The first few minutes we did not even see the ball: that is, we noticed it, but only for a second or two, and then again we lost sight of it. Gradually we learned to follow the ball and to estimate the situation. By the end of the first quarter we began to understand a little about American football and by the end of the second quarter we were already great experts, repeated the names of the best players, and yelled with all the other onlookers.

In broad outline, American football is somewhat like this: There are two teams; each team has its goal with a crossbeam. The grassy field is marked off by white crosswise strips, and each of these strips is occupied by assault. We will not describe the rules of the game in detail. They are too complicated. The important thing is how it is played, what is

done with the ball. The ball is made of leather; it is not round, it is oblong. This, it seems, makes it possible to hold on to it more firmly and more conveniently, pressing it to the stomach. When the teams take their places, bending over and facing each other, three players stand behind. The central player throws the ball back between his legs, which are spread apart, to one of his teammates at the back. The opponent does not see at once who caught the ball, and therein lies the advantage of the team that begins the play. The man who receives the ball either kicks it or throws it far ahead, on the calculation that one of his running team mates will catch it, or he passes it as unnoticeably as possible to a partner

from hand to hand. In either case, the man who finally receives the ball presses it to his stomach and runs ahead. Everyone has the right to push him, to catch him by his legs, to trip him up. Sometimes (this happens rarely and calls forth ovations from the stadium) the player manages to elude all attacks and carry the ball to the extreme end, into

the territory or camp of the opponent. However, more frequently he is caught and thrown to the ground. If at that time he let the ball drop out of his hands, the next turn, or, if you like, the next paroxysm, of football begins from the spot where the man fell with the ball. Occasionally the man who receives the ball, if he is a good runner, makes a wide circle in order to elude his enemies. But the enemies quickly discover him who holds the ball and run across to cut off his way. He passes the ball to another, that one to the third one, but it is difficult to break through, it is almost impossible, and the man with the ball is sometimes thrown to the ground farther away from the goal than at the moment when the turn began, and thus several feet are lost. Between the turns of play the team which has the ball holds a conference as to further tactics. By tradition this team goes a little to the side, and, forming a circle—so that only the bent backs and outspread legs are seen, while their heads, almost touching each other, form the centre—whispers. Finally, the terrible plan is thought up, the players peer ahead warily, and a new overwhelming brawl begins.

The Santa Clara and Texas Christian teams were almost evenly matched. The Christian young men of Texas were/a trifle stronger. In almost all the skirmishes their tactics consisted in having the player who had the ball fling himself headlong into the very thickness of the Santa Claraites and thus attempt to gain at least an inch of ground. He was felled at once. A new skirmish began and again an inch was gained. This reminded us of the attack on the western front at the time of the World War, when after a three-day artillery preparation the armies managed to move a hundred yards ahead. Slowly and implacably the Texans moved toward the goal of the Santa Claraites. The tension in-creased more and more. The young men in slanting hats shouted louder and louder. Now our entire attention was drawn to the public.

On the grandstands of the stadium, facing each other, sat the students of the respective universities, "suffering" for their teams. On our side sat several thousand Santa Claraites, in red caps, with their own band. Opposite us, the entire centre of the grandstand was occupied by the Christian young men in white caps, likewise with their own band, who had especially journeyed here from Texas.

When only about twenty feet remained before the last line of the Santa Claraites was reached, the Texans rose from their seats, took off their white caps and, rhythmically waving them in the direction of the opponent's goal, began to cry under the command of the band leader: "Go! Go! Go!"

In exact translation this means "proceed!" But it should be understood rather as: "Forward! Forward! Forward!"

The band also rose and, raising the horns to the very sky, blared forth intact the cacophonic sounds: "Go! Go!"

The Santa Claraites in their red caps were downcast and silent. By the time of the intermission, Texas Christian was ahead. A new disgrace fell on the heads of the poor students of Santa Clara. By tradition, the band of the victors played during the intermission. But now, while the players, spitting out the grass and pulling it out of their nostrils and ears, were restoring themselves into fit condition for the next half, the drums resounded, fanfares bayed, and parading into the field marched the white orchestra of Texas Christian. Ahead of them walked the drum-major, executing fancy dancing steps and waving his baton like a virtuoso. The band played its university march. All that time the Santa Clara band, sitting idly, must have suffered the torments Wagner experienced while listening to the hateful sounds of Traviata. Moreover, the contemptible band of the opponents played and played and played. Now the musicians were playing fashionable fox-trots and songs, marching one after the other down the field, coming together, walking apart, executing various marching figures. The band leader wriggled his body, tap-danced, and on purpose made all sorts of impudent body movements in order to irritate and humiliate his defeated enemies. The second half began.

Beyond the walls of the stadium we could see the houses of San Francisco ranged up and down. Close together and fresh and green were the trees of the gardens. The square of lawn shone in the sun, while the light odour of seaweed, oysters, youth, and happiness, which came from the ocean, mingled with the disgustingly drug-storish stench of whisky. The public, in order to warm up its enthusiasm and in fond memory of Prohibition days, pulled out flat pocket flasks and drank right out of the bottle while in the grandstand.

Again an interesting skirmish began. This time Santa Clara did not begin so badly. The line of combat came closer and closer to the goal of the Christian young men. Now red caps were lifted and the Santa Clara boys began to work up their football players.

"Go! Go! Go!" they cried in ringing youthful voices. The Santa Clara band, jumping to their benches, launched such 11 bedlam of music that this alone should have turned the accursed and impudent Christian young men into ashes. With every new whistle of the referee the line of the game moved toward the goal of the Texans. The Santa Claraites literally broke their way through with their heads, capturing inches and feet of green grass. Urged on by yells, they fought tooth and nail, and like bucking goats plunged headlong into the wall of enemy stomachs.

"Santa Clara!" some young men over our heads shouted desperately. "Santa Clara! Go! Go!"

Their eyes were popping. Their mouths were wideopen. Forgotten bits of chewing gum stuck to their teeth. The hour of reckoning was at hand. And suddenly something frightful happened. Something happened which compelled both warring grandstands to rise and to emit one heartrending cry, in which was everything, including triumph and pride and horror. In a word, it was a universal cry, the very loudest cry thirty thousand throats can muster.