Football days

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- Ten to make and the match to win-- A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in.

And it's not for the sake of a ribboned-coat Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red-- Red with the wreck of a square that broke, The gatling jammed and the Colonel dead And the Regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed its banks, And England's far, and honor a name-- But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year While in her place the school is set Every one of the sons must hear, And none that hears it dares forget.

Thus they all with a joyful mind-- Bear their life like a torch in flame-- And failing, fling to the host behind, "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

GREETING

I value more highly than any other athletic gift I have ever received, the Princeton football championship banner that hangs on my wall. It was given to me by a friend who sent three boys to Princeton. It is a duplicate of the one that hangs in the trophy room of the gymnasium there.

How often have I gazed longingly at the names of my loyal team-mates inscribed upon it. Many times have I run over in my mind the part that each one played on the memorable occasion when that banner was won. Memories cluster about that token that are dear and sacred to me.

I see before me not only the faces of my team, but the faces of men of other years and other universities who have contributed so much to the great game of football. I recall the preparatory school days and the part that football played in our school and college careers. Again I see the athletic fields and the dressing rooms. I hear the earnest pleading of the coaches.

I see the teams run out upon the field and hear the cheering throng. The coin is tossed in the air. The shrill blast of the referee's whistle signals the game to start. The ball is kicked off, and the contest is on.

The thousands of spectators watch breathlessly. For the time the whole world is forgotten, except for the issue being fought out there before them.

But we are not dressed in football suits nowadays. We are on the side lines. We have a different part to play. Years have compelled a change. In spirit, however, we are still "in the game."

It is to share these memories with all true lovers of football and to pay a tribute to the heroes of the gridiron who are no longer with us that I have undertaken this volume. Let us together retrace the days in which we lived: days of preparation, days of victory, and days of defeat. Let us also look into the faces of some of the football heroes of years ago, and recall the achievements that made them famous. And let us recall, too, the men of the years just past who have so nobly upheld the traditions of the American game of football, and helped to place it on its present high plane.

William H. Edwards.

[Illustration: MY CORNER

"Fond memory sheds the light of other days around me."]

PROLOGUE

They say that no man ever made a successful football player who was lacking in any quality of imagination. If this be true, and time and again has it been proved, then there is no more fitting dedication to a book dealing with the gridiron heroes of the past than to a man like Johnny Poe. For football is the abandon of body and mind to the obsession of the spirit that knows no obstacle, counts no danger and for the time being is dull and callous to physical pain or exhaustion. It is a something that makes one see visions as Johnny saw them!