VIII. – THE PATRONS, SPECTATORS, AND POPULAR PLAYERS
They are to be found in all ranks and conditions of life, from the lord of the manor down to the apprentice-artizan and newly-fledged young man from shop and warehouse. Like love, football, for the time, at least, levels all distinction; and albeit I know, for that of it, many a well-matched pair, who have met for the first time on the grand stand at Hampden Park, looking back with feelings of intense pleasure to the time when their "infant love began." Were it not, in fact, that Caledonia is at times so "stern and wild," and that football and frost can never flourish together, the game would be far more extensively patronised by the fair sex. At a cup tie or an International match, it is quite a common thing to see the Convener of an adjacent county,1 the city magnate, the suburban magistrate, the Free Kirk minister, and the handsome matronly lady, standing side by side with the horny-handed mechanic, the office-boy, the overgrown schoolboy, and the Buchanan Street "swell." They all watch the game and surroundings in their own particular way. I once heard a quaint, but nevertheless true, idea of how some of the more familiar visitors give way to a certain failing, which in itself can scarcely be called such, but is not unfrequently looked upon with amazement by the stranger. The Scotchman, it is said somewhere, is not so much respected for the manner in which he goes about a thing as the way in which he does it, and the remark, when applied to this particular case, will be all the more potent. Here it is: – "Where are you going to howl to-morrow (the query is put on Friday), Jack?" "Oh! the Queen's and Vale, of course; they will have a close thing of it, and there will be rare fun," says Jack. "Old Anderson was very indignant last Saturday, and declares that he will never stand near me again at any such matches. He was quite ashamed of my howling, and positively charges me with digging my thumbs into his ribs, and nearly strangling his youngest son at every scrimmage near each goal." "It serves you right, Tom. I was always afraid something of that kind would happen; you shouldn't be so demonstrative." Tom was silent. He was as jealous of his own propriety and good behaviour as anybody could be, but being of a most excitable nature, he did things in the heat of a tussle for which he was afterwards very sorry, and many ignored the fact that he was an old Rangers man, who scored the first goal for that then young club in a close and exciting game with the once powerful Clydesdale. As the Association rules are very easily learned in theory, the great bulk of the spectators show an acquaintance with them which is pleasing to see, and when an assumed infringement takes place, it is generally heralded from some part of the field by a partisan of the contending elevens. The only apparently unintelligible point to them is the "off-side" rule, and I have seen a goal kicked in this way hailed with deafening cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. These manifestations, however, were turned into low growling when the leather was sent away by a free kick. The ladies, too, talk about "free kicks," "corner-kicks," "heading," "hands," "beautiful passing and dribbling," as if to the manner born. I cannot, however, dismiss the subject of spectators without referring to the use and abuse of a free and unrestrained vent to pent-up feelings. There is the low, vulgar fellow, whose collarless neck and general coarseness of exterior and language indicates that he possesses all the vices but none of the virtues of the "honest working man." Work he will not, except he is compelled, and although to "beg he is ashamed," he would be the first to do a mean action if he had the opportunity. It is he who, by his foul tongue and very breath, contaminates the atmosphere he breathes, and brings some of the matches into disrepute. Unfortunately he has paid his money at the gate (sometimes he gets over the fence), and you can't turn him out; but he makes hundreds miserable. He is, in fact, one of the "unimproving and irresponsible," and moral suasion has no power over his hard and stony heart. Sometimes in an evil moment his vulgar remark is challenged by one of the players on the contending sides, and this gives him an air of importance. There is nothing, however, which shows a want of gentlemanly bearing in a team more clearly than paying the least attention to exclamations from excited spectators. They should treat them with silent indifference, and if needs be, contempt, and play away as if there were nobody present at all. It is sometimes, nevertheless, very hard for country clubs to come to Glasgow and play for the city charities, and get howled at by this class of spectators at certain stages of the game. The great bulk of those around, however, are indignant at such conduct, and regret it all the more on account of being utterly unable to prevent it. There is another spectator, too, who not unfrequently forgets himself, and he is to be found on what might be termed the "touch-line" of society. He is the fast young man, who considers you a perfect nonentity if you don't bet. I don't mean betting on football pure and simple, for he only lays a few "bobs" on it, but on the latest quotations for the Derby, the St. Leger, the Waterloo Cup, or the University boat race. His "screw" is not very big at the best, but he can always lay "half a sov." on the event, whether his landlady's bill is paid or not, and touching that little account of Mr. Strides, the tailor, why, he'll pay it when he "makes a pile." He thinks too much of himself ever to get married, and the young ladies of his acquaintance may indulge in a sigh of relief at escaping from the toils of such a consummate fool. When he has something "on" a match, and sees that it is lost, he not unfrequently opens out, and is not over choice in his language. The game, however, goes on, and is greatly enjoyed by the general spectator, despite such drawbacks, and if you happen to go to the same locality on a similar occasion, you are all but sure to see old and familiar faces crowding round the stand and area.
The modern Association football player is a man of some ability. As a rule he is temperate in his habits, with a good appetite, and sound in limb. Long before he knew what football was, he was blessed with a large share of health. When a boy at school he used to be remarkable for punctuality, but occasionally got into trouble from neglected lessons, in consequence of a weakness for indulging in out-door sports. He loved the rude style of football, then played, dearly (he knew of nothing better), although goal-posts, touch-lines, corner-flags, and other modern appliances were totally unknown. As for "hacking," it was endured by all and sundry with the air of martyrs. Why, if you had not nerve enough to "give and take" in that line, your chance of getting near the "goal score" was remote indeed, and you were looked upon as a coward and the verriest noodle. He, of course, grows older, and by and by joins an average club, and gets on very well. The crack football players, however, have many maturities. They generally come slowly, but surely, and leave behind them powerful impressions. They are like the occasional planets, not the stars which are seen every evening if you care to look towards the "milky way." They are mostly fine-looking fellows, with pleasant countenances and grandly-moulded limbs. They have just passed a severe course of probation in the football field, without even an outward trace of anxiety. The vagaries of the game admit of no distinction of class. The crack player is, in fine, found among all classes – in the gentleman's son, in the clerk at the desk, and the lad in the workshop. There may be different ways of working out the latent ability, but sooner or later it begins to show itself. Some thought it was scarcely fair in the Duke of Wellington to say that "Waterloo was won at Eton." There is not the least possibility of doubt such a remark might be misunderstood, and many feel inclined to charge the "Iron Duke" with ignoring the services rendered by the non-commissioned officers and men of the British army, for everybody knows that none but the sons of the opulent class can ever gain admittance to Eton. It looked, in fact, very like the credit being given to the officers for winning that great battle. Wellington, however, had his eye on the football and cricket grounds when he spoke these words, and no doubt intended to convey the idea that these games went a long way in bracing up the nerve which served so well on the battle-field. Close adhesion to the practice of any game really and sincerely creates fresh possibilities of that perfection and discipline. And why should this not be so in football, particularly as it is a game regulated by sharply-defined maxims? Everyone can't be the captain of an eleven; and as for Wellington's remarks, the most humble member of the team may show the greatest ability. You may belong to the most "swellish" of clubs, and have a fair reputation, but you are not chosen to play in the International. Your father may be the "Great Mogul" himself, but that has no effect. The coveted place can only be attained by merit, and this is one of the most successful and meritorious traits in Scotch Association Football. You don't, as a rule, even get a place now by reputation, and so much the better. When clubs were few and good players fewer, you were not unfrequently favoured with one, whether you deserved it or not, but now the matter is different, and justly so, since we cannot go into a single town or village in Scotland without seeing the practice ground and goal-posts of the now omnipresent football club.
IX. – A DREAM OF THE PAST
I am getting old and stiff now, at least in a football sense, but have seen and played in, perhaps, more big matches in my time than many will be inclined to give me credit for now. Somehow or other the modern player does not seem to go into the game for the pleasure it affords nearly so heartily as his representative of yore, but it may be that the Compulsory Clause in the Education Act has made him more refined, or, if you like it, a good deal more cunning in hiding his animal spirits and exuberance of innocent fun. Be that as it may, the Association Football of to-day does not really possess the same charm to me as it did ten years ago.
I was once a very fair player, but never considered sufficiently brilliant to get my name handed down to posterity as the crack half-back of the "Invincible Club" of bygone days, or proclaimed aloud in the secret recesses of the great "houf" where football players now retire to spend a social hour after finding themselves the victors of a hard-fought field. I must admit, however, that I did some clever things which the newspapers of that era ought to have at least given me a "puff" for, but they didn't; in fact, I never, like Byron (Lord Byron, I mean), awoke one morning to find myself famous, because my football was that of days long ago, in an obscure (to football, at least) country town; and, besides, the game then was conducted in rather a rude and undignified fashion. Talk about rules, we had those which might, for all I know, have been framed by the "Chief Souter of Selkirk" himself to suit the peculiar mode of playing on the streets at Shrovetide (a practice still in vogue near that Border land). Our captain knew nothing of such new-fangled devices as the Rugby code, and far less of the Football Association. Ours, in brief, was a sort of combination of both styles of play. To win a "hail," as it was termed, the opposing side, with shoving, hacking, and other descriptions of horse-play, had only to pass the ball over the line, and it was won. Touch-lines, corner-flags, twenty-five flags, and even upright posts, and the usual concomitants of the scientific game of to-day, were unknown. This leads me, then, to the point of tracing the rise and progress of the game in Scotland during the past dozen years, leaving its antiquity and origin, about which there are mere surmises, an "open question." That it was played, however, in Edinburgh and Glasgow at least twenty years ago, under rules somewhat similar to those now adhered to by the followers of the Rugby Union I can well remember, and this was the only kind of football known by the young athletes of that time. Over a dozen years ago many were the exciting contests engaged in by not a few of the clubs still in existence.
The oval ball, with its historical associations, has a charm for them. They then talked about the Association style of play with something akin to contempt. "What," they might have been heard to say, "is the fun of looking at people 'bobbing' a ball about with their heads, and the half of a team doing nothing, while a couple or so of the players are engaged at a time? Give us the closely-packed maul, the exciting individual run, with the ball under the arm, the gallant struggle to ground it over the opposing line, and, above all, the beautifully dropped goal." "But nobody goes to see your matches now," remarks a newly-fledged convert to the Association style of play, who has come to see the "Inter-City," "they got disgusted with your never-ending mauls and shoving matches, preferring to witness scientific manipulation of the ball in dribbling, and passing with the feet." "Pshaw! do you imagine we care a straw for gate-money? We play the game for the love of it, and the genuine exercise it affords," retorts the old Rugby adherent, "and respect it all the more on that account." "Oh! it is all very well to tell one that, but don't your leading clubs still charge for admission to their matches?" "Yes; but this is more in the way of keeping out the roughs from the field than for gain." Such conversation I have overheard myself, and none of the sides made much by it.
Well can I remember the birth of Association Football in Scotland, and look back to the time when there was not as many clubs as I could count on the fingers of one hand. In 1870, a semi-International contest, under Association rules, was played in London between Scotch men living in England and an English Eleven, and continued till 1872, when, on November 30th, the first real International match between England and Scotland took place in Glasgow. In that same year, early in the season, the celebrated Queen's Park Club (to whom Scotland owes the introduction of the game), entered the lists for the English Challenge Cup, and were drawn against the London Wanderers. It was at that point that the matches which had hitherto been played in London between London Scotchmen and Englishmen were given up in favour of an annual match between Scotland and England, to be played alternately in London and Glasgow, and, if possible, so to arrange the contest that the Association match might be played in England the same season that the Rugby match would be played in Scotland, and vice versa. It might be as well here to say that the celebrated Scotch club and the Wanderers, then in the zenith of their fame, played a drawn game with no goals on either side, but finding it too difficult a job to meet the Englishmen again, they scratched. Since then, however, the Rugby and Association Internationals take place regularly as each season comes round, in Scotland and England alternately. It is a curious fact, and one worthy of record, that the Scottish Rugby Football Union and the Scottish Football Association were both constituted in the same year – viz., 1873. The Union was formed after the International Rugby match at Glasgow, Dr. J. Chiene, of Edinburgh, being in the chair on the occasion. The Scottish Football Association was formed under the presidency of Mr. Robert Gardner, the once famous goalkeeper.
The annual competition for the Association Cup, when the clubs who entered for it the first year only numbered 16, were proceeded with in a much more gentlemanly way than is the case now, but the reason is obvious. Hitherto young and inexperienced clubs never dreamt of entering against opponents with whom they knew they had no chance, and, consequently, the competitions were left to be fought out among the cream of exponents of the dribbling game. As each year came round, however, and young clubs began to multiply exceedingly, many of them considered they should have a shy at the "Cup," and as the entry-money for membership to the Association was only a nominal sum, they competed, and were never heard of after the first tie. No one who has watched the progress of Association Football in Scotland can for a moment deny the fact that the Challenge Cup has been the chief factor in assuring its popularity and rapid development all over the Western District of Scotland, and when its original promoters inaugurated the competition, it was done with the honest conviction of spreading a knowledge of the Association rules, together with generating a spirit of friendly rivalry amongst clubs.
That it has been eminently successful in the former respect is admitted, but I can't say the same thing so far as "friendly rivalry" is concerned, and one has only to remember the manner in which some of the ties are conducted to point out that the term "questionable conduct" would be more appropriate. When I hear of men and lads deliberately kicking one another, and charging wildly when the ball is about ten yards away in front, I begin to consider that the time has positively arrived when the Scottish Football Association, if it wishes to retain its hold, should interfere, and make a selection of clubs to compete for the "blue ribbon" of Association glory. Quadruple the subscriptions to the Association if necessary, and, above all, revise the bye-laws in such a way that what is known as a "rough game" would be impossible. It is but fair, however, to the Scottish Football Association to state that they have long been alive to the fact, and have since taken the matter up while deciding protests.
The Association Rules, however, are immensely popular with the people, and in some of the big matches it is quite a common thing to see 10,000 or 15,000 spectators. I have heard of such people as those who actually hate cricket and football, and make it a constant aim to prevent those over whom they have some influence from engaging in the manly sport. They occasionally flit across one's path like an evil spirit, and disappear as rapidly, but leave behind a chilling effect on the imagination, far more intense than the terrible nightmare after a disastrous defeat. They cannot see the fun of spending valuable time in such a way. If you follow one of those gentle "cads," however, at the close of an evening, he may be seen, cue in hand, earnestly engaged at the billiard table. He is not in a happy mood, for he is one of the losing side, and there is a wild look about his eyes. He sometimes gets home rather early in the morning, and is not particularly careful of his choice of companions at times. They are childish amusements, these games at cricket and football, "and none but silly people," he continues, "would ever think of engaging in, or even encouraging, them any way."
And another thing. There is a sort of prejudice to football, and, in fact, to a lot of healthful out-door exercises, in Scotland, among the older people, who can scarcely endure the thought of spending time under any circumstances; and parents are often the cause of degenerating a kind of deception more common than one would believe – viz., playing under assumed names. Surely it is much better for the young men to spend a spare afternoon on the football field, enjoying the fresh air, than being, perhaps, engaged in questionable "time-smashing," in the way of playing cards, draughts, or drinking. On asking a well-known dribbler the other day how it came about that he played under a nomme de guerre, "Was he afraid to let his real name be known?" The answer was conclusive. The governor was sometimes inexorable, and treated him to a lecture on filial obedience and the inevitable consequences of neglecting business. He positively debarred him from playing again, but Tom was not to be done. Taking advantage of the old fellow's absence from home, he yielded to the solicitations of his captain, and played under an assumed name, dribbling and passing in such beautiful form that thousands of spectators applauded his efforts, and his side won in a canter. As the non-indulgent parent did not observe Tom's name in the papers, his little deception was never found out, and he continued doing duty for his club in this way for a couple of seasons. And of the yet fine player who thinks he will retire as each season comes round, something must also be said. His eye has not yet lost the gleam of honest rivalry, and he snorts like the war-horse as each season comes round to be in the thick of the fight. He retired, it may be, last season, for good, as he thought, but the fascinations of the goal-posts and flying corner-flags was too much for him as a spectator at the first big game, and he yielded for another year, but it will be his last, for Maud, his beloved and beautiful Maud, will claim him as her own before June. "We have been long engaged," he is heard to say to an old club companion, "but this blessed football, of which I am very fond, has been the cause of putting off the marriage."
I once knew a fine young fellow, a crack half-back, who was so anxious to play in an "International," that he positively swore he would never get married till he was one of the chosen team. He kept his word. He played twice for his country, got married, and, as the "unexpected does not always happen," is now the father of what may some day prove a race of stalwart football players. His handsome, though now slightly-bent form, is still often seen when a great event is being decided, accompanied by his wife and children, and woe betide the captain of his former club if he allows it to be beaten. "Well played; keep him off the ball, can't you!" he is heard to exclaim, till he is red in the face, and he goes home to dinner with something like an appetite.
None but those who have positively come through all the grades of football probation really know what amount of labour, to say nothing of self-denial, is needed to make a crack back, half-back, or skilful forward. Sometimes one has to be contented with a place in the Second Eleven for years, before some incident, it may be, brings him to the front, and reveals true merit. In football, of course, as in other things, I have found that the best men were not always in their best places, and when this was the case, what is known as favouritism came in bold relief, but in the end the club in which such stupidity was rampant suffered very severely. It did all very well when the club were engaged in ordinary contests with weaker opponents, but it came out in some of the big events, in which the guilty club predominated in the selection of men to represent a city, a university, and even a country. Fortunately, however, I can honestly say that during the last few years there has been little of this practised, and Scotch football under both rules is all the better in consequence.
While every enlightened mind is willing to go a long way in advocating equality, the line must be drawn somewhere, and I am inclined to think at that stage where gentlemanly feeling and courtesy are absent. A very obscure individual may, by his conduct on the field, show that he at least can be a gentleman. In all such manly sports social distinction ought to be sunk, and that great and noble equality – that equality and love of honest worth which is so dear to the Scotch (and let me also say English heart) be ever remembered, when team meets team on the football field. We are shown noble examples of how in days gone by, peer mingled with peasant on the cricket field, strove with each other on the curling pond, and why should not such things exist in football? Let me hope that as each succeeding season comes round the noble winter game will in proportion show greater improvement, both in club and individual integrity, as well as higher scale of moral worth.