The outcome of this hastily-formed notion was that a sort of Nomadic team, calling themselves the Western Pilgrims, was formed, and three or four matches, and good ones, too, were played between them and the Conquerors and also the Cedargrove. The Pilgrims showed themselves no mean opponents in the new game, and, after holding their own with the Cedargrove in a drawn game, had a good tussle with the Conquerors on the recreation ground at the Park, and were only beaten by a goal to none, the goal, I remember, being made in the last five minutes by Bob Gardens (who could dribble and play forward as well as keep goal). A few of the Pilgrims took kindly to the Association rules, and while that season lasted two of the leading forwards joined the Cedargrove, and turned out capital players. Another joined the Druids, and became a famous goalkeeper, even going as far as playing for his country in the International match, and the fourth turned out a leading man in the Holyrood Crescent. Talking about the above goalkeeper, Aleck M'Gregor was one of the finest fellows that ever stood with his back to a goal. There was the cheerful disposition, the gentlemanly demeanour to opponents or associates whenever he appeared on the field. His knowledge of the Rugby game made him a most useful man at goal, where the keeper of that charge is the only man under Association rules who is allowed to touch the ball with his hands. With the ordinary goalkeeper the punt-out kick, when dexterously executed, was considered the most effective mode of saving the ball from going under the tape, when the use of the hands to knock it out was not deemed necessary, but Aleck preferred the drop-kick, which is one of the redeeming features in the Rugby style of play, and this he could do almost to perfection. I have seen him (for I have, by-the-bye, taken part against him in several matches) lift a ball after it had come pretty smartly from my right toe, and dropping it on the ground before him, kick it as it rose, bounding away over the heads of the Conquerors' forwards as they besieged the goal like a hive of bees on a June morning. He had decidedly the advantage over the modern "punter," inasmuch that the leather was always sure to go higher out of reach when the place of defence was besieged, and farther out of the way of lurking backs and half-backs, who, as a matter of course, crowd down behind the forwards when an attack is made on an opponent's stronghold.
There were other instances which came to my knowledge (that is, if my reader can imagine anything so queer as a pair of boots possessing such an immensely human gift) of converts from Rugby to Association style of play, or rather perverts, as they were designated, but enough has been said to show how Association football gained a hold on the young and rising generation, and how it spread all over the western and north-western portion of the country, and, like the proverbial Eastern magician's wand, caused goal-posts and corner-flags to spring up in every village and hamlet with remarkable rapidity. Close to the shores of several Highland lochs, where a big kick by a stalwart half-back endangers the ball being swept away by the tide, one can see the game played of an evening by the village youth with great earnestness of purpose. By and by the new rules made remarkable progress, and as the public liked the game, and deserted the Rugby matches to see what they considered the most easily understood rules, the breach between the rival contingents widened, and eventually the Jews had no dealings with the Gentiles, and so they both continue playing the games they consider the best.
What changes have taken place in clubs and players during the last few years! Faces, blithe, happy faces, now gone forever, can be remembered by the old spectators, although the present scarcely ever heard their names; but I will not go very far back. Poor Dixy (for he is dead now) – well can I remember his first introduction to the Conquerors. My master had been indulging, in company with Bob Gardens, Jim Wild, Willie Keith, and others, in a punt about on the evening preceding a match with the Red Cross, and, after shaking hands and passing the usual compliments, the practice game was started, and in it the newcomer showed well, and kicked cleverly with both feet. He was, however, just a shade too slow, and I frequently tackled him, and secured the leather, giving it a deal of "toe" after passing close in on goal. The club were badly off for a goal-keeper after Willie Keith left for America, and, as John was not backward in making a display of his ability, he offered to act as goal-keeper. It would take too long to recount the games in which he and I were engaged in the subsequent career of the Conquerors, but an incident or two will not be considered out of place. If Dixy had one weakness more than another it consisted in a lively sense of his own importance as a crack goalkeeper, and the supposed invincible qualities of his club, which he often declared could not be beaten. He improved wonderfully in his new position, and, while playing some of the junior clubs, which were by this time beginning to spring up, it was positively amusing to see how John would advance quietly from his goal when it was besieged, and punt the ball contemptuously away with quite a crowd of young ones close up, awe-stricken at the agility shown by such a bulky form.
A few of the Red Cross and Cedargrove forwards sometimes gave him a fright, and in one match with the Leven Crowers he was fairly outwitted by Boyd and Ned M'Donald in a cup tie. I fought hard in that memorable battle myself, and never got such a saturation with water and mud in my career; but we were beaten. I will not easily forget Dixy as he came to the field on that occasion, carrying his umbrella to the goal-posts, and laying it against the left one. He, poor fellow, expected his club would have an easy victory, and this belief was shared in by not a few of the eleven besides, including my master, who had, by the way, emerged into a centre forward since the last match with the Kilmarackers, and as a consequence he gave me a deal of extra work as a backer-up to Mat. Angus. In fact, not long after I was carefully laced and ready for the fray that wet afternoon, the Conqueror's eleven had a confab about the tactics they should pursue, and Joe Sayler, our captain (who is now no more, and lost to his club for ever), remarked it would take them all their time to beat the Crowers. He had, I could see by his anxious looks, grave doubts on the issue. At the outset of the game the rain poured down in torrents, and as most of the play was on the Crowers' portion of the field, the umbrella was put up, amid the laughter of the partisans of John's contingent and the pent-up indignation of the followers of the Crowers, who mustered strong on the occasion, and demonstrated a strength of lungs truly astonishing. John, by and by, when the battle became hot, had to discard his old friend and comforter, and work in front of his fortress in a way that he had never done before, and when the terrible tussle ended, the Conquerors were beaten by two goals to one. When chaffed on the "umbrella incident" ever afterwards Dixy was silent, and declared that in using it he did not hold his opponents too cheaply, but simply with a desire to save himself from a ducking. John was also a capital oarsman, and when he was suddenly cut away in the pride of his manhood, he was barely 30 years of age. He was greatly lamented, and his handsome figure is missed from the football field.
John's death reminds me of a young and promising forward named Smith, who used to play on the left wing of the Cedargrove in company with a smart companion named Seward. Young Smith was a very enthusiastic football player, and missed few, if any, practice games. Poor lad, I met him twice in one season in matches with the Cedargrove, and it took all my master knew to prevent him from getting clean past the Conquerors' backs and scoring. He was a nice dribbler, and like Fred Adamson (an old member of the same club), went straight ahead with a splendid hold of the leather. Talking about Fred, I remember that player, in company with Johnny M'Phedran and James Wilton, going for big Thomas, who was then the Conquerors' captain, and played at half-back. Thomas was an awful fellow to meet in a charge, and a hundred to one was sure to send his opponent to grass. Johnny, however, who was a little bandy-legged, held tenaciously to the ball, and while Thomas was eagerly watching his opportunity, Fred sent him flat on his back, and the ball was close on goal in an instant. There was a hard scrummage, and in the nick of time, Joe Sayler (who was then the crack sprinter of the Conquerors), dashed up and got the ball clear before it reached the keeper. Poor Smith, he caught a severe cold one evening, and eventually succumbed to a painful malady. The Cedargrove were at one time hard to beat. In fact, in the early history of the Scottish Football Association Challenge Cup, they pressed my master's club hard for the trophy, and were only vanquished – after three games – by one goal to none.
The Red Cross were also dangerous opponents, and possessed not a few capital players. There were John Huxter, Sandy Kenneth, Jack Williams, Joe Drummond, and Bill Millins. They were not easily beaten. Sandy Kenneth, though rather a quiet-looking customer to meet in the street, developed into one of the finest half-backs that Scotland ever produced. He was always cool and collected, and, although by no means a very hard kicker, could judge the ball to a hair-breadth. Sandy was especially clever in tackling, which he could manage without deliberate charging. If the ball got up close on the goal which he defended, he would follow the dribblers, and with a clever manœuvre on the left foot, obtain possession, and after nursing the ball for a few minutes, would, amid the applause of the spectators, send it spinning down the field. Then there was Bill Summons. He was rather a volatile customer, and a perfect football coquette. There was scarcely a club of any pretensions in Glasgow but what Bill had wooed. He, however, stuck well to the Red Cross, and did some splendid service in their best matches, but eventually left them and joined the Conquerors, who, by the way, were just a shade too ready to take over the best men of other clubs by holding out tempting baits in the shape of big matches. Bill, with all his faults, was a grand back, and I question if anybody in Glasgow could make a finer kick when he set his mind to it. He had his failing, to be sure, and who hasn't? He was sometimes most erratic while playing important matches, and, especially on a windy day, would make grave mistakes with too heavy kicking.
Jack Huxter, too, of the Red Cross, was a very fine player, and a "caution" to get past at back (poor fellow, he, too, like Dixy, has gone to his account). He was a dangerous man to meet in the heat of a tussle near the goal-line, and woe betide the daring forward who would attempt to take the ball from Jack there. His only weakness was a frequent desire to "go" for the man instead of the ball, and charging rather heavily. Although a back, he was by no means an inferior dribbler, and possessing good speed, sometimes astonished the members of his own club by the smart runs he would now and again make in company with the forwards when the leather was in an opponents' territory. He stuck like a veritable leech to the Red Cross, and turned out most faithfully to all their important matches. I must not forget Willie Millins, who was one of the neatest dribblers of his day. He has given up football now. Getting a clear start, many an exciting and clever run he made for the Red Cross. I heard my master say that in a match for the Association Cup between his club and the Cedargrove, he once made a goal after dribbling the ball almost the entire length of the field.
Then there was a lot of smaller fry, including good players belonging to the Dumbrook, North-Eastern, Gallowgate Rovers, the Locomotive Slashers, Thornians, Northern Jumpers, Edinburgh Irishmen, Partick Unfortunates, and last, though by no means least, the Flying Blues. There was no club in Scotland, except, perhaps, the Vale Crowers, that had made so much progress in the game as those Flying Blues, and few, if any, were gifted with the same amount of self-confidence. The Blues, nevertheless, had good reason to feel proud of some of their members, for they were young and active, and the very ideal of smart football players. It was a lucky thing for them when they migrated from the north and established themselves in the old ground vacated by the Cedargrove. Had it not been for that lucky arrangement, they might have wasted their football lives in obscurity, and gone down to Association posterity "unhonoured and unsung." Their success was as remarkable as it was swift and decisive. Possessing any amount of pluck, they tackled all and sundry in the district, and the second year, after gaining something like a first-class reputation, won nearly every game they played. Their captain, Tom Vincent, was a grand back, and, indeed, one of the crack men in that position, of whom Scotland has now so many to select from; and then there was Bentback, Bill Donoup, Jack Drummer, and Mat Neil, all fine players at their respective positions. Never shall I forget the match between the Blues and the Conquerors for the Association Cup a dozen years ago, about the last big match in which I took an active part. My master's team had had bad luck though, for after pressing the Flying Blues till within a few minutes of the game, the Blues beat the Conquerors by one goal to none, Bill Donoup sending the ball under goal at the last minute, although the story goes that he had a bet of a "sov." that the Conquerors would win, and it was even admitted that he was heard to say, when kicking the goal, "Here goes my blooming sovereign!"
Although now stowed away in the corner of a large chest, side by side with jerseys, caps, knickerbockers, and other football requisites, as a remnant of the glorious game, my master sometimes visits me to think over the past, and I often hear him say that, although he does not play now, he still goes to see some of the leading contests, and at them picks up many queer stories of the modern players. Last year's crack men, as he sees them crowding in his "mind's eye," are not, he says, unworthy representatives of those of the past.
VI. – HOW CLUBS WERE STARTED LONG AGO
When the summer game of cricket was far more extensively played in Glasgow and District than it is now, those who understood the feelings and aspirations of young men engaged in it repeatedly considered the question in all its aspects, and a combination of circumstances have occurred within the last decade which had seriously affected that game. The City of Glasgow could not, of course, afford to remain in a stationary condition to suit the convenience of a few thousands of cricketers. New streets had to be formed, new houses built all round, and with this advance upon civilisation came the deadly blow to cricket – at least juvenile cricket – and those clubs soon disappeared from the field. Ground after ground was swallowed up, and on the scene of many a hot and exciting match blocks of houses, railway stations, churches, and public works may now be seen. The Scotch youth, and for that part of it (just to give the sentence greater weight), the British youth, loves some kind of manly sport. Cricket he could no longer play for want of good and level ground, but then there was another game which, at least, could be played or learned under easy circumstances, even on a quiet street or big "free coup," and that was Association football. They soon took to it kindly, and many of them struggled hard and procured a ground. Not one, of course, like that on which they used to have their cricket matches long ago, but one on which Farmer Lyon grazed his cows and sheep, and they had it for a trifle. What did they care about ridges and furrows, or that it was a difficult matter to see the lower goal-posts when you were at the east end? Not a straw. The only matter which annoyed them (and this only happened occasionally) was Lyon's bull. Their club colours were red jerseys, with a small white stripe, and "Jock" (that was the animal's name), used to scatter the lads about on the Friday evenings when they were engaged in a big side. The players generally managed to clear out in time, but the infuriated animal once goared the best ball the club had, and next morning, as they had to play the "Invincible" of Glasgow Green, a subscription had to be raised for a new one. Football can thus be played under much more favourable conditions than cricket, or almost any other out-door game, at less expense, and this, in a great measure at least, is the secret of its popularity amongst the masses. It can also be played under nearly every condition of the atmosphere. Nothing seems to frighten the Scotch Association football player. Rain, hail, snow, and even frost, is treated with cool indifference. In England the ball is quietly laid aside with the advent of April and forgotten till the Autumn leaves are yellow and sear, but in Scotland Association football seems to have no recognised season at all, so far as the younger clubs and even a few of the seniors are concerned. With the sun making one's hair stick to his head with perspiration, and the thermometer at 90 degrees in the shade, they play away in the summer-time, and at Christmas attempt to dribble in half-a-foot of snow. Meantime the question about football being blotted out can, I think, be easily answered in the negative, and upon these will depend the future prospect of Association Football in Scotland. There are, in fact, "breakers ahead," and a strong and determined hand will have to take the wheel. The greatest of these is the "professional" football player, and the next the "greed of gate-money." "O! we never heard of a professional football player in Scotland," exclaims a chorus of voices; "there is no such thing. It's only in England." My remark, of course, is only beginning to be realised. The definition of professional in athletics "is one who runs (plays) for gain." Everybody knows what that means. If you receive any money whatever, directly or indirectly, from your club (except out of the private purses of the members), you are a professional. Are there not clubs, with great reputations, who have such members? If these are allowed to continue on the club books simply because they are good players, the committee are doing a great injustice to the other members, it may be under a mistaken notion. Now, as football has always been looked upon as a purely amateur game, and played by young men for their own amusement, it is to be hoped that the day is far distant when the professional football player, or even worse, the professional football "loafer," who does not work, but preys upon his fellow-members, will appear in a general form. In all conscience, if the public wish to see professional football (and I know from experience they don't), what would they think of the All-Scotland Eleven against the Champion Eleven of England? That might sound all right, but with the recollection of how professional athletics of all kinds (with the remarkable exception of cricket) are now conducted, and their low associations, woe betide football when the professional element is introduced. It will assuredly be the signal for its decline and fall. As for the greed of gate-money, of which some clubs are so fond, much might be said. When I refer to the clubs who try to gather as much cash as they can during the season in order to pay their legitimate obligations and meet the heavy item of ground rent, I show up an honourable example, and one worthy of imitation; but when I hear of clubs who have gathered ten, yea twenty times more than is required for such purposes, and even get handsome donations besides from their patrons, deep in debt at the end of the season, I begin to wonder where all the money has gone. I ask a young gentleman who has only lately become a member, and he tells me he knows nothing about the finance committee, but throws out grave hints about sordid motives and bare-faced applications for pecuniary assistance. In this respect clubs must be above suspicion, if they want the delightful game to hold its own and prosper. As a quid pro quo for this vicious practice, however, there is no game whose players are so charitable as those connected with Association Football. There is not a club in the Association that is not ready to play a "Charity Match," and far more has been given to the funds of charitable institutions by the actions of Association football clubs than all the other games in Scotland put together.