Всего за 5.99 руб. Купить полную версию
Allan and Tommy Sweet watched the game from the side lines; Tommy, with note-book in hand, darting hither and thither from one point of vantage to another, and Allan vainly striving to keep up with him. The latter had gained admission beyond the ropes by posing as Tommys assistant; the assistance rendered consisted principally of listening to Tommys breathless comment on the game.
Oh, rotten! Tommy would snarl. Two yards more!.. Oh; perfectly rotten!.. See that pass? See it? What? Eh, what?.. Now, watch this! Watch Whatd I say? Good work, Seven!.. Now, thats playing!.. Third down and one to Whats that? Lost it? Lost nothing! Why, look where the ball is! How can they have lost Hey! hows that for off-side? Just watch that Robinson left end; look! See that?.. Three yards right through the center! What was Burley doing?.. Well, here goes for a touch-down. Theres no help now!.. Another yard!.. Two more!.. Did they make it? Did they?.. Hi-i-i! Our ball!
It was a very pretty game, after all, and when the first half ended with the score only 5 to 0, in the visitors favor, Erskines hope revived, and during the intermission there was much talk of tying the score, while some few extremely optimistic watchers hinted at an Erskine victory. Considering the fact that the purple-clad team was twelve pounds lighter than its opponent, this was a good deal to expect, and Tommy, a fair example of conservative opinion, declared that the best he looked for was to have the second half end with the score as it then stood. But a good many guesses went wrong that afternoon.
Erskine had played on the defensive during the first half, and when, after receiving Robinsons kick-off, she punted the ball without trying to run it back, it seemed that she was continuing her former tactics. The punt was a good one and was caught on Robinsons thirty-yard line. The Brown accepted the challenge and returned the kick. It went to Erskines forty-five yards. Again Poor punted, and the ball sailed down to the Browns fifteen yards, where it was gathered into a half-backs arms. Erskine had gained largely in the two exchanges of punts, and her supporters cheered loudly, while Robinson, realizing discretion to be the better part of valor, refrained from further kicking and ran the ball back ten yards before she was downed.
And then, as in the first period of play, she began to advance the pigskin by fierce plunges at the Erskine line. But now there was a perceptible difference in results, a difference recognized by the spectators after the first two attacks. Robinson wasnt making much headway. Twice she barely made her distance; the third time she failed by six inches and, amidst cheering plainly heard on the campus, Erskine took the ball on her opponents twenty-five yards. The first plunge netted a bare yard, yet it carried the ball out of the checker-board, and a line-man dropped back. Tommy set up a shout.
Its Burley! Theyre going to play him back of the line!
There was no doubt about its being Burley. He loomed far above the rest of the backs, and even when, his hands on the full-backs hips, he doubled himself up for the charge, he was still the biggest object on the field. The stands danced with delight.
So far there had been no hint of the big right guard taking part in the tandem attacks; in fact, his presence on the team was doubtful until the last moment, for Burleys development as a football player had been discouragingly slow, in spite of his weight and strength and cheerful willingness. Even yet he possessed only a partial understanding of the game. He did what he was told to do, and did it as hard as he knew how; that constituted the extent of his science. The stands composed themselves, and breathless suspense reigned. Poors shrill pipe was heard reeling off the signals, and then
Then the advance began.
Robinson had played hard every moment of the first thirty-five minutes, and she had played on the offensive. Erskine had played hard too, but her playing had been defensive. To attack is more tiring than to repel attack, and now what difference there was in condition was in Erskines favor. Her defensive tactics were suddenly abandoned, and from that moment to the final whistle she forced the fighting every instant of the time.
Peter Burley was, to use Tommys broken, breathless words, simply great. He knew little or nothing about line-plunging. He didnt do any of the things coaches instruct backs to do. He merely waded into and through the opponents, without bothering his head with the niceties of play. If the hole was there, well and good; he went through it and emerged on the other side with half the Robinson team clinging to him. If the hole wasnt there, well and good again; he went through just the same, only he didnt go so far. But there was always a good gain sometimes a yard, sometimes two, sometimes three or four.
When the whistle blew, Burley climbed to his feet and ambled back to his position, unruffled and unheeding of the bruises that fell to his share. Nine plunges brought the ball to Robinsons five yards. There the Brown line held for an instant. The first down netted a bare yard, the second brought scarcely as much. The cheering, which had been continuous from the first attack, died down, and a great silence fell. Tommy was nibbling the corner off his note-book, and Allan, kneeling beside him, was nervously biting his lip. Poor drew Burley and the backs aside for a whispered consultation. Then the players took their positions again, and
Presto! Erskine had scored!
Without signals, the tandem had plunged onto the Robinson left tackle, Burleys leather head-guard had been seen for an instant tossing high above a struggling mass, and then had disappeared, and chaos had reigned until the referees whistle commanded a cessation of hostilities. When the piled-up mass was removed, Burley was found serenely hugging the ball to his chest a yard over the line.