C. L. Poor, one of the veterans of the Annapolis squad, Varsity and Hustlers, has something to say concerning the effect of football upon the relationship between officers and men.

“Generally speaking,” he says, “it is considered that the relationship is beneficial.  The young officer assumes qualities of leadership and shows himself in a favorable light to the men, who appreciate his ability to show them something and do it well.  The average young American, whether himself athletic or not, is a bit of a hero worshipper towards a prominent athlete, and so the young officer who has good football ability gets the respect and appreciation of the crew to start with.”

J. B. Patton, who played three years at Annapolis, says of the early days: 

“I entered the Academy in 1895.  In those days athletics were not encouraged.  The average number of cadets was less than 200, and the entrance age was from 14 to 18—­really a boys’ school.  So when an occasional college team appeared, they looked like old men to us.

“Match games were usually on Saturday afternoon, and all the cadets spent the forenoon at sail drill on board the Wyoming in Chesapeake Bay.  I can remember spending four hours racing up and down the top gallant yard with Stone and Hayward, loosing and furling sail, and then returning to a roast beef dinner, followed by two 45-minute halves of football.

“One of our best games, as a rule, was with Johns Hopkins University.  Paul Dashiell, then a Hopkins man, usually managed to smuggle one or more Poes to Annapolis with his team.  We knew it, but at that time we did not object because we usually beat the Hopkins team.

“Another interesting match was with the Deaf Mutes from Kendall College.  It was a standing joke with us that they too frequently smuggled good football players who were not mutes.  These kept silent during the game and talked with their hands, but frequently when I tackled one hard and fell on him, I could hear him cuss under his breath.”

M. M. Taylor brings us down to Navy football of the early nineties.

“In my day the principal quality sought was beef.  Being embryo sailors we had to have nautical terms for our signals, and they made our opponents sit up and take notice.  When I played halfback I remember my signals were my order relating to the foremast.  For instance, ‘Fore-top-gallant clew lines and hands-by-the-halyards’ meant that I was the victim.  On the conclusion of the order, if the captain could not launch a play made at once, he had to lengthen his signal, and sometimes there would be a string of jargon, intelligible only to a sailor, which would take the light yard men aloft, furl the sail, and probably cast reflections on the stowage of the bunt.  Anything connected with the anchor was a kick.  The mainmast was consecrated to the left half, and the mizzen to the fullback.