For the good of the team

by Ralph Henry Barbour

But there still remained nearly twenty minutes of playing time and, undaunted, Manning went back to the contest. Pearsall for the rest of that period seemed content to play on the defensive and punted whenever the ball fell into her hands in her own territory. Manning found the Blue line almost impregnable and was forced to use all the tricks in her bag to make her gains. But luck seemed against her. Forward passes failed and end runs were as often stopped behind the line as beyond it. Yet, by hook or by crook, the Cherry-and-Gray managed to make her distance four times before the whistle ended the third period, though never once reaching far into Pearsall territory. When the period ended the ball was Manning’s on her thirty-four yards, following a punt by the enemy.

Stuart, watching anxiously from the bench, squirmed time and again as the home team’s plays failed to gain and the minutes sped past. There was something psychological in Manning’s condition, and Stuart recognized the fact, although he didn’t use such a long word to describe it to himself. He merely said: “That touchdown has taken the starch right out of them!” It wasn’t that Manning didn’t try hard, for she did. Her men were fairly working themselves to death. But labor and skill, if ill applied, fail of their purpose, and Manning was somehow fighting blindly. Stuart recalled a movie comedy he had seen wherein a man had tried mightily to break through a door in a wall that ended ten feet further along. The team, he thought, was like that man. It was wasting its efforts trying to get through what might better be got around or over. It had tried to get around, to be sure, and it had tried to get over as well, but it hadn’t tried the right way. In running the ends it had been advertising the play beforehand, starting the runner from well behind the line and sweeping the interference along with him. Why, the veriest idiot could have told what was coming! As for her forward passes, he could find little fault with the execution of those. Sheer luck had spoiled them, it seemed. But the team did have a puzzling forward pass play which was well disguised as a half back run, and that had not been attempted. More than once he was moved to speak his thoughts to Coach Haynes, but always something held him back. After all, the Coach had eyes and doubtless saw just what Stuart saw. Perhaps when the fourth period began the Cherry-and-Gray team would find itself again.

While the teams changed fields and water carriers scampered to the side lines with pails and paper cups, Coach Haynes turned from a conference with The Laird and summoned Littlefield to him. A few brief words were exchanged and Billy, throwing off his blanket, ran on. No other change was made. Yet when Manning had wasted one play on an ill-fated attack at the Pearsall line on the left of center, she suddenly changed her tactics, and Stuart, observing, sighed his relief.

“Haynes has sent the right dope, I guess,” he confided to Lowe, beside him. “Now maybe we’ll see something.”

But Pearsall was not napping, and, although Littlefield sneaked through between tackle and end on the left, the gain was short. Another try outside of end went better, but fourth down found them shy three yards of the required ten, and Tasker booted. This time, catching near her twenty-five, her quarterback slammed to earth without gain by Muirgart, Pearsall didn’t kick on first down, nor yet on second or third. Instead, she began a hard drive on Manning’s left wing, hitting Brewton and Baker for short gains and then getting past Jack on the outside for nearly the distance. A fake kick and a quick slam at center gave her first down on her thirty-six. From there the Blue, abandoning defensive tactics, took the war into the enemy’s territory in just seven plays. Muirgart gave place to Jakin at left end and went limping off to the cheers of the Manning stand. Pearsall worked a quarterback run for eight and followed with a well-disguised forward-pass that landed the ball on Manning’s thirty-two. There, however, she hit a snag and, with a yard to go on fourth down, saw her backs piled up with no gain. Almost under the shadow of her goal, Manning took no risk of losing the ball, but, after one futile plunge at right tackle, punted.

Tasker got nearly fifty yards on that kick, and the Manning supporters yelled their relief and delight. Pearsall started back determinedly from her thirty-five, gained four around Jakin, gained one at the same end, made two through Irmo and again kicked. Littlefield caught on his twenty-seven and swept the ball back to the forty before he was stopped. Then began another brave attempt to reach the distant goal. Using C Formation, with the backs spread widely, Manning fought her way across midfield and started a determined march into the enemy country. With Tasker back as though to punt, Littlefield and Burns found gaps time and again and shot through the line only to be brought to earth by the secondary defense. Yet the short gains were consistent for awhile, and the pigskin went nearer and nearer the Blue’s goal. But the minutes were ticking themselves off with fatal rapidity, and as, past the thirty-five, the gains shortened, and, finally, Burns was thrown for a loss, Stuart knew that there was to be no victory for the home team to-day.

On the enemy’s thirty-two, with four to go on fourth down, Wheaton tried a desperate expedient. Given another five yards or so, he would be willing to risk a try for a goal from the field, and so, sending Le Gette back to kicking position and dropping to the ground as though to hold the ball for a place kick, Wheaton called his signals. Pearsall, alarmed, held herself ready to break through. Then the ball sped back into Wheaton’s hands. But instead of kicking it Le Gette only swung his foot past it, and the next moment Wheaton was on his feet stepping back, the pigskin poised for a throw. Then Jakin signaled and the ball sped across the line. It was a fine toss and a fine catch and although the left end did not get free, he made the twenty-two yards before he was smothered by the enemy.

The Manning stand saw victory waving, and such a shout went up from the throats of her devoted hundreds that even the wearied and jaded players felt the thrill. Manning was racing with Time now, for the linesman was slowly edging nearer and nearer, his eyes constantly dropping to the dial of the stop watch in his hand, and it seemed that Time must win. The two-minute period had already been announced, and more than twenty yards remained between the Cherry-and-Gray and a victory. Manning sprang quickly to position, but not so quickly that the time she consumed did not seem interminable to the anxious watchers. Pearsall was less inclined to speed, but the opponent made her hustle. Littlefield tried hard to gain off tackle on the right, but made less than two yards. Next, what looked like the same play resolved itself into another forward pass, but this time Wesner failed to get into place and the pass grounded. Then Fortune again turned her back on the Cherry-and-Gray warriors. Tasker smashed through between left guard and tackle for nearly five yards, but the squawking of the horn spelled disaster and the referee paced off five yards and put the ball back close to the twenty-five-yard line. Jakin had been caught off-side.

Stuart groaned aloud. Third down and thirteen yards to go! And seconds instead of minutes left! Would Wheaton waste any of that precious time on a hopeless rush or would he call on Le Gette for a field goal from about the thirty-three yards that looked equally hopeless? All expectation of a victory had been abandoned by the Manning supporters. Instead, they prayed for a tie score, and, as the precious seconds ticked themselves away, prayed silently.

Yet that silence was broken before the whistle blew again, for Towne was running on, and, behind him, four more substitutes, and the Manning stand answered the cheer leaders’ demand for “A short cheer for Towne!” for Leonard, for Thompson, for Lowe, for Whiting! Cheers for those who retired were cut short, for the whistle piped once more, the referee scuttled to safety and a sigh of relief burst from Stuart. Le Gette was walking back!