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Updated: June 8, 2025
One continues to believe in college athletics, in spite of the frequent absurdities and worse, done in their name; only if the numbers of those playing the game and those exercising only their lungs and throats from the bleachers, were reversed, better all-round athletic education would result.
Take a good linen rag, no matter how black it is, and put it through the washers, and the bleachers, and the cutters, and all the time it's gettin' whiter and whiter, and sweeter and sweeter, the more you bang it round; till at last you have bank-note paper, and write to the Queen of England on it, if you're a mind to, and she won't have none better.
Hooker was still sitting hunched on the bleachers, when Rackliff, having lighted a fresh cigarette, came sauntering languidly toward him. "Hello, Roy, old sport," saluted the city youth. "You look lonesome." "I'm not," retorted Hooker shortly. "Well, you're not practicing, and you must be tired of watching the animals perform.
The noisy bleachers, the merry laughter, the flashing colors, and especially the bright gowns and pretty faces of the girls gave Ken pleasurable consciousness of what it would mean to play before such a crowd. At Wayne he had pitched to empty seats. Remembering Worry's prophecy, however, he was content to wait. From that moment his duty absorbed him.
He saw a glittering mass, a broad, moving band of color. Everywhere waved Place flags, bright gold and blue. White faces gleamed like daisies on a golden slope. In the bleachers close to the first base massed a shirt-sleeved crowd of students, row on row of them, thousands in number. Ken experienced a little chill as he attached the famous Place yell to that significant placing of rooters.
The keen newsboy sitting below us broke the amazed silence in the bleachers. "Wot d'ye tink o' that?" Old Well-Well writhed in his seat. To him if was a one-man game, as it had come to be for me. I thrilled with him; I gloried in the making good of his protege; it got to be an effort on my part to look at the old man, so keenly did his emotion communicate itself to me.
"And she's still studying?" Another voice "How can she? Great beauty and great scientist bizarre combination!" How that would amuse Prof. Darmstetter! By and by I saw John towering above the others while he bobbed about helplessly in the sea of women's heads that filled the rooms and even rose upon the "bleachers," as he calls the stairs.
The third act drew on. The low comedian had just finished joshing back and forth with the bleachers, whose chorus work had equalled, in some respects, that on the stage. A soft light began to illumine the painted heavens, and a three-hundred-candle-power Luna, the pride and joy of Connor's heart, rose in wavering majesty.
Burlee!" shrieked the yell-leader as Vic leaped over the goal line and the rooters roared: The Sunrise hope! And that's the dope! Never quails! Never fails! Burleigh! Burly! Burlee! A difficult kick from a sharp angle sent the ball through the air one inch wide of the goal post, and the bleachers counted five.
It was gay, inexorable; you couldn't beat L. A. High, field or bleachers. Stephen Lorimer never missed a game. His wife went once and never again. "I suppose I am too sensitive," she said, "but I can't help it. It's the way I'm made. I simply cannot endure seeing anything so brutal. I can't understand those young girls ... and the mothers!"
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