The Battle of the Giants.

Cromwell Argus, 9 August 1926, Page 5

The Battle of the Giants.

By a Ruminating Rustic. The end is fast drawing nigh of yet another winter with all its strenuous joys. Our conversation has already changed whilst at the same time remaining unchanged. It the main the theme remains unaltered. No longer do we hint darkly of such mysteries as the " end of the first round," or " the banner," or "the runners-up." We now ponder with a reverence amounting almost unto awe over such matters as " the county match." Truely the day of the Battle of the Giauts is at hand. The chosen few are the envy and the pride of their district. For a space they appear to be clothed with a halo, their names are on all tongues. Verily their fame, if not their fortune, is made. Methinks that, taken on the whole, this season has been rather disappointing. In the very earliest stages, one team sang to a very poor tune and retired in dismay. However, we have the consolation of knowing that it is not their swan-song. Towards the end there was no exciting finish where the destination of the coveted banner depended upon the result of one last game decided, as has several times been the case, in only the last few moments. This time, such joys wore not to be.

Why does sport hold suah a sway in our everyday life *? It appears as though our present day veneer of civilisation does not extend to any great depth beneath the skin. The old primitive spirit of contest or as our Australian friend, C. J. Dennis, calls it " the call of stomh," must still course freely in our veins. Accordingly it is interesting to cast our thoughts back through the ages. The ancient Greeks and the Romans held their games, many of which were of a military nature and all strenuous to a degree. Latin writers tell us how the Roman chariotmen in their training would leap from their chariots going at a gallop and would return again at the same speed by standing directly in front, catching the horses heads and vaulting on to the pole, along which they ran to the chariot. The knives on the wheels prevented a return by any other route. Compared with this, even football, the most strenuous of our modern games, appears in much the same light as marbles as either played in our school days or as played at a later stage in life under the name of bowls. If there be anyone who should think otherwise, let him take an ordinary buggy and pair and having lengthened the pole straps and bribed a friend to drive, then give it a go. Personally, if I were compelled to take part in this doubtful form of amusement, I would prefer to act the part of the friend. At a later stage, in the Roman era, the gladiators were introduced, but by this time the empire of the Caesars was in its decline. In the history of our own nation we read of such things as tilting at the lists, tournaments, &c. If we are to take the word of historians, it would not appear as though any of these pastimes were exactly kid glove affairs. Naturally, in those rugged days the gentler sex played the part only of onlookers. Even in the days of our parents it was considered most unbecoming for any damsel to disport herself in public. To day, however, things have chauged considerably, and as time moves on, sport sees more and more of our fashion and beauty. The spectators also in some respects see more at a hockey match than at football. At the present rate we wonder what it will be like in our grandchildren's days. Perhaps we had better pursue a different line of thought, as our ruminations are becoming too deep for ordinary mortals. As aforesaid, the season of brawn and muscle is now almost past, and the country will adopt once more for a space its normal attitude, and we shall lose sight of our heroes with sling, crutch and plaster, butchered for a Roman holiday. It has been said that we arc living in the specialist age. This certainly appears to be so. Even in our sport we specialise. New Zealand, I make free to say, has shown the world how to play football, while Australia plays cricket as to the manner born. This wc are all agreed is just as it ought to be. Did not the Duke of Wellington say that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, or words to that effect? Did not our New Zealand and Australian lads show during the last war that they were jii3t as good soldiers as Hanniba 1 led across the Alps ? Therefore play up, play up, and play the game. Play it as gentlemen, or let it b 3 an open slather, but get to it, and show the other chap that, come what may," you arc as good a man as he and don't give a damn.