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Whittier Game
(Extracts from his account of the game.)
The whistle blew; the pigskin vaulted,
Chaffey rushed and Whittier halted.
Back and forth the battle raged,
Here and there good plays were staged.
I tell you that it was great fun
To see our Dick upon the run.
He got there sure and made his gain
The interference, too, was sane.
First goal was made, with forward pass,
Couch crouched low; he showed some class.
He ran around and made it clear.
From Chaffeyites came cheer on cheer.
The goal was kicked, loud praise be given,
The score now stands W, naught' C, seven.
And nothing now can beat our band,
For it's the best in all the land.
Our hopes run high, there is no drought
Of men for us -- just look at South.
Now watch his effort, shout our hosts!
He's kicked the ball between the posts.
He did it once, nor stopped at twice!
His eye was true -- a field goal thrice!
But toward the close came a sensation
That filled each Chaffey heart with elation:
Brad grabbed the ball, away he flew
Down, down the field, right into view.
Nor can we easily forget
Joe's forward plunge. His jaw was set.
It saved the score. On Bradford tore,
Beyond the goal the ball he bore.
To Shutt, our coach, great praise be given,
Who knows just how great scores are driven.
The game throughout was fiercely fought.
The final score, thirty to naught.
And if success should come again
It is because our boys are men
Who live each day as ever ready
To play life's game most sure and steady.
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