bounded away. Dan and Bishop both made for it, but Bishop was nearer. The Broadwood captain took it on the bound, squirmed past Dan, and streaked for the goal-line, thirty yards away. It was a close race, and had the distance been forty yards instead of thirty Dan would have brought down his quarry. But as it was Bishop plunged over the last white mark just before Dan’s arms wrapped themselves about him, and the score was tied!