Andy at Yale

by John Kendrick Bangs

  CHAPTER XXI

  A GRIDIRON BATTLE

  Harvard was about to meet Yale in the annual football game between thefreshman teams. The streets were filled with pretty girls, and morepretty girls, with "sporty" chaps in mackinaws, in raglans--with allsorts of hats atop of their heads, and some without hats at all.

  There had been the last secret final practice on Yale Field the daybefore. That night the Harvard team and its followers had arrived,putting up at Hotel Taft.

  Andy, in common with other candidates for the team, was sitting quietlyin his room, for Holwell, the coach, had forbidden any liveliness thenight before the game. And Andy had a chance to play.

  True, it was but a bare chance, but it was worth saving. He had playedbrilliantly on the scrub team for some time, and had been named as apossible substitute. If several backs ahead of him were knocked out, orslumped at the last moment, Andy would go in. And, without in the leastwishing misfortune to a fellow student, how Andy did wish he could play!

  There came a knock at the door--a timid, hesitating sort of knock.

  "Oh, hang it! If that's Ikey, trying to sell me a blue sweater, I'llthrow him down stairs!" growled Andy. He was nervous.

  "Come in!" called Dunk, laughing.

  "Is Andy Blair----Oh, hello, there you are, old man!" cried a voice andChet Anderson thrust his head into the room.

  "Well, you old rosebud!" yelled Andy, leaping out of the easy chair withsuch energy that the bit of furniture slid almost into the bigfireplace. "Where'd you blow in from?"

  "I came with the Harvard bunch. I told you I'd see you here."

  "I know, but I didn't expect to see you until the game. You're not goingto play?"

  "No--worse luck! Wish I was. Hear you may be picked."

  "There's a chance, that's all."

  "Oh, well, we'll lick you anyhow!"

  "Yes, you will, you old tomcat!" and the two clasped hands warmly, andlooked deep into each other's eyes.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Andy. "I forgot. Chet, this is my chum, DuncanChamber--Dunk for short. Dunk--Chet Anderson. I went to Milton withhim."

  The two shook hands, and Chet sat down, he and Andy at once exchanging afund of talk, with Dunk now and then getting in a word.

  "Did you come on with the team?" asked Andy.

  "Yes, and it's some little team, too, let me tell you!"

  "Glad to hear it!" laughed Andy. "Yale doesn't like to punch a bag ofmush!"

  "Oh, you won't find any mush in Harvard. Say, have you heard from Ben?"

  "Yes, saw him at the Princeton game."

  "How was he?"

  "Fine and dandy."

  "That's good. Then he likes it down there?"

  "Yes. He's going in for baseball. Hopes to pitch on the freshman team,but I don't know."

  "You didn't play against the Tiger?"

  "No, there wasn't any need of me. Yale had it all her own way."

  "She won't to-morrow."

  "Wait and see."

  Thus they talked until Chet, knowing that Andy must want to get rest, inpreparation for the gridiron battle, took his leave, promising to seehis friend again.

  The stands were a mass of color--blue like the sky on one side of YaleField, and red like a sunset on the other. The cheering cohorts, underthe leadership of the various cheer leaders, boomed out their voices ofdefiance.

  Out trotted the Yale team and substitutes, of whom Andy was one.Instantly the blue of the sky seemed to multiply itself as a roar shookthe sloping seats--the seats that ran down to the edge of green field,marked off in lines of white.

  "Come on now, lively!" yelled the coaches, hardly making their voicesheard above the frantic cheers.

  The players lined up and went through some rapid passes and kicking.Andy and the other substitutes took their places on the bench, envelopedin blankets and their blue sweaters.

  Then a roar and a smudge of crimson, that flashed out from the otherside of the field, told of the approach of the Harvard team.

  "Harvard! Harvard! Harvard!"

  It was an acclaim of welcome.

  Andy watched Yale's opponents go through their snappy practice.

  "They're big and beefy," he murmured, "but we can do 'em. We've got to!Yale has got to win!"

  The captains consulted, the coin was flipped, and Harvard was to kickoff. The teams gathered in a knot at either end of the field for a lastconsultation. Then the new ball was put in the center of the field.

  Andy found difficulty in getting his breath, and he noticed that theother players beside him had the same trouble.

  The whistle shrilled out, and the Harvard back, running, sent the yellowpigskin sailing well down the field. A wild yell greeted hisperformance. One of the Yale players caught it and his interferenceformed before him. But he had not run it back ten yards before he wastackled. Now would come the first line-up, and it would be seen how Yalecould buck the crimson.

  "Signal!" Andy could hear their quarterback yell, and then the rest wasswallowed up in a hum of excitement in the songs and cheers with whichthe students sought to urge on the defenders of the blue.

  There was a vicious plunge into the line, but the gain was small.

  "They's holding us!" murmured Blake, at Andy's side.

  "Oh, it's early yet," answered Andy. He wondered why his hands painedhim, and, looking at them found that he had been clenching them untilthe nails had made deep impressions in his palms.

  Again came a plunging, smashing attack at Harvard's line, and a groanfrom the Yale substitutes followed. The Yale back had been thrown for aloss.

  "We've got to kick now," murmured Andy, and the signal came.

  Then it was the Yale ends showed their fleetness and they nailed theHarvard man before he had gained much. An exchange of punts followed,both teams having good kickers that year.

  Then came more line smashing, in which Yale gained a little. It was afiercely fought game, so fierce that before five minutes of play Harvardhad to take one man out, and Yale lost two, from injuries that could notbe patched up on the field.

  "I've got a chance! I've got a chance!" exulted Andy.

  But it was not rejoicing at the other fellows' misfortunes. Unless youhave played football you can not understand Andy's real feelings.

  The first quarter ended with neither side making a score, and there wasa consultation on both teams during the little breathing spell.

  "We've got to do more line plunging," thought Andy, and he was right,for Yale began that sort of a game when the whistle blew again. Thewisdom of it was apparent, for at once the ball began to go down towardHarvard's goal, once Yale got possession of the pigskin after anexchange of kicks.

  "That's the way! That's the way!" yelled Andy. "Touchdown! Touchdown!"

  This was being yelled all over the Yale stands. But it was not to be.After some magnificent playing, and bucking that tore the Harvard lineapart again and again, time for the half was called, Yale having theball on Harvard's eight-yard line. Another play might have taken itover.

  But both teams had been forced to call on more substitutes, and Harvardlost her best punter. Yale suffered, too, in the withdrawal of Michaels,a star end.

  The third quarter had not been long under way when, following ascrimmage, a knot of Yale players gathered about a prostrate figure.

  "Who is it? Who is it?" was asked on all sides.

  "Brooks--right half!" was the despondent answer. "This cooks our goose!"

  "Blair--Blair!" cried the coach. "Get in there! Rip 'em up!"

  A mist swam before Andy's eyes. Some one fairly pulled him from thebench, and his sweater was ripped off him, one sleeve tearing out. Butwhat did it matter--he had a chance to play!

  "We've got to buck their line!" the freshman captain whispered in hisear. "They're weak there, and we dare not kick too much. Our ends can'tget down fast enough. I'm going to send you through for all you'reworth."

  "All right!" gasped Andy. His mouth was dry--his throat parched.

  "Steady t
here! Steady!" warned the coach.

  "Ready, Yale?" asked the referee.

  "Yes!"

  Again the whistle blew. Yale had the ball, and on the first play Andywas sent bucking the line with it. He hit it hard, and felt himselfbeing pushed and pulled through. Some one seemed in his way, and then abody gave suddenly and limply, and he lurched forward.

  "First down!" he heard some one yell. He had gained the requireddistance. Yale would not have to kick.

  Panting, trembling, with a wild, eager rage to again get into the fight,Andy waited for the signal. A forward pass was to be tried. He was gladhe was not to buck the line again.

  The pass was not completed, and the ball was brought back. Again came aplay--a double pass that netted a little. Yale was slowly gaining.

  But now Harvard took a brace and held for downs so that Yale had tokick. Then the Crimson took her turn at rushing the ball down the fieldby a series of desperate plunges. Yale's goal was in danger when thesaving whistle for the third quarter shrilled out.

  "Fellows, we've got to get 'em now or never!" cried the Yale captain,fiercely. "Break your necks--but get a touchdown!"

  Once more the line-up. Andy's ears were ringing. He could scarcely hearthe signals for the cheering from the stands. He was called upon tosmash through the line, and did manage to make a small gain. But it wasnot enough. It was the second down. The other back was called on, andwent through after good interference, making the necessary gain.

  "We've got 'em on the run!" exulted Yale.

  The blue team was within striking distance of the Harvard goal. Thesignal came for a kick in an attempt to send the ball over the crossbar.

  How it happened no one could say. It was one of the fumbles that sooften occur in a football game--fumbles that spell victory for one teamand defeat for another. The Yale full-back reached out his hands for thepigskin, caught it and--dropped it. There was a rush of men toward him,and some one's foot kicked the ball. It rolled toward Andy. In a flashhe had it tucked under his arm, and started in a wild dash for theHarvard goal line.

  "Get him! Get that man!"

  "Smear him!"

  "Interference! Interference! Get after him!"

  "It's Blair! Andy Blair!"

  "Yale's ball!"

  "Go on, you beggar! Run! Run!"

  "Touchdown! Touchdown!"

  There was a wild riot of yells. With his ears ringing as with the jangleof a thousand bells, with his lungs nearly bursting, and his eyesscarcely seeing, Andy ran on.

  He had ten yards to go--thirty feet--and between him and the goal wasthe Harvard full-back--a big youth. Andy heard stamping feet behind him.They were those of friends and foes, but no friends could help him now.

  Straight at the Harvard back he ran--panting, desperate. The Crimsonplayer crouched, waiting for him. Andy dodged. He was midway between theside lines. He circled. The Harvard back turned and raced after him,intent on driving him out of bounds. That was what Andy did not want,but he did want to wind his opponent. Again Andy circled and dodged. Theother followed his every move.

  Then Andy came straight at him again, with outstretched hand to ward himoff. There was a clash of bodies, and Andy felt himself encircled in afatal embrace. He hurled himself forward, for he could see the goal linebeneath his feet. Over he went, bearing the Harvard player backward,and, when they fell with a crash, Andy reached out, his arms over hishead, and planted the ball beyond the goal line. He had made the winningtouchdown!