A GAME OF FOOT-BALL.
BY SHERWOOD RYSE.
It is five minutes before three on a bright November afternoon—the place no matter where, for good foot-ball is played all over the country, though some of the Eastern colleges claim that they alone play the game with the skill and spirit it deserves. A brisk west wind is blowing, with just a flavor of north about it to make good its claim to be a "bracing" air, and before the afternoon is over, twenty-two good men and true will want all the "bracing" the air can give them, for foot-ball is a hard game.
In a large open space fenced off by stout ropes from the crowds of men and boys—ay, and ladies and young girls too, all eager for the success of brother, son, or friend—are twenty-two finely built, wiry young fellows. Eleven of them are dressed in red jerseys and stockings and white knee-breeches, and the other eleven wear blue where their opponents wear red. The lads seem in excellent spirits, for they laugh and joke one another, play leap-frog, and generally behave like boys just let out of school, which, indeed, between you and me, they really are.
Here is a picture of the ground. At each end, some little distance from the ropes, are a pair of poles (marked G G in the diagram) about eleven feet high and eighteen and a half feet apart, and the two poles are connected by a bar ten feet above the ground. The distance between one goal and the other is not less than 330 feet.
In the diagram are two lines marked A A, A A, and two side lines marked B B, B B. The former are the "goal lines," and the latter the "touch lines." They are real and not imaginary lines on the field, for they are cut in the turf, and then whitened with lime. The distance between the "touch lines" is 160 feet.
"Goodness!" exclaims some one; "is that the ball?" And well may the question be asked, for, except for its brown color, it looks as much like a water-melon as anything else. But that is a "Rugby foot-ball," and the scientific game of foot-ball played in this country is the same game that our old friend Tom Brown used to play, except that the rules have been considerably altered of late years.
And now the two Captains are arranging their forces, for the red Captain has won the choice of goals, and he has chosen to kick off toward the east, so as to have the advantage of the wind on his back. After playing forty-five minutes, the sides will change goals, and then the wind will be against him; but the red Captain knows that the wind is likely to fall away as the sun gets lower, so he takes the chances.
Standing in the centre of the ground, and in the middle of the line of his own "forwards," or "rushers," the red Captain calls "Ready?" and sends the ball with a well-directed kick toward blue's goal. No such luck, however, as a "touch down" behind the goal line this time. Down near the goal is a big fellow whose special duty it is to protect the goal; he is called a "back"; a little in advance of him are two more fellows, called "half-backs"; and in advance of them again is another, called "three-quarter back." It was a blue half-back that caught the ball the red Captain kicked off, and almost before it reached his hands the red rushers were upon him like an avalanche. He has no time for hesitation. Dropping the ball, he receives it on the instep of his foot, and sends it high up in the air. The reds turn suddenly; but their Captain has already secured the ball, and is making for blue's goal like a steam-engine, the ball held close to his chest. A blue forward sees an opportunity to distinguish himself, and charges the Captain; but it is of no use. See! a blue is coming across the field a little ahead of the red Captain. The latter swerves to one side; but the blue is prepared for him, and with a spring like that of a lion, he throws both arms round the Captain's neck. The other players are upon them, and the Captain, as his men gather behind him, throws the ball backward—for he must not throw it forward—and the reds and blues pounce down upon it, and a loose "scrimmage" takes place over it.