“I ’ve seen a lot of football games, and I ’ve seen
lots of rooters, but this is the goddamndest gang of
yellow-bellied quitters that I’ve ever seen. What
happened last Saturday when we were behind?
I’m asking you; what happened ? You quit! Quit
like a bunch of whipped curs. God! you ’re yellow,
yellow as hell. But the team went on fighting—
and it won, won in spite of you, won for a bunch
of yellow pups. And why? Because the team’s
got guts. And when it was all over, you cheered
and howled and serpentined and felt big as helL
Lord Almighty! you acted as if you’d done
something.”
His right hand came out of his pocket with a jerk, and he extended a fighting, clenched fist to¬ ward his breathless audience. “I ’ll tell you some¬ thing,” he said slowly, viciously; “the team can’t win alone day after to-morrow. It can’t win alone! You’ve got to fight. Damn itl You’ve got to fight! Raleigh’s good, damn good; it hasn’t lost a game this season—and we’ve got to win, win! Do you hear? We’ve got to win! And there’s only one way that we can win, and that *s with every man back of the team. Every god¬ damned mother’s son of you. The team’s good, but it can’t win unless you fight—fight!” Suddenly his voice grew softer, almost gentle. He held out both hands to the boys, who had be-
