CHAPTER XI
A DESPERATE FIGHT
THE day for the game with the "Maroons" broke dark and lowering. Cloudschased each other across the sky, the air was saturated with moistureand, although rain had not yet fallen, there was every prospect that itwould before the day was over.
The team had been "tuned to the hour." There was not a man on it thatwas not fit to put up the game of his life. Each one had brought himselfdown to the weight at which he was most effective, their flesh was "hardas nails," and their lean bronzed faces betokened the pink of condition.If they were doomed to be beaten there could be no excuse put forth thatthey were not at the top of their form.
Not that they anticipated any necessity of making excuses. An air ofquiet confidence was everywhere apparent. The old indomitable Bluespirit was as much in evidence as their splendid physical condition. Notthat they underestimated their opponents. The "Maroons," despite theirdefeat of the week before by the "Greys," were formidable opponents andstill full of fight. In fact, their loss of that game might be countedon to put them in a savage mood of retaliation, and nothing was morecertain than that they would fight like demons to down the Blues. Butthe latter welcomed the prospect of a bitter fight, and were fullyconvinced of their ability to give harder blows than they would have totake.
"We've simply got to win to-day, fellows," said Tom as they strolledback to their rooms after breakfast.
"It's the only way we can have a clear title to the championship,"remarked Bert. "It won't do us much good to lick the 'Greys' next weekif we fall down to-day. In that case it will be 'even Steven.' Each teamwill have won and lost one and we'll be as much at sea as ever as towhich has the best team."
"Then, too," added Dick, "we're fighting to-day on our own grounds andnext week we'll have to play the 'Greys' on a neutral field. If we can'twin now with that advantage it will be doubly hard to win then."
"We'll cop them both," said Bert with an air of finality. And thissolution received the hearty approval and implicit faith of hiscompanions. In one form or another every man on the team was swearing tohimself that the prediction should come true, if it lay in human powerto compass it.
As the day wore on the town took on a festal air. Flags and buntingfluttered everywhere. Special trains drew in from every point of thecompass and disgorged their thousands to swell the crowds. The streetsresounded with the raucous cries of the fakirs, and their wares of canesand flags were soon sold out. Groups of college boys accompanied bypretty girls wandered over the campus, and the walks under the elmsresounded with song and laughter. From every city in the country "oldgrads" came down to renew their youth and shout themselves hoarse fortheir favorites. The clouded sky and threatening rain daunted them notat all. They were there to make holiday, and serenely ignored everythingelse. Only an earthquake or a cyclone could have kept them from coming.It might rain "cats and dogs," rheumatism and pneumonia might hang outdanger signals, but they cared not a whit. They were out for the time oftheir lives and bound to get it.
The game was to begin at two o'clock, and after cleaning out all therestaurants in town, put to their utmost to feed the ravening horde oflocusts that had swarmed down upon them, the throngs set out for thestadium. That gigantic structure could hold forty thousand people and,long before the time for the game to begin, it was crowded to repletion.On one side were the stands for the Blues and directly facing them werethose reserved for the "Maroons." The occupants yelled and shouted andwaved their flags at each other in good-natured defiance. At the upperend a band played popular airs that nobody cared for, and half the timein the din and tumult did not even hear. In front of the stands thecheermasters jumped up and down and went through their weirdcontortions, as they led the cheers and gave the signal for the songs.
The Blues were gathered in their training quarters, ready and anxiousfor the fight. They were like a pack of hounds straining at the leash.Reddy and his assistants had gone over every detail of their equipment,and the coach had spoken his last word of appeal and encouragement. Thishe had purposely made short. There was little dwelling on the game to beplayed, nor any attempt to rehearse signals. The time for that was past.If they were not ready now, they never would be. He had done his utmostand now the result must be left to the team and to fate.
At half past one a slight drizzle set in. Old Jupiter Pluvius had lostpatience and refused to hold off until the game was over. But thegeneral hilarity abated not a particle. It would take more than rain todrive that crowd to cover. The field had been strewn with straw to keepthe ground beneath as dry as possible. Now, however, it was time forpractice, and a crowd of assistants appeared and raked the straw away,showing the glistening newly-marked yard lines underneath.
Then a gate at the end of the one of the stands opened and the"Maroons," in their gaily colored jerseys, trotted on the field. The"Maroon" stands rose en masse and a torrent of cheers swept over thefield as they gave the team a greeting that must have "warmed thecockles of their heart."
The boys peeled off their jerseys and commenced punting and falling onthe ball. They kept this up for ten minutes and then gave way to theirrivals.
Out from the other side of the field scampered the Blues. ThenPandemonium broke loose. The yells were simply deafening, and, as thehome crowd let itself go, the fellows grinned happily at each other andtheir muscles stiffened with ardor for the fight.
"Seems as though they were glad to see us," laughed Tom, as he sent theball whirling in a spiral pass to Bert.
"You bet," answered Bert, "and we must make them yell louder yet at thefinish."
The practice was short and snappy. There was ginger in every movementand Bert's tries for goal elicited the unwilling admiration at the sametime that it awakened the fear of the "Maroon" supporters.
Then the signal was given and the captains of the two teams claspedhands cordially in the middle of the field and tossed a coin forposition. The "Maroons" won and, as there was not enough wind stirringto favor either goal, elected to take the kick off. The teams lined upon the "Maroon's" forty yard line. Miller kicked the ball thirty yardsdown the field and the game was on.
Martin made a fair catch, but before he could run back was downed in histracks. The teams lined up for the scrimmage. Dick plunged through leftguard and tackle for a gain of five yards. Axtell went through right fortwo more. Then the ball was given to Bert, and he went through the holeopened up by Drake and Boyd for eight more. They had gained theirdistance and the ball was still in their possession on the fifty yardline.
Their bucking had been so successful that they were still inclined totry the plunging game. But the "Maroons" had braced. Three successivedowns failed to yield the coveted ten yards and Bert dropped back for akick. The ball was handled with superb precision by Tom and Dick, whomade a perfect pass to Bert. It was off from his toe like a flash, justescaping the "Maroon" forwards as they broke through to block. Millermade a great jumping catch, but Axtell's savage tackle downed him wherehe stood. The ball was now in "Maroon" territory on their twenty yardline.
It was altogether too close for comfort, and the "Maroons" made agallant and desperate effort to get it further down the field. TheBlues, however, were no less determined. Against the bull-like plungesof the enemy they held like a stone wall. Three times in succession theyrefused to let their foes gain an inch. It was clear that other tacticswould have to be resorted to. Halliday, the "Maroon" quarter, tried aforward pass. Richmond at right end caught it and started down thefield. Warren tackled him, but slipped in the mud and Richmond shook himoff. His interference was good and he was off like a frightened rabbit.He had made twenty yards before Bert caught and threw him heavily. Buthe held on to the ball and the "Maroons" breathed more freely. The ballwas still theirs, forty yards from their goal line.
"Never mind, old man," called Bert cheerfully to Warren. "A bit of hardluck, but don't let it get your goat. Any one might have slipped in suchmuddy going."
The narrow escape heartened the "Maroons" and the
y fought like wildcats.They were on the defensive and the ball stayed in their territory. Butthe utmost efforts of the Blues failed to make substantial gains, andwhen the whistle blew at the end of the quarter neither side had scored.
By this time the rain was coming down in torrents. The stands were amass of glistening umbrellas and shining raincoats. The flags anddecorations no longer waved defiantly, but hung dank and dripping. Thefield beneath the rushing feet of the players had been churned into asea of mud, and this was plastered liberally on the uniforms of theteams. In the minute's interval between quarters a host of trainers'assistants rushed from the side lines with sponges and towels and triedto get their charges in some kind of shape.
When the next quarter started the play was fast and furious. The teamshad sized each other up and got a line on their respective line of play.Each side realized that the battle was for blood, and that it had in theother a worthy foeman. There would be no walkover for anybody that day.
Floundering and slipping in the mud, the Blues steadily pounded theirway down to the "Maroon's" goal. Morley made a successful dash aroundleft end, netting twenty yards. On a forward pass Caldwell fumbled, butTom made a dazzling recovery before the enemy could pounce upon theball. Bert found a gap between left and tackle and went through withlowered head for twelve yards before the "Maroons" fell on him in amass. Then the Blues uncovered the "Minnesota shift"--one of "Bull"Hendrick's pet tricks--and they went through the bewildered "Maroons"for twenty yards. Another trial of the same shift was smothered and adaring end run by Hudson of the "Maroons" brought the ball to the middleof the field. Four unsuccessful attempts failed to advance it and itwent to the Blues on downs.
The ball was now on the "Maroons'" forty yard line and there were onlytwo minutes left of playing time. The "Maroon" defence had stiffened andit was a practical certainty that line bucking could not avail in thatlimited time, so Bert dropped back for a kick. Tom snapped it back toDick, who with the same motion made a beautiful pass to Bert. With allthe power of his mighty leg he swung on it and lifted it far and high.Straight as an arrow it winged its way toward the "Maroons'" goal.
A tremendous shout had gone up as the ball left his toe, but thenfollowed a deadly silence as they watched its towering flight. Would itgo over the posts and score three points for the Blues or would it go toone side just enough to give the "Maroons" a new lease of life?
Now the ball had reached its highest point and was falling in a swiftcurve toward the goal. As it neared the posts it seemed for a moment tohesitate. Then, as though it had made up its mind, it swooped suddenlydownward and crossed the goal bar, just grazing it. The goal had countedand a groan went up from the "Maroon" stands, while those in the Bluesleaped to their feet waving their flags and cheering like madmen.
Tom danced a jig on the field and threw his arms about Bert, and theother fellows coming up swarmed around him with frantic congratulations.And just then the second half ended and both teams went to theirquarters for the fifteen minutes' rest that marks the half of the game.Here they changed quickly into fresh uniforms and braced themselves forthe second and decisive half. Naturally the confidence was on the sideof the Blues, but the lead was not large, and as yet it was anybody'sgame.
"You've got them started," exhorted Hendricks. "Now keep them on therun. Don't let up for a minute. Hit them, hammer them, tear their linein pieces. I want you to roll up a score that will scare the 'Greys'before we tackle them."
The advice was good in theory and the will was not lacking to carry itout in practice. But the "Maroons" had other views and from the momentthey came on the field it was evident that they had taken a brace. Theywere yet a long way from giving up the ghost. After all, the field goalhad only counted three points, and a touchdown would not only even thisup but put the Maroons in the lead.
To get that touchdown they worked like fiends. Berriman kicked the ballout of bounds and Flynn fell upon it, sliding along in the mud and wateras he did so. The ball was brought in at the Blues' forty yard line andthe teams lined up for the scrimmage. Adams slammed through left tacklefor five yards. Gibbons with lowered head butted into center, but Dickthrew him back for a loss of two. Hudson skirted left end, cleverlydodging Caldwell and making twelve yards, before Tom leaped upon him anddowned him heavily. But the ball was under him and the "Maroons" hadmore than made their distance on the four downs.
Once more they lined up, and now the Blues were on the defensive. Boydhad hurt his knee and Chamberlain came running out to take his place.Instead of reporting to the referee, he spoke first to one of hiscomrades, and for this violation of the rules the Blues were penalizedfive yards. A moment later they lost five more through off-side play byWarren. Ten precious yards thrown away when every one was beyond price!And now the jubilant "Maroons" were within fifteen yards of the goal,and their partisans were on their feet yelling like wild men.
Panting, crouching, glaring, the two teams faced each other. The"Maroons" consulted for a moment. Should they try a kick for goal,yielding three points if successful and tieing the score, or buck theline for a touchdown which would put them in the lead? The first waseasier, but the latter more profitable if they could "put it over." Theymight never be so near the line again, and they thought that they sawsigns of wavering among the Blues. They decided then to try for thegreater prize and buck the line.
Berriman, their halfback, bowled over Chamberlain for a gain of fouryards. Richmond tried to make a hole between Dick and Tom, but wasnailed without a gain. Once more Berriman ploughed in between Warren andChamberlain, which seemed to be the weakest part of the defense, but,anticipating the move, Bert had posted himself there and, meeting therush halfway, dumped Berriman on his head. As he fell, the ball slippedfrom his hands and Tom, quick as a cat, picked it up and twisting,dodging, squirming, scuttled down along the southern line. Burke flunghimself at him in a flying tackle and grabbed one leg, but the runnershook him off and, with his momentum scarcely checked flew down thefield, aided by superb interference on the part of Drake and Axtell,who bowled over the "Maroon" tacklers like so many ninepins. He had madethirty-five yards and was going like the wind when, in eluding theoutstretched arms of Miller, he slipped in a pool of mud and water andwent down, skating along on his nose for several yards, while the whole"Maroon" team piled over him. But his nose guard had saved him frominjury and, when the wriggling mass was disentangled, it was found thathe still had the ball. He wiped the mud from his face and grinnedhappily while his mates gathered round him and billows of cheers sweptdown from the Blue stands, frantic with delight at the brilliant run.
"Splendid, old boy!" cried Bert, slapping Tom on the back. "That wasclassy stuff. You went down the line like a shot from a gun."
"It saved the goal line all right," panted Dick. "Jove! They were close.It looked for a minute as though they had us going."
The ball was put into play again but just as the teams lined up time wascalled. The game was three-quarters over and the remaining fifteenminutes would tell the tale of victory or defeat. The boys stood aroundin groups scraping the mud from their uniforms and rubbing rosin ontheir hands to get a better grip in tackling.
Just as the breathing spell was over the sun suddenly burst forth in ablaze of glory. Umbrellas went down like magic and even the "Maroon"supporters, chagrined as they were, joined in the cheer that rose fromthe drenched spectators. It put new life into the players also.
"Look!" cried Bert as the teams took their places. "The rainbow!"
All eyes were turned in the direction he pointed, where in a magnificentarch of shifting colors the bow of promise curved over the field.
"It's our rainbow," shouted Tom. "We saw it first."
"Come off, you dubs," sang out Halliday. "Don't you see that it's overour goal?"
"Sure," retorted Tom. "That's to show us where we've got to go."
"It is, eh?" said Halliday grimly. "You'll only get there over our deadbodies."
"You're dead ones already," taunted Drake good-naturedl
y. "You're onlywalking round to save funeral expenses."
But in the furious battle that developed from the kick-off, it wasevident that the "Maroons" were very lively corpses. It was no use toplay on the defensive. If they did that, they were beaten already by thethree points that now loomed up in such tremendous proportions. Nor wasthere any reason to keep any of their plays up their sleeves. For themit was the last game of the season and now was the time to uncover theirwhole "bag of tricks."
So they threw caution to the winds and played with utter recklessnessand abandon. Their "Wheel shift" was a new one on the Blues, and the"Maroons" had used it twice for a gain of thirty yards before the Bluessolved and checkmated it. Then the forward pass was tried, usuallywithout advancing the ball, though one clever skirting of the end gainedfifteen yards. The ball was getting pretty well down into Blue territorywhen a magnificent drop kick by Bert sent it sailing to the middle ofthe field. In the momentary silence that succeeded the cheering, somewag from the Blue stands piped out:
"It's too bad that fellow Wilson is lame." And everybody laughed.
But the laugh of the "Maroons" had a pang behind it. Only five minutesof playing time were left, and the ball was in the hands of theirenemies. They ranged up for the scrimmage with the desperation of menfaced by advancing doom but bound to go down fighting.
And go down they did before the savage and exulting onslaught of theBlues. Fighting, raging, blocking, charging, they were forced backtoward their goal. Drake and Dick and Axtell went ploughing through bigholes opened up by their comrades in both sides of the line until, withtwo downs yet to go, the ball was in the hands of the Blues twelve yardsfrom the enemy's goal.
Everybody was standing now. Flags were waving, voices yelling and thetumult was indescribable.
It was the supreme moment, and Bert was called on for the final plunge.
"Go to it, old man, the instant I snap it back," whispered Tom.
"For the sake of the old college," urged Dick.
Bert stiffened.
"Watch me," he said.
It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftlythat the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake andAxtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughedthrough it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on himin an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried himthrough nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almostdirectly overhead.
"Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven'ssake, brace!"
Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of that mighty plunge, but hiseyes blazed with the light of coming triumph.
"Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back.It's their last down."
But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charginghard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselvessavagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. Hecrumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on hishead and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over thegoal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark ravingmad.
Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment hewould not have changed places with an emperor.
The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lyingflat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim andlifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the groundwhen the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed,ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the"Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them arousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest.
Then the crowds swept down like a tidal wave from the stands andsubmerged the doughty fighters. The Blues, all muddy and disheveled asthey were, were hoisted on the shoulders of their exulting comrades andcarried from the field. And it was all they could do to get away fromthem and repair to their shower and rubdown, never before so needed orso welcome.
The campus blazed that night with bonfires and resounded with noisesthat "murdered sleep." But all the pleading that the team might takepart in the festivities fell unheeded on the ears of the two inexorabletyrants, Hendricks and Reddy. Happy and exulting tyrants just then, buttyrants none the less.
"Not until they lick the 'Greys,'" was "Bull's" decree. "If they do thatthey can split the town wide open. Until then the lid is on."
There was no appeal from his decision, and by nine o'clock the wearywarriors were tucked away in bed to dream of past and hope for comingvictory.
Dick was just dropping off when a voice came from Bert's bed:
"Say, Dick, what's the greatest game in the world?"
"Football," was the prompt reply.
"And, Dick, what's the greatest team in the world?"
"The Blues," averred Dick stoutly.
"Right," assented Bert. "Now go to sleep."
Bert Wilson on the Gridiron Page 11
