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Updated: April 30, 2025
But as "Hail Columbia" belongs to all Americans, the Cobbers elected to flash their bunting, too. Suddenly the music paused. Then came pressing contempt for the hostile eleven: "All coons look alike to me!" Cobber's friends took the hint in an instant. To a man the visiting delegation arose, hurling out the Cobber yell in round, deep-chested notes.
Here came some of the belated Cobber men, supporting their fullback. There was a heavy crash. Stearns, caught in the midst of the mixup, went down, but he covered the pigskin! Then the linesman hurried up. The news was so good that it flew from mouth to mouth along the east side boards: "Forty-two yards!" Cobber's captain gasped. It had been close playing all afternoon.
A howl of delight went up from the home fans. Then Cobber's secondary defense made a dash for Stearns. The latter found himself balked, so headed straight for them. Through the line he made a dash. It was too much for little Stearns. Down he went, and a groan of disappointment went up from the Gridley seats. Yet only to one knee went the swift little end. He was up and off again like a shot.
It rolled out with full volume while the referee was placing the ball. By the time it died out Cobber's captain could be heard calling: "Four -nine -thirty-three -eight!" Trill-ll! Here, the heavier boys from Cobber began to do their fine work, and Gridley hearts sank. Cobber made a first down on three plays.
The college men certainly had scored. "It's Cobber's beef, not science," Dick stoutly asserted. "Our fellows play with more speed and real skill. Say -look at that!" For Bentley, of the college eleven, had just missed the kick from field. Five points for the visitors! The teams swiftly changed ends and lined up.
Cobber got the ball, and then other things began to happen. Cobber's big fellows worried the ball back for eleven yards. Then the visitors, who carried thirty per cent. more weight, began with heavy mass plays. Gridley began to go down, to double up and collapse before that heavy, rough play, in which fatigue, not speed was the object of the opponents.
"In many respects your play has been better than Cobber's. Weight is your poor point." Nevertheless the coach made several suggestions in the time that was allowed him. "Whenever you get a proper chance, Captain, and have the ball, open up the play as much as you can. Don't give Cobber a chance to bump you any when it can be avoided."
From the boy's side came the prompt response, in slow, measured cadence, every word of it distinct: "C-O-B-B-E-R! Born in misfortune! Reared on trouble. Grew to be a disgrace -and died in tears!" Cobber's friends had to "chew" over that. They had nothing in their repertory of "sass" that seemed to fill this bill. To return an inapt yell would be worse than silence.
In the daytime it was shell swept and subject to direct rifle fire, but at night came shadowy figures which passed to and fro from the beach bringing neat stones and round boulders for picturesque and permanent adornment of a cobber's grave. Or maybe there would be some diggers at work, or a burying-party.
So the visitors sat scowling at the field. "Score one on Cobber's goat," grinned Dave Darrin. Presently, after some whispering on the visitors' stand, this rather lame one came from the college crowd: "C-O-B-B-E-R! C-O-B-W-E-B! Our trap for the foolish little fly!" One of the few girls on the visitors' stand rose to wave her brown and gray banner. She slipped and fell through between the seats.
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