THE GIRL AND THE GAME
compact form, while I was sprawled out on the grass like a wooden man, and by the time I was on my feet again, they had got past our entire line (my yelling "kick" had helped the cause), and there I saw the man with the ball scudding diagonally across the field with only two of our backs between him and the line—well, I needn't tell you how they each missed him; nor how the field looked when the subs came running up the side fines shrieking, "Touch-down!—a touch-down!" waving blankets and sweaters in the air. (O Lord!)
I saw and heard and felt all this, and it was my fault, and I knew it; and up there some place in the crowded grand stand, sitting in the same section with some of you, she saw it all, too, and she understands football better than you do. And she knew it was all my fault! And I knew she knew it. So I turned my back on the grand stand and kicked myself, and swore I would redeem that mistake.
Jack, the trainer, is right—football men
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