“Well!  If you feel that way about it, you need not even put on your suit.  I have a substitute, who is game to the core.  He will take your place.”

It is true that teams have been ruined where the men lack the great quality of optimism in football.  When a man gets in a tight place, when the odds are all against him, there comes to him an amazing superhuman strength, which enables him to work out wonders.  At such a time men have been known to do what seemed almost impossible.

I recall being out in the country in my younger days and seeing a man, who had become irrational, near the roadside, where some heavy logs were piled.  This man, who ordinarily was only a man of medium strength, was picking up one end of a log and tossing it around—­a log, which, ordinarily, would have taken three men to lift.  In the bewildering and exciting problems of football, there are instances similar to this, where a small man on one team, lined up against a giant in the opposing rush line, and game though handicapped in weight there comes to him at such a time a certain added strength, by which he was able to handle successfully the duty which presented itself to him.

I have found it to be the rule rather than the exception, that the big man in football did not give me the most trouble; it was the man much smaller than myself.  Other big linemen have found it to be true.  Many a small man has made a big man look ridiculous.

Bill Caldwell, who used to weigh over 200 pounds when he played guard on the Cornell team some years ago, has this to say: 

“I want to pay a tribute to a young man who gave me my worst seventy minutes on the football field.  His name was Payne.  He played left guard for Lehigh.  He weighed about 145 pounds; was of slight build and seemed to have a sort of sickly pallor.  I have never seen him since, but I take this occasion to say this was the greatest little guard I ever met.  At least he was great that day.  Payne had been playing back of the line during part of the season, but was put in at guard against me.  I had a hunch that he was going to bite me in the ankle, when he lined up the first time, for he bristled up and tore into me like a wild cat.  I have met a goodish few guards in my day, and was accustomed to almost any form of warfare, but this Payne went around me, like a cooper around a barrel, and broke through the line and downed the runners in their tracks.  On plunges straight at him, he went to the mat and grabbed every leg in sight and hung on for dear life.  He darted through between my legs; would vault over me; what he did to me was a shame.  He was not rough, but was just the opposite.  I never laid a hand on him all the afternoon.  He would make a world beater in the game as it is played to-day.”