ON THE BALL

Otago Witness, 1 June 1910, Page 13

ON THE BALL

By Leo Fanninq.

IN- VARIOUS WAYS. THE BARRACKERS.

IV. Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed, As if unearthly fiends' had burst their bar. Thomas Campbell. He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled The assembly as when hollow rocks retain The sound of blustering winds, which all night'long Had roused the sea. , Milton. The barracker is the peculiar product of the football field. He is a very hardy annual. He" plants himself there, season after season, and breaks out generally in a yeller bloom (but there are other colours) with little provocation—beautiful " flowers of the field and lilies of the valley." There are many minor species : The tufted crow-toe end pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. Also the crocus, the tiger lily, the common daisy, phlox Drummondi grandiflora, scarlet runners, and ragwort. AMERICA'S ART. Barrack is not so highly specialised in New Zealand as in America, where the raucous "rooter " has his well-practised role. A good representative " rooter" is there as much prized as a good representative half back is here. A smart, perky, inventive American "rooter" has the dignity of newspaper interviews thrust upon him, and his " stunts " are glorified in the press with all the glamour of thick headings. A new "stunt" is as much acclaimed as a new North Pole could hope to be. The difference between the two countries is that in America "rooting" is a well-estab-lished art, and in New Zealand barracking is merely a haphazard business. Few people go to a match deliberately to yell, and even those who are guilty of this malice aforethought seldom rise to anything more original than " Go it, blues," or " Kick it in, blacks." Concerted barracking has been heard, bu* it has not often been anything more thrilling than " Well played, Biffer." For this lack of skill in the barracking department one is rather grateful than regretful. Only American nerves are strong enough for expert, organised barrack. USES AND MISUSES. These remarks so far have referred to the coherent barracking. It is altogether a different story fo the incoherent specimen. The inarticulate ejaculations of an impartial crowd at a football match, a dog fight, or a street fire are the expression of the event, the translation of the event into emotion. In such a case, when the barrack is not biassed, a blind man, with a good working knowledge of football, can easily follow the fortunes of a game. A half-sympathetic grunt, a mixture of amusement and pity, makes him aware that a threequarter, after beating six men, has been hard tackled by the full back just outside the goalline A loud derisive laugh tells him that a thumby person has absurdly mulled a pass or the receipt of the ball from a high kick. A prolonged bout ot laughter makes it plain to the sightless one that a worried front-ranker has at last rammed an aggressive wing-forward amidships. . . , Barrack can be a donkey-engine windin o- the play up and down the field Barrack can be balm to a player, and barrack can be beer, heady beer, 40 X beer, fighting beer (half tobacco juice). The barracker s set the m.usic for the (game. > lne barrackers say " on with the dance, and if they use bugles and French horns to stimulate the waltzers, .much sticking plaster and embrocation will be in demand after the ball is over the two forty-fives. The barrackers hold the players in their jaws, and if the barrackers bite hard, the playe*s, too, will bite hard. The fighters are as responsive to the blasts of the barracker as an iEolian harp to the wind s caress. . THE SOLID SUPPORTER. Every term has its solid supporter; he may be singular or plural, but is generally singular, especially if the team is not leading in the championship. The big battalions of barrackers are faithful to the colours of the victorious army. The ardent enthusiast knows all the members of the team, and their brothers and sisters. He fetches and carries for all. He buys oranges for half-time. He pats everybody on the back at the hot afternoon's close. He meets them in the day of success, as in the day of defeat, with fitting words. And how he roars on the line! He is a figure to compel attention. The constable, who is warily watchjr~ trespassers on the touch-line, looks •> at the vociferous enthusiast, who Jy gets intoxicated with exciteli., a* His°hat slips further back on his agitated head. It may fall, and may be disfigured for life, but he recks not. His eyes°aiv, with his heart, and that is with "Bill and Tom " in the front rank, and "Bob" behind the scrum, and "Jogger" on the' wing, and all the others, every one He is the handy man at the club " socials " He takes the tickets at the door, and helps the girls to pass the cake. He is abused. He is so devoted that'he annoys some of the "nervy" heroes whom he adores, but he smilingly survives all' scofnno—and has the oranges for the next match. THE FEMININE DILETTANTE. Some gills barrack quite seriously. I ,: Now and then."' says "Poor Forrard," "one finds a girl who really knows foot-

ball. Don't jilt that girl." Some ladies catch the barracking fever to a virulent form. They swathe themselves with the club's colours, and their ties and hatbands and blouses may speak much for the men whom their fancy favours. They patiently learn the difference between a scrum and a loose rush, and some even get to know the difference between a half and a five-eighths. These are the ones to be revered or feaired. Woe to the man or woman who crosses them in argument. When a girl knows that .Arthur should have passed, or Fred should have kicked to the wing, she is a formidable disputant, very impatient of contradiction. Yet she is very useful. The subtle know well how to convert her enthusiasm into tea and cakes for the " smokers " or the mixed " socials." THE BOY WORSHIPPER.

Prettiest barracker of all is the boy hero-worshipper. He knows his heroes well—their weight, where they work, and how much they get. He waits near the dressing-room to see them go out for the fray, and gloats over their splendid proportions. He fights with fist and feet for their greatness against hi® contemporaries for their advocacy of rival greatness. If a youngster can get a bit of jersey that his star hero has snatched from an enemy's back he is proud for evermore. How he yearns to be as big, as strong, as swift, as daring. All hie pirates, all his buccaneers, all his _" Buffalo Bills" are consolidated in his one towering Rugby hero, whose shoulder crashes into the man that foolhardily tackles him high, and whose feet fly over the individual that darts for the champion's legs. THE 800-HOOER. The boo-hcoer may or may not be a hooligan. He' may or may not have a slouch hat and bell-bottomed trousers. There was one slouch-hatted boo-hooeir who jostled a referee after a match at the Athetic Park, Wellington, three years ago. A reporter casually mentioned in print that the aggressor was adorned with a slouch hat. It was a clue for the police. People—respectable people—who rather liked themselves in slouch hats, shelved them or buried them. Even curates and bishops wearing felt hats were not overlooked by the cold, suspicious, investigating eye. It was a distinct relief to the city when the actual slouch-hatted person (no longer addicted to slouch hats) was run down, at the end of about a six months' search.

The joy of the boo-hcoer is ,jcst to bco and to hoo and to boo-hco. He boohoos everything that he dislikes, and he dislikes much—all the referee's decisions that do not harmonise with his notions, and all the tackling that goes against the side on which he has his "little bit." Betting has no doubt been the parent of much boo-hooing, and the offspring is uglier than the progenitor.

Sometimes the boo-hooer is not content with hurling vocal missiles at the opposing team. At Lyttelton a few years ago the boo-hoosrs presented a, referee with some pieces of ooal as tokens of their esteem, and one of the gifts (received just above the nose-bridge) stunned the official. The ground was disqualified for a few Saturdays, and the boo-hcoers were taught better manners. In New Zealand, however, referees have not led nearly so perilous a life as some of their brethren in Victoria, as some doggerel, published half a dozen years ago, may indicate : —■ No teeth I have, no nose I own— At least, no nose worth tweaking; My tongue is gone, my voice is flown, I'm past the power'of speaking. My chest and ribs are battered ; n, They're like a. concertina; My frame is like a safety-pin, So curved and twisted in. Ah ! You pity me and not my grief, You know I'm not a player, My span of life is sadly brief, So say a little prayer For one who could not always see Mistakes the men were making. I was a. Melbourne referee, But now I'm Mr Aching.