More from the pen of the illustrious C.B Fry. This article appeared in the Badminton Magazine in 1895.
FOOTBALL
By C. B. Fry
North of the Tweed football begins almost as soon as the first
old cock-grouse falls, a crumpled mass of feathers, into his native
heather. In England it comes in with the partridges, though
in the South the ball, whether oval or round, is scarcely set
rolling in a genuine sense until the fat pheasants are hustled out
of their summer holiday. In fact, the farther south you go the
later the game begins in earnest. The reason for this is not quite
clear. The area of the football-playing world is hardly large
enough to admit of much variation in climatic conditions. As
soon as the game is possible in Glasgow it can be played in
London, but, in spite of a due regard for the laws and regulations
of the governing bodies, real interest in what sporting journalists
delight to call ' our winter pastime ' is all abroad in the North long
before it is in the South. Perhaps an explanation of this may
be found in the fact that cricket holds a stronger sway and lives a
longer annual life in the South. The sphere of county cricket
extends no farther north than Lancashire and Yorkshire, and
though there is plenty of club cricket in Scotland and the Border
counties, the game has no strong hold upon the public at large.
Towards the end of the summer, even in Yorkshire, Lancashire,
and the Midlands, the interest in cricket palls visibly before that
in football. On a Saturday afternoon at a League match in one of
the great football centres there are twice as many spectators as
appear during all three days of an inter-county cricket match in
the same district, Many people attribute the wane of interest in
cricket at Nottingham to the particular style adopted by the great
batsmen of the county, and no doubt there is some truth in this idea;
but it is not quite the whole truth, for it is almost certain
that the intense local enthusiasm tor football, which after all 13
merely in a state of suspended animation in the summer, has
killed the older and more deliberate love of watching cricket.
Apart from this particular instance, the great and widespread
interest in football is a manifest fact. So much so, that now a
days it is frequently urged that cricket can no longer be regarded
as our ' national game ' in the true sense of the word. Football,
it is claimed, has now the first place in the popular heart, and
therefore has every right to be honoured with the title so long
enjoyed by the other and older game. At first sight there seems
to be some, justice in this claim. These, we are led to believe, in
spite of the result of the General Election, are the days of democracy
and radicalism. The nation, we are told, is a democracy, and the
game of the people must be accepted as the game of the nation.
Certainly football is a more democratic game than cricket. It
could hardly be otherwise, for, from a popular point of view, the
former game has several decided advantages over the latter. It is
much easier to play, far more readily organised, requires infinitely
less elaborate preparations or equipment, and, finally, it is not only
much cheaper, but brings in more money. Perhaps this last consideration ought not to enter into a discussion of the relative
merits of two English games, but unfortunately it does, and that
to a very pronounced degree. Besides, the games are being
discussed from a democratic point of view, which makes the
aspect practical rather than ideal. At any rate, the fact remains
that a man who owns some boots, some shorts, and a shirt, has all
that is necessary for a football match, whether it be between
England and Scotland or two villages. Stockings are sometimes
worn, also shin-guards, but they are luxuries and far from in-
dispensable. Similarly, a club which has the run of a moderate-
sized paddock can play any number of matches without much
outlay of capital. The quality of the turf does not make a -vital
difference to the game, and if it degenerates into mud a foot deep,
cinders are easily obtained at a small cost, and the mixture makes
a playable surface. Most people prefer good turf, but nearly
every footballer has gone through'with a fairly good game on
such a ground.
The result of all this is that football is within reach of absolutely
everybody. Cricket, even in its most simple and primitive form,
costs money and entails forethought and trouble. One club can
scarcely challenge another until it possesses at the very least two
bats, four bails, six stumps, and some kind of imitation, however
distant, of a good pitch. Without pushing the point quite so far,
football is certainly the more feasible game of the two from the
working-man's point of view, especially as a match of any class what-
ever can be won, lost, or drawn in the comparatively short time of
an hour and a half. On the other hand, the large majority of men
cannot spare the time even to play in a one-day cricket match,
much less to spend three whole days at a county fixture. After
all, it is much more satisfactory to pass an hour or so at a good
football match and see the whole game, than it is to drop in for
the same time in order to see Grace batting and find that for once
in a way he is not at the wickets. These considerations, of
course, appeal to busy men of every class, as well as to the toiling
operatives of the Northern towns. Most of the latter, by the way,
seem to take a holiday from Saturday morning till Monday night
in the football season. Otherwise it is impossible to account for
the huge crowds at League matches on both days, even if allowance
be made for a large leisured class and five or six hundred solemn-
looking gamins who always manage to slip in without paying.
In a sense, then, football is the game of the busy classes, and
consequently of the people. But that does not make it the
national game. The fact is that there is an essential difference
between the interest taken in the two games. The interest in
football is more or less local, and as such it is, at any rate in the
North, almost a passion. The interest of the average man in
cricket is wider and much more free from partisan spirit. The
crowds who flock to see two football teams play in the North or
Midlands like a good match, but their predominating desire is to
see their own champions win, and this desire is made the more
intense by the fact that the players are fellow-townsmen with
whom they are in touch, or whom perhaps they know personally.
Nowadays, it is true, most of the Northern Association teams
are composed of invaders from across the Border ; but these are soon
identified with their new home, and become to all intents and
purposes natives. The result is that sometimes more interest is
taken locally in a League than in an International match. With
cricket the case is different. However fond a man may be of the
success of his own county, he will never for a moment regard an
ordinary first-class fixture with the same interest as a match
between England and Australia. Prince and peasant, man-about-
town and city clerk, are all equally keen to see how the various
games are going on and what the great players of the day are
doing with bat or ball. The bare result of a football match is
enough for most people, but nearly everyone likes to know how a
cricket match is won and all about it. Practically speaking, every
one takes an interest in cricket and knows something about the
various matches at any particular time. In the case of football
the interest is very great, but is confined to a narrower section of
the community. Upon these grounds it seems clear that, in spite
of the great favour in which football is held, especially by the
working classes, and the intensity of local keenness about it,
cricket can still claim for itself a wider and more truly public
interest. Moreover, cricket has stood the teat of time, and can
point to very many years of continued popularity ; whereas
football, in its present state, is a new development, and, to a certain
extent, may be said to owe the enormous interest it excites to a
species of sudden rage.
Football, then, has not yet proved its right to dethrone cricket
from its position as the typical British game. Still, the very fact
that it has nearly succeeded in doing so shows that it is a magnificent sport, whether it is played under the Association or the
Rugby rules. As a game, its one great drawback is that no man
can continue playing it for long. Many of the most active
cricketers of the day, who score their hundreds without any dis-
comfort to themselves, would find themselves very much at a loss
if they once more went into a ' scrum,' or attempted the arduous
duties of centre half-back. Nor can it be denied that football,
grand game as it is, is really more suitable for boys than for men.
A footballer is at his best from twenty to twenty-five years of age.
Even during that period he will be lucky if he escapes without a
good share of accidents which he never dreamt of in his school
days, when he and his opponents were lighter and less breakable.
As a matter of fact, the dangers of football are much overrated by
those who have not played it ; but it is only to be expected from
the nature of the game that there should be some chances of
accidents when the opposing sides are mixed compositions of
light and heavy men. The former are liable to be hurt, however
unintentionally, by the latter ; and the stronger brother finds bis
weight rather against him in the event of a sudden fall. Still,
accidents are possible in cricket also, and, in a man who has once
tasted the pleasure of a fine game of football, the instinct of self-
preservation becomes almost extinct. It is a fact, moreover, that
the dashing player who never hesitates is less liable to be hurt
than one who is inclined to take care of himself and avoid
collisions. After all, the percentage of players who are hurt is very small, and even if it were not so the game would be played
just the same.
It is a popular error among many of the uninitiated to
suppose that Rugby is more dangerous than Association. The
truth is that accidents are much rarer in the latter game, hut
when they do occur are more likely to be of a serious nature. In Rugby small injuries are more frequent than in Association, but
one rarely hears of anything more terrible than a broken leg or
arm. In both games, but in Association especially, accidents
very seldom occur among good players. Clumsy men with
erratic feet do more harm than any amount of fair, hard charging.
There are some tricks, happily rarely practised now except by
third-rate professionals, which are dangerous. Tripping and
ducking are bad enough, but no punishment could be too severe
for the man who gives or receives a charge with his knee raised.
Referees ought to be empowered to turn off the field any player
who uses this evil stratagem. It cannot be done without intention ; it is hard to detect, and very dangerous indeed. However,
the third-rate professional and his amateur imitator are rare now,
and no one need anticipate any accidents except those that happen .
occasionally in fair play. Players themselves do not think much
about such mischances. Interested relatives and ignorant critics
do. As for nervous parents, they need have no fear; for boys
cannot hurt one another much at football if they are allowed to
play only with those of their own size. However, accidents or
no accidents, the game is worth the candle, if we are to accept
the verdict of the majority of players.
A more interesting question than that of the respective
dangers of Rugby and Association is that of their relative merits
as games. It is a significant fact that they do not thrive well side
by side. Except in a few very large towns, the two games do not
flourish together. In all provincial districts the one game or the
other is paramount in any given place. Even at the Universities,
the interest in ' Soccer ' is nearly swamped by that in ' Rugger.'
If the two teams are playing simultaneously in the parks at
Oxford, some thousands watch the one game, while two men, five
boys, and a nursemaid lend their countenance to the other. At
Birmingham, on the contrary, the supporters of Association would
outnumber those of the rival code by about five hundred to one.
A man who has played both games will not be able to give
a very decided answer if asked which be prefers. They are both
excellent, and he knows it. The bigoted Association player thinks
Rugby scrimmaging very slow, objects to the frequency with
which the game is stopped by the referee, and cannot away with
the shape of the ball or the fact that it may be handled. Finally, he argues that if the hands are allowed to aid the players the
game is no longer football. The Rugby enthusiast votes the
other game aimless, finicky, and unexciting ; nor can he appreciate the difficulty of passing the ball accurately with the feet
from man to man.
It is, probably, equally hard to become highly proficient at
either game, but it is easier to become a moderate Rugby player
than it is to attain fair skill at Association, Moreover, a man
who has been brought up to Association can pick up the other
game much more readily than a confirmed Rugby player can
learn the art and science of the dribbling code.
Another advantage which Association has over Rugby is the
fact that it is far less at the mercy of the weather. A very wet
ground makes a farce of the latter, and frost practically renders it
impossible. Association can be played, and played well, in the
mud, or on an icebound surface, though naturally it is not as
good to play or watch under these circumstances. Upon the whole.
Association is the faster and more open game, but it can produce
nothing to equal the excitement of a good round of passing among
three-quarter-backs, or of a fine run by an individual. A very
moderate exhibition of Rugby is always entertaining to the spectator, but Association poorly played is dull in the extreme. To
be worth watching, Association must be played by good teams,
and even then the spectator does not really appreciate it unless
he understands the niceties of the game. This, of course, applies
to Rugby to a certain extent, but for some reason or other the
latter game is more easily understood, and appeals more readily
to the Philistine. It satisfies at once two elementary sporting
instincts— the desire to see men run as fast as they can, and the
appreciation of some form of rough-and-tumble. The machine-
like combination which is the ideal form of the Association game,
if tempered with dash and speed, is often liable to degenerate
into what is called ' piffling,' and into clever but useless tricks
meant to catch the gallery. The fact that every inch of ground
is valuable in the Rugby game saves it from the possibility of this
fault.
Between Association as played by the Corinthians or Sunderland, and Rugby as played by Blackheath or Newport, there is
not much to choose. A proposal has lately been made to make a
compromise between the two games by reducing the Rugby side
from fifteen to thirteen players, and using an Association hall.
The idea is not new, but hitherto it has never been seriously
entertained. Whether or not such rules will ever supersede the two standard codes is doubtful, but they would certainly make a
good game. It would be faster than Rugby, though the ball
would be more difficult to handle and less adapted for drop-
kicking or punting any distance. In practice, all sorts of new
rules and constant modifications of them would probably be found
necessary. But the proposal seems worth a trial.
There would be, however, some serious drawbacks to an
amalgamation of the two games. As it is, there are too many
leagues, combinations, and cup competitions in both games, too
much professionalism in Association, and a very undesirable
necessity for complicated legislation and undignified diplomatic
arrangements in Rugby. The question of professionalism in
football is a difficult and delicate subject to touch upon. It is
impossible to regard it as an unmixed good, and it is rash, under
existing conditions, to condemn it unreservedly. Again, there are
several kinds of professionalism, and more than one way of
looking at them. The origin of the paid player is easy to trace.
As soon as it was found that football excited interest and drew
large crowds of spectators ready to pay for seeing the game, clubs
began to charge entrance-money. They soon found themselves
with large balances at their banks. The players naturally, if
working-men and not well off, saw no reason to prevent their
reaping some advantage from this. Clubs began to pay their men
according to their gate receipts. Now, at first sight, there does
not appear much unfairness in this. The money was there, and
the men needed it. It was easy to argue that as their efforts
produced the money, it was only just that they should enjoy some
of it. Payment of players was illegal under the laws of the
Association. But it was a fact, and soon discovered. There was a
great struggle, and eventually professionalism was legalised. This,
of course, entirely altered the character of the game. The modem
legalised professional is quite a different person from the secretly
paid player of some years ago. The latter was an unqualified
evil. He pretended to be one thing, and was another. He was
supposed to be playing the game for sport, but really almost lived
upon it. His justification was that he loved the game, and wanted
to play, but could not afford to do so. Why should the man with
means be able to enjoy himself in this respect while the poor man
could not ? Consequently, he accepted surreptitious payment for
broken time besides his out-of-pocket expenses. The modem
football professional, like his cricketing brother, sells his labour
openly. It is his profession, and from this point of view he is no
more to be condemned than a skilled mechanic or an actor. It is from another point of view that professionalism was so
strongly condemned in Association, and that the introduction into
Rugby is still so strenuously opposed. Football, it was, and is,
argued, is a game or a sport, and ought not to be a profession ; payment of players means ruin to the game as such, and, in addition,
it is possible for everyone to play it without receiving more than
compensation for out-of-pocket expenses. The position is quite
tenable, and from the point of view of the good of the game it
has, in the opinion of very many people, been amply justified by
what has happened in the Association game since the legalisation
of professionalism. It is sometimes argued that professionalism
exists in cricket, and no exception is taken to it in this case.
Why, then, should there be such strong objections raised against
a similar institution in football ? The answer is, that in cricket
the professional is a necessity if first-class cricket is to continue.
There must be practice bowlers, and men to coach young players.
Further, cricket takes up so much time that it is impossible to
find enough amateurs who can afford to play continuous three-
day matches or to get sufficient practice for first-class proficiency.
Again, cricket as a profession is quite different from football. A
professional cricketer can get employment and a livelihood from
eighteen or nineteen years of age until he is almost an old man.
He can begin with a small engagement to a club, become a county
player, and when his powers begin to fail can either return t%
small club cricket or obtain a situation as coach at a school. He
can also save money and invest it in some business. A football
professional has a very short career. He is liable to be incapacitated in any match he plays, and must then turn his attention else-
where for his daily bread. Some football professionals, especially
the Scotchmen, have a keen eye for business, and turn their great
but transient reputations to good account. Many of them receive
shop or public-house businesses as bribes to transfer their allegiance
from one club to another ; but this does not come to all. On the
whole, then, football as a profession is bad for the man as well as
for the game.
As far as the game is concerned, the only good professionalism
has done is that it has raised the standard of excellence, and in
some ways improved the science of the game. The theory of
combination and machine-like passing is the product of northern
professional football, and it has quite superseded the old individual
dribbling game. But this is hardly enough to justify professionalism, for the development might have come without it. The argument in favour of professionalism arises from an entirely different point of view. It does not concern the game as
a sport at all. The enormous interest taken in football proves it
to be admirable as an entertainment for the people. They go to
watch the games by thousands, and it is far better that their
sporting instincts should be satisfied thus than that they should
spend their Saturday afternoons loafing at public -houses, or
attending less innocent forms of entertainment. To provide
enough of this spectacular football without professionalism is
almost impossible. The number of clubs playing good football
would be too small, or the required amount of proficiency to
render the entertainment a good one would be wanting. It may
be pointed out that there is spectacular football without professionalism in the Rugby districts. But as yet the Rugby game
has not become quite such a recognised form of entertainment as
the Association.
This justification of professionalism concerns the philanthropist more than the true lover of football ; but it is difficult to
see on what other grounds a really good case can be made out for
the paid football player. The compromise between outright
professionalism and the pure amateurism which is said to be
impossible for the working-man is the legalisation of payment for
broken time. The reason why the Rugby Union so strongly
oppose this is, that they regard it as the thin end of the wedge
which will inevitably bulge out into pure professionalism. The
history of Association football emphasises the reasonableness of
this contention.
With professionalism come leagues, combinations, and a
multitude of cup competitions, which are really mere devices
for making matches more interesting. No one would wish the
great cup competitions to be abolished ; but when there are too
many smaller imitations, genuine inter-club matches go to the
wall, and the game loses thereby. There is no doubt that the
Rugby game is at present in a far healthier state than the Association, in spite of wars and rumours of war, and all the dark
insinuations about veiled professionalism. This almost seems to
justify those who declare that it is better for the game to have
nominally no professionalism, and take the chance of secret sins
by weaker brethren, than it is to risk the cut-and-dried league
match or the circus performance defined up North as a ' friendly.'
When an inter-club match is called a 'friendly,' the inference as
to what a league match means is fairly easy. At any rate, professionalism has to a large extent spoilt Association football as a
recreation. The ordinary amateur can scarcely get an Association game, except in London or the southern districts. He must either
learn to play Rugby, or give up all idea of continuing on his free
afternoons the game that he loved so much at school or at the
'Varsity. Football is too good a game to be spoilt, and it will
be a thousand pities if professionalism kills it. May that evil
day never come ! It will be a national calamity.
