Broadwood sent over a good big number of “rooters” armed with flags, who did noble work with their lungs. But as Yardley had turned out almost to a man, the odds were too great in a contest of noise. The gymnasium was packed and jammed, downstairs and up, and the singing and cheering began half an hour before the time set for the game. Broadwood used one of her football songs with good effect. The verses didn’t amount to much, but the refrain, howled by a hundred throats, was always effective:
“Oh, what’ll we do to Yardley, to Yardley, to Yardley?
Oh, what’ll we do to Yardley?
(An eloquent and dramatic pause.)
Well, really, I’d rather not say!”
And Yardley hurled back one of her own gridiron odes defiantly:
“Old Yardley has the men, my boy,
Old Yardley has the steam,
Old Yardley has the pluck and sand,
Old Yardley has the team!
Old Yardley can’t be beat, my boy,
She’s bound to win the game!
So give a cheer for Yardley and
Hats off to Yardley’s fame!”
Tom, captain and center, played the game of his school life that night. If one imagined him slow, one had only to watch him for a moment on a gymnasium floor between the baskets. He was the quickest slow person that ever imitated a streak of lightning! And he pulled his team along with him in a way that was beautiful to behold. Things began to happen right at the start. The first basket came less than a minute after the whistle had blown, resulting from a wonderful rush down the floor by Tom and Derrick followed by a swift shot by the latter. Then Broadwood gathered herself together and tightened up her defense. Her men for a while covered so closely that not even Tom could get away, and the ball hovered around the middle of the floor. Then one of the Yardley players was caught holding and Broadwood, amidst shouts of joy from the wavers of the green flags, scored a goal from foul. For several minutes there was no more scoring. Twice Yardley had the ball under her rival’s basket. Once a poor shot lost them the score. The next time Broadwood “mixed it up” so strenuously that there was no chance to shoot. Then a Broadwood boy stole the ball and charged down the hall almost alone. But the Yardley defense was not napping, and a blue-shirt charged into the enemy just in time to spoil the throw. After that Broadwood seemed to get rattled, for Yardley scored thrice from the floor, one basket by Tom being sent from almost half the length of the gymnasium and bringing the supporters of the home team to their feet with a roar of delight. The half ended with the score eight to one, and it looked like a pretty certain thing for the Yardley five.
But Broadwood still shouted and sang defiantly, and when the teams lined up and play began again it was soon evident that the Broadwood coach had been saying things out there in the dressing room. For Broadwood’s team play began to be in evidence again, and although for a while she played more on the defense than attack, it was plain to be seen that Yardley would have to work hard to keep from being scored on.
Broadwood’s chance came in the middle of the period. A well-arranged rush down the floor, with all her attack taking part, brought the ball to Yardley’s basket and, although the guards rushed to the rescue, a tall Broadwood youth managed to shake himself free, reach up, and almost drop the ball through the mesh. With the score eight to three, Broadwood felt encouraged and started in to add to her tally. But Yardley played desperately, if somewhat wildly, and although Broadwood was now making raid after raid on the Blue’s goal, all her tries were spoiled. But Yardley twice infringed the rules and from her two free tries Broadwood secured one goal, increasing her total to four. This was followed by a double foul, a Broadwood and a Yardley player becoming rather too enthusiastic in their efforts, and again Broadwood added one to her tally, Yardley missing the basket by a bare inch. That made the score five to eight, and Broadwood’s cheers broke forth anew and a little forest of green flags appeared. The ball went back to center. Tom clapped his hands.
“Now then, fellows, settle down! No more fouls! Break this up!”
The big round clock over the running gallery showed that something like six minutes remained as the referee blew his whistle again and the ball shot into the air. Both centers leaped and struck, and a small Broadwood youth caught the ball as it came down near the side-line, squirmed away from his opponent, dribbled a few steps, and passed across the floor. But the next man was closely covered and the ball bounded away from him and popped into the eager hands of Tom.