A Football Song

From “The Sphinx,” University of Wisconsin

I

THEY talk of joy in fighting

’Mid whistling shot and shell;

They rhyme of bliss in love’s sweet kiss,

A bliss that none can tell;

For ages they’ve been lilting

The praise of ruby wine—

All joys most rare, but none compare

With tacklin’ ’hind the line.

Give me the football battle,

The captain’s signal call,

The rush that fills the heart with thrills,

The line that’s like a wall.

Give me the hard-fought scrimmage,

The joy almost divine,

When like a rock we stand the shock

And tackle ’hind the line.

III

The muse has long been singing

The joy the half-back feels

When like a flash he makes a dash

And shows the “bunch” his heels.

His joy may be ecstatic;

It can’t be more than mine,

When with a smile amid the pile

I tackle ’hind the line.

To smash the interference

Fills me with heartfelt glee;

To make a lunge and stop a plunge

Is more than gold to me.

In running with the pigskin,

I ne’er was known to shine,

But I can hew my way clear through,

And tackle ’hind the line.

There may be joys in heaven

More tender and more tame,

But I don’t care to go up there

Unless they play the game.

There’s gridirons down in Hades,

But even there I’d pine

To be once more on this fair shore,

To tackle ’hind the line.