Part 9 (2/2)

CHAPTER VIII

ANECDOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS

In the latter eighties the signal from the quarterback to the center for putting the ball in play was a pressure of the fingers and thumb on the hips of the center. In the '89 champions.h.i.+p game between Yale and Princeton, Yale had been steadily advancing the ball and it looked as if they had started out for a march up the field for a touchdown. In those days signals were not rattled off with the speed that they are given now, and the quarterback often took some time to consider his next play, during which time he might stand in any position back of the line.

Playing right guard on the Princeton team was J. R. Thomas, more familiarly known as Long Tommy. He was six feet six or seven inches tall and built more longitudinally than otherwise. It occurred to Janeway, who was playing left guard, that Long Tommy's great length and reach might be used to great advantage when occasion offered.

He, therefore, took occasion to say to Thomas during a lull in the game, ”If you get a chance, reach over when Wurtenburg--the Yale quarter--isn't looking, and pinch the Yale center so that he will put the ball in play when the backs are not expecting it.” The Yale center, by the way, was Bert Hanson. Yale continued to advance the ball on two or three successive plays and finally had a third down with two yards to gain. At this critical moment the looked-for opportunity arrived.

Wurtenburg called a consultation of the other backs to decide on the next play. While the consultation was going on Long Tommy reached over and gently nipped Hanson where he was expecting the signal. Hanson immediately put the ball in play and as a result Janeway broke through and fell on the ball for a ten yards gain and first down for Princeton.

To say that the Yale team were frantic with surprise and rage would be putting it mildly. Poor Hanson came in for some pretty rough flagging.

He swore by all that was good and holy that he had received the signal to put the ball in play, which was true. But Wurtenburg insisted that he had not given the signal. There was no time for wrangling at that moment as the referee ordered the game to proceed.

Yale did not learn how that ball came to be put in play until some time after the game, which was the last of the season, when Long Tommy happening to meet up with Hanson and several other Yale players in a New York restaurant, told with great glee how he gave the signal that stopped Yale's triumphant advance.

Numerals and combinations of numbers were not used as signals until 1889. Prior to that, phrases, catch-words and gestures were the only modes of indicating the plays to be used. For instance, the signal for Hector Cowan of Princeton to run with the ball was an entreaty by the captain, who in those days usually gave the signals, addressed to the team, to gain an uneven number of yards. Therefore the expression, ”Let's gain three, five or seven yards,” would indicate to the team that Cowan was to take the ball, and an effort was made to open up the line for him at the point at which he usually bucked it.

Irvine, the other tackle, ran with the ball when an even number of yards was called for.

For a kick the signal was any phrase which asked a question, as for instance, ”How many yards to gain?”

One of the signals used by Corbin, captain of Yale, to indicate a certain play, was the removal of his cap. They wore caps in those days.

A variation of this play was indicated if in addition to removing his cap he expectorated emphatically.

Hodge, the Princeton quarterback, noticing the cap signals, determined that he would handicap the captain's strategy by stealing his cap. He called the team back and very earnestly impressed upon them the advantage that would accrue if any of them could surrept.i.tiously get possession of Captain Corbin's head-covering. Corbin, however, kept such good watch on his property that no one was able to purloin it.

Sport Donnelly, who played left end on Princeton's '89 team, was perhaps one of the roughest players that ever went into a game, and at the same time one of the best ends that ever went down the field under a kick.

Donnelly was one of the few men that could play his game up to the top notch and at the same time keep his opponent hara.s.sed to the point of frenzy by a continual line of conversation in a sarcastic vein which invariably got the opposing player rattled.

He would say or do something to the man opposite him which would goad that individual to fury and then when retaliation was about to come in the shape of a blow, he would yell ”Mr. Umpire,” and in many instances the player would be ruled off the field.

Donnelly's line of conversation in a Yale game, addressed to Billy Rhodes who played opposite him, would be somewhat as follows:

”Ah, Mr. Rhodes, I see Mr. Gill is about to run with the ball.”

Just then Gill would come tearing around from his position at tackle and Donnelly would remark:

”Well, excuse me, Mr. Rhodes, for a moment, I've got to tackle Mr.

Gill.”

He would then sidestep in such a manner as to elude Rhodes's manoeuvres to prevent him breaking through, and stop Gill for a loss.

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