My
dear sir, a battle would look much the same to you, except that the
boys would be men, and the balls iron; but a battle would be worth
your looking at for all that, and so is a football match. You can't be
expected to appreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by which
a game is lost and won--it takes an old player to do that; but the broad
philosophy of football you can understand if you will. Come along with
me a little nearer, and let us consider it together.
The ball has just fallen again where the two sides are thickest, and
they close rapidly around it in a scrummage. It must be driven through
now by force or skill, till it flies out on one side or the other.
Look how differently the boys face it! Here come two of the bulldogs,
bursting through the outsiders; in they go, straight to the heart of the
scrummage, bent on driving that ball out on the opposite side. That is
what they mean to do. My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you have gone
past the ball, and must struggle now right through the scrummage, and
get round and back again to your own side, before you can be of any
further use. Here comes young Brooke; he goes in as straight as you, but
keeps his head, and backs and bends, holding himself still behind the
ball, and driving it furiously when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out
of his book, you young chargers. Here comes Speedicut, and Flashman the
School-house bully, with shouts and great action.
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