Clif and Tom watched the game from the ground beside the track. There was no room for them on the benches, nor for a dozen more equally unimportant members of the squad, and so they spread their blue blankets on the grass and sat cross-legged while the battle raged. As a football contest that first game of the Wyndham schedule didn’t amount to very much, but since it gave the School its first opportunity to see their heroes in action, it secured a full attendance. Freeburg presented a light team which tried to make speed atone for weight, and didn’t quite succeed, as the final score attested. Both coaches used the occasion to try out a long list of substitutes and the game was considerably slowed up because of the constant changes. Wyndham’s line contained four veterans, and her backfield two when the game began. Captain Lothrop, playing his third season at Wyndham, was at left guard, Archer at left end, Higgs at center, Stoddard at quarter, Jensen at right half and Fargo at full back. These men constituted the nucleus on which the coaches hoped to build a winning team, and there appeared to be no reason why they shouldn’t succeed. Beside the real veterans there were at least another half-dozen candidates who had served last year either as First Team substitutes or Second Team players. And there were, of course, a considerable number of less experienced youths from the class teams, or, like Clif and Tom, from outside. Coach Otis did not appear to lack material, even though the first grand total of something over sixty had now been reduced to about fifty. Before the Freeburg game was at an end—ten-minute periods were played—“G.G.” had watched no fewer than thirty-one candidates perform. Sad to relate, however, neither Clif nor Tom were among the number. They were allowed to sit undisturbed throughout the contest.
The playing was fairly ragged on both sides, and the game lacked interest. The day was much too warm for football, and the home team and the visitors alike suffered. The Dark Blue held to a tackle-to-tackle offense, and only twice offered anything in the way of aerial attack. Then two short passes over the end of the line were tried with negative results. Most of Wyndham’s gains were made between the opposing guards and tackles. Once or twice the Freeburg center was battered down, but the youth who occupied the pivotal position for the visitors was extremely capable and turned back most of the plays directed against him. The Dark Blue put over one touchdown in the first period, and hung up seven points. In the next quarter a second touchdown was added, but Stoddard missed the try-at-goal. Freeburg forced the fighting after half-time, and produced the only thrilling incident of the performance when her quarter got loose with the ball near his own forty-yard line, and ran to Wyndham’s seven. There he was pulled down by Ogden, playing right half for Jensen, and the exultant shouts of the Freeburg rooters were cut short. But they broke forth again some two minutes later when, following two unsuccessful tries at the Dark Blue line, a fleet-footed substitute was shot into the visitor’s line-up, and took the pigskin on a wide run around his left end, placing it a scant twelve inches from the goal line. With one down remaining, Freeburg concentrated on Quinlan, at left guard, and smashed through for a score. A minute afterwards she turned the 6 into a 7. Just before that third period ended the Dark Blue hammered her way across the enemy goal-line for a third touchdown from which, again, no goal resulted. The final quarter witnessed the introduction of practically two fresh teams but produced no scoring. Wyndham chalked up a 19 to 7 victory to start the season’s schedule.
Talking the game over that evening, Clif and Tom arrived almost simultaneously at the same conclusion, which, as Tom put it, was this: “You and I, old son, have about as much chance to make the team this year as I have to win the Condon Prize for English! Why, heck, no one knows we’re on the squad! That coach doesn’t even see us.”
“You’re right, I guess,” Clif agreed sadly. “That bunch is too big and too heavy for us to associate with. What we’d better do is quit and put in our time beefing up.”
“It isn’t only that, because some of the fellows who played to-day—or tried to—weren’t so blamed big, but that Otis dumb-bell can’t see any fellow outside the little bunch he’s nursed from last year. The trouble with us is we’re outsiders, Clif. What we need is advertising, I guess. Say, that’s an idea! Let’s put an ad in next week’s Lantern. Something like this: ‘Mr. Clifton Bingham and Mr. Thomas Kemble present their compliments to the Football Committee, and Coaches, and solicit their patronage.’ Hold on, though. This is better: ‘Experienced end and clever half-back want positions on Football Team. Interview arranged. Address “Neglected,” care Lantern.’ How’s that?”
“I don’t believe the Committee ever reads the Lantern,” said Clif.
“They ought to, for it’s a very truthful publication. Like last week when it said that sixty-something candidates were ‘frying for the Team.’ Maybe it meant to say ‘trying,’ but, considering the weather, it was dead right. Well, the best we can expect, Clif, is to make the Second; and we may get left there!”
“I don’t see how. They’ve got to have somebody for it, and if Mr. Otis makes another cut Monday, as they say he’s going to, there won’t be many left.”
“Huh! Maybe we’ll be among the—the cutees! Oh, well, never say die. Let’s go down and see what they’re getting on the radio.”
There was a brand-new notice on the board outside the locker room door on Monday when Clif reached the gymnasium, and his heart missed a beat as he stopped to read it. He was alone, since Tom had a late recitation, and he was glad of it just then. “Attention Football Candidates,” he read. “The following players will report to Coach Babcock on Second Team field at 3:30 Monday: Adams, Ames, Bingham—”