Right Tackle Todd

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Failing, at last, near mid-field to gain at the line, she passed across the center and made eight. But a moment later she was again forced to kick. Frost pulled the ball down on his twenty-two, side-stepped a Kenly end, whirled from the grasp of a Kenly tackle and went plunging in and out until the enemy closed in about him on the thirty-six. An off-side penalty put Alton back to the thirty-one, and two plays later Whittier again punted, from his thirty-five. Once more the Kenly back was thrown in his tracks and once more Kenly set her face toward the distant goal. Then came a punt from her thirty-nine that went almost straight in air and dropped out-of-bounds at Alton’s forty-three.

Ever since the beginning of the quarter Jim had been listening for a certain signal and now it came. “Formation L!” called the quarter. Jake Borden swung out and trotted to the left of the line, taking position between Roice and Levering. “Signals! Fifteen, thirty-seven, twelve! Fifteen, thirty-seven—”

The ball went back and Alton flew into action. It was the signal Jim had been awaiting, yet it was not the play, for although Sam had started before the ball and raced off and backward to the left, and although Whittier, with ball poised high, was following him slowly, stepping back warily and apparently searching for an uncovered receiver, Jim knew that Play 37 was to go for a run the first time it was called. So, instead of wandering away to the right and trying to look as if he was searching for four-leaf clovers or had lost his pocket-knife and was trying to find it, Jim threw himself into the opposing tackle, twisted past and slammed around behind the opposing line. Whittier turned and tossed to Tennyson and Sam sprang forward. Kinsey laid low the Kenly right half and Sam was going hard when he gained the line, well outside, but the entire Kenly backfield had been drawn to its right, and so had every other member of the team, and the best Tennyson could do was fight his way to the forty-seven for a four-yard gain. But the play had proved itself. Kenly had first suspected a forward-pass and guarded against it, her backs spreading and waiting. Then, when Whittier had made the on-side toss to Tennyson, she had concluded that it meant a run and had moved, almost as one man, across to meet it. And now Jim waited eagerly to hear the “37” again.

But it didn’t come. Alton made her way to the enemy’s thirty-seven only to lose the ball when Frost fumbled when tackled. A few minutes later she was back on her own thirty-five, the ball in her possession after a Kenly punt. Kenly was now satisfied, it seemed, to play for time and trust to fortune to bring her another scoring opportunity. If that failed her, she was still certain of victory if she could keep Alton from adding to that insufficient 2. Twice she punted out of danger and back into Alton territory. Alton was using every play she knew now, but Kenly was resisting desperately. New men were running on for her and old and wearied ones were stumbling off. Alton, too, made changes, though fewer. Tate and Kruger went in at the ends of the line and Cheswick, thoroughly played out, gave place to Benning. The end was drawing nigh. Seven minutes became six and six minutes dwindled to five.

It was Alton’s ball again, following a punt, on her thirty-four. Tennyson made four outside tackles on a delayed buck, Whittier gained three straight ahead between center and right guard and Frost made it first down on a slide off left tackle. Tennyson passed to Whittier and the latter scampered around the short end for seven more and put the ball over the center line. Frost lost two, got three and made it first down again. So it went, Kenly fighting but yielding. On the enemy’s thirty-eight, on fourth down, Whittier faked a kick and tossed to Frost and Frost ran to the left and got his distance on a wide run behind fine interference. The ball was close to the left side-line now and on the next play Whittier shot off to the right on a wide sweep that gained only a yard. And then Jim, achingly impatient, heard what he had been longing to hear once more.

“Formation L!”

“Seventeen, thirty-seven, eleven! Seventeen—”

Tennyson was off, running hard, to the left.

“—Thirty-seven!”