Stymied in the Bowl

A BENCH-EYE ACCOUNT OF THE DARTMOUTH-YALE GAME BY CLIFFORD L. JORDAN '45

BY 12:30 all roads leading to the Yale Bowl are thick with traffic and the vast parking areas south of the Bowl are already half filled. Early arrivals are well into cocktails or lunch, sitting on blankets spread on the grass or grouped around the tailgate of a station wagon. Smoke curls up from someone's charcoal grill and in one corner of the field a hot dog stand does a thriving business. The rain, which drizzled down most of the morning, has stopped but overhead the clouds are still a leaden grey and a northeast breeze whips the cocktail flags on car antennas and riffles the white canvas walls of class tents across the way.

You pick your way past picnickers, almost bump a matronly lady sipping martinis from a plastic cup, and enter the Yale Field House, climbing to the second floor where you find the Dartmouth dressing room.

It's quiet in there. Most of the players are already in uniform, sitting on the hard wooden benches, sprawled across the cement floor or lounging against the lockers. Tony Dougal and his assistant are in the training room taping up a few players, while in a small anteroom leading to the showers Coaches Jack Musick and Doggie Julian huddle together over a clipboard holding scouting diagrams on Yale.

Players begin to talk a bit more now and some have climbed to their feet with a clatter. Then you notice that Coach Blackmail is in the middle o£ the room talking and you move closer to hear what he is saying.

"Everyone put on your jackets now. It's time to go out." He talks in a low voice, slowly so everyone will understand. "We'll go downstairs and onto a bus which will take us into the stadium. Then we'll walk down a tunnel onto the field. Be very careful going down the tunnel. It may be slippery. After we've run through our warm-up, we'll come back through the tunnel into a dressing room under the stands until game time. We'll use the same room at halftime. Okay, let's go down now!"

The tunnel is gloomy and looks slippery as it plunges downward to the field. The players clack down, some brushing the cement wall and at the far end Coach Blackman holds the. team up until all are gathered, then sends them out with a rush to the cheers of the Dartmouth stands.

The stands, surprisingly, look almost empty as your eyes go around this huge Bowl built to hold some 70,000 people. It's early but you wonder if the threat of rain will cause a poor turnout. The players are now on the turf, punting, passing, place kicking, running blocking drills - quickly and efficiently - just as they've done on five previous Saturdays. The equipment men are laying out slickers, checking the field phones and readying the benches. Nobody rushes and there's time for a little sideline banter, but the excitement and tension are starting to build up, as is the crowd.

The Dartmouth team now moves quickly off the field, through the tunnel and into the dressing room under the stands. The last players in feel rain drizzling down as they enter. The small, low-ceilinged room has one light bulb at the far end over a blackboard. Two water jugs stand at either side of the entrance, and tables, covered with mattresses, take up most of the space with several benches and a few chairs. The players sit on the benches or mattresses. Tony Dougal bustles around checking wrappings. Nobody talks much as the minutes tick by. Bob Blackman moves to the center of the room.

"It's starting to rain a bit," he says, "but that will make no difference to us. It will be just as wet for both teams." He pauses, looks around a moment, then softly, "Now let each one of us say his own prayer for a minute." The heads go down and the room becomes so still that you hear faintly in the distance the Yale Band. You look around at the faces and suddenly you realize how young these players are.

Blackman's voice is now crisp and in- cisive. "I think you all know that this is probably the most important game you'll play. Yale is really fired up for this game, and you're going to have to play your very best football to win. You've shown me the spirit, the heart, the pride of a great team up to now; but past games don't mean a thing today. Those same qualities will be needed more than ever today, and the only way we can win is for every man to give 100% every moment he's on the field."

The players come to their feet. Some- one yells, "Let's get 'em, let's go," and there's a chorus of "let's go" as the squad moves toward the door.

THIS time the roar is almost deafening as you follow Dartmouth onto the field. In two short minutes the Dartmouth reserves are scrambling to find seats on the benches while along the sidelines Coach Blackmail and the starting eleven huddle. The PA system booms out, "Dartmouth has won the toss and elects to receive. Yale will kick off and defend the north goal." The opening kickoff arches downfield and quarterback Dave Bradley catches it on the 27-yard line, juggles it momentarily "and then is cut down at once by three Yale players. The Dartmouth players subside to the bench and the game is underway.

The rain now has started to come down in earnest, a steady drizzle, and the reserves on the bench pull their parkas tight around their shoulders and hunch forward. Second-team quarterback Bill Gundy sits in the middle just to the right of the field phone, while Dartmouth's third-team quarterback, Doug Fusonie, is to the left. They are alert to any information relayed from the press box and to Coach Blackman's comments and advice as the game develops.

It is difficult to watch a football game from the sidelines. The players, you decide, probably have very little idea of the actual game until they see the movies. You go by the cheers of the crowd to decide how much a player has gained. But close-up like this you sense the fury of the game, detect the hard blocks and tackles, and appreciate the swiftness of each play.

As the first quarter wears along Jack Musick talks less frequently on the phone. Apparently so far Yale has shown nothing startling either defensively or offensively. The second-team center, Bill Colehower, calls for a towel and some resin so his hands will be dry and ready when the second team goes in.

Suddenly the Dartmouth bench comes to its feet. The Yale quarterback, Winterbauer, is fading back for the first pass of the game. It's a long one into Dartmouth territory but Dartmouth halfback Bill Morton tears over, leaps high to intercept and races it back to the Yale 28-yard line. It's a real opportunity for the Indians, but a few plays later Bradley's fourthdown pass into the Yale end zone slips off Hepburn's fingers and the Elis take over as the first period ends.

However, four plays into the second period the Big Green gets another chance as Captain Joe Palermo recovers a Winterbauer fumble on the Yale 35-yard stripe. In three plays the Indians pick up only two yards as the Yale defense tightens. Dartmouth players now are strung along the sidelines, urging the team on hoarsely, while Jack Musick chants into the phone in a low voice, "Come on Dartmouth, come on Green." It's fourth and eight. Dave Bradley comes out of his pocket, runs to the right and tosses a pass far downfield, aimed for end Dave Moss who is racing between two Yale defensive players. Moss catches the ball without breaking his stride and goes into the end zone to score. Palermo's conversion is good and Dartmouth pulls ahead 7-0.

Blackmail sends in his second team and the first team trots off the field as the reserves clap them heartily on the back, toss parkas to them and jubilantly escort them to the bench. The second period grinds along and Yale never gets beyond its own 40-yard line; but Dartmouth is unable to mount another effective goalward march.

It's halftime now and the Dartmouth team streams off the field, through the tunnel and into the dressing room. Coach Hamilton has just finished his diagrams of the Yale defenses on the blackboard and he chats for a moment with Blackman, then moves to the side of the room. Some of the players take small paper cups of orange juice and honey.

Blackman calls out above the noise, "Here are the Yale defenses in the first half. So far they've done nothing we haven't expected, and their defenses are just about the way we said they'd be."

He goes into a technical description of some of the defensive alignments, pointing out weaknesses, describing what plays might best be used in particular situations.

"Tackles," he asks, "can you handle your man alone in this situation?"

One of the tackles speaks out. "Yea, but he's been moving outside some of the time. Can't handle him then." Blackman nods. "Okay. If he does that then take him the regular way. You'll have to judge it yourself."

There are one or two other brief questions to which Blackmail responds quickly. A manager comes in the door, holds up four fingers. "Four minutes, coach." Bob nods, goes on talking for a minute or two more.

Around the room the players are silent. They look tired. The players have been up until after midnight nearly every night the past week studying for hour exams. Jerseys are muddy, faces streaked and here or there a player furtively rubs an arm or leg, adjusts a pad, stretches a leg. Tony Dougal is checking tape, wrappings and bruises. Time is running on.

"It's about time to go out now," Blackman says. "Remember, our slant play should work well. Also, I want you to try a 27 pass early this period. One other thing. That ball is slippery. Hold on to it tight. And when you tackle - drive your shoulder into the ball carrier and up through his arms. Try to knock that ball out every time. Hit as hard as you can and play for that ball! Now we've got a new game this half. That's how we've always looked at it. And in the past games we've always gotten stronger in the second half. Okay, let's go!"

THE rain had stopped now and the sun breaks through fitfully during the first few minutes of play. The Dartmouth attack also seems fitful, sparkling at times but unable to gain first downs at crucial points. The Indians look just a bit lethargic, the fight and spirit which had carried them through five undefeated games to date perhaps sapped by fatigue.

Then Yale takes the ball on their own 16-yard line and in two line plays rips to a first down. Nothing serious, but the Yale stands begin to come alive. Three plays later another first down and the roar grows louder. Blackman walks back to the field phone, says a few words to Musick and returns to his sideline pacing. From the bench Dartmouth players are shouting to their teammates —"Fullback move up there closer! Close up - close up! Watch that end!" The PA booms out "Third down and two to go." Then another slashing play into the line and the ten-yard poles are carried past the Dartmouth bench as the Elis pick up still another first down.

Above the ever-increasing roar of the crowd comes the steady "boom - boom" of the Yale bass drum seeming to set the tempo for the Yale advances. The blue team moves faster now, breaking from their huddle, up to the line, charging forward as a unit, constantly pushing deeper and deeper into Indian territory. No passes are thrown and you see a Dartmouth defense which has held five previous opponents to one touchdown slowly begin to give way.

There's a time out now on the field as a Dartmouth player is shaken up, but the roar of the crowd goes on. You realize what a factor a crowd can be, sense the lift the Yale players must get, as though the crowd is literally lifting them out of the huddle and driving them forward against Dartmouth in one mighty shout.

An end sweep develops with Nick Kangas, brilliant Yale sophomore halfback, carrying toward the sideline near the Dartmouth bench. He has three blueshirted players in front of him. You see their knees pump rhythmically up and down as they sweep toward you - looming larger and larger - helmets forward almost on their chests. A Dartmouth player moves towards them - alone - and is bumped by one blocker, then jolted to the ground as another Yale player smacks over him. Kangas sweeps past, almost blurred, then out of the mass of players moving with the play hurtles another Dartmouth man who drives in behind the blockers and slashes into Kangas at his knees lifting him off the ground and bulling him over the sideline. A whistle shrills. The Dartmouth player climbs off Kangas, looks at him a moment while Kangas gets to his knees, slowly releasing the ball. The play is over. Yale has another first down.

The field phone jangles sharply. Musick picks it up - answers, "Yea, yea," hangs up and walks down the sideline to Blackman. Yale plunges forward again - second and five on the Dartmouth 32. Players begin moving off the bench as the Dartmouth stands pick up their chant, "Hold that line - hold that line - hold that line!"

It's clear to you. Unless Yale fumbles, they're going to score. You wonder if the Big Green players on the field are thinking this way. Yale has another first down. It's Kangas again plowing off tackle from the 13-yard line to the Dartmouth two. Another play and Dartmouth holds. Everyone on his feet. The Yale fullback, Coker, hits the center of the line, and over the mass of players an official leaps high, both hands upstretched in the traditional touchdown signal. The crowd goes wild, the hungry noise of 47,000 people sounding as one. The conversion is good and the game tied. You wonder for how long.

For the rest of the third period and well into the final quarter, it's a different game. This is a Yale team playing with the spirit and fight which had carried Dartmouth to five wins. Dartmouth's offense cannot gain against them. Bradley is smacked down trying to pass. Morton and Crouthamel can get at best two or three yards. The crowd which helped spark Yale's offense now is a solid, roaring wall backing up the Yale defense. No one on the Dartmouth bench is saying much. Perhaps each player has the same sinking feeling you have. Occasionally someone on the bench yells out, "They're all fired up, let's fire back," or "Come on, Green let's get it back," but conviction is lacking. Most players sit with heads bowed, grimly watching, deep in their own thoughts.

Jack Musick talks once in a while over the phone, but there's nothing to be done. You can't defense spirit.

Midway in the final quarter Yale takes a Dartmouth punt on their 35-yard line and starts marching again. It's the third period all over again, only this time victory is in sight. It's Coker driving for five, Kangas slashing through for six, Winterbauer faking deftly, handing off, blocking and directing a Yale attack which is as relentless and continuous as the roar of the crowd and booming of the drum.

Dartmouth digs in, is uprooted, digs in again. End Scott Palmer walks shakenly off the field with a shoulder injury. Joe Palermo limps to the bench, goes back in a few minutes later. Blackman hurriedly issues instructions to reserves, but nothing can stem this Blue tide which now surges to the Dartmouth 20-yard line. Then Winterbauer, faking beautifully, tries his second pass of the afternoon with Dartmouth defenses in tight, and Pete Riddle, number 83, is all alone to catch it and score. With one minute and 40 seconds remaining the conversion seems unimportant but Yale makes it good anyway.

The clock ticks along as Yale kicks off. It ticks away as the Dartmouth players see their hopes of an undefeated season vanish into the mud of the Yale Bowl. It ticks away as a long Bradley pass goes bouncing to the turf. Dartmouth players along the sideline watch helplessly, some kneeling - tired - dispirited, knowing too well the long odds against any score now.

But in those last hectic seconds the Dartmouth team on the field forgets the odds, forgets how tired and beat they are - forgets the crowd and the Yale team reaches down deep for that one last chance. At midfield now, the Indians keep up their passing attack. Bradley hits end Dave Moss with a 17-yard pass to bring the ball into Yale territory. Forty seconds to go. The officials mark off a 15yard penalty against Yale for illegal substitution and Dartmouth is on the 25-yard line. It's beginning to look possible, maybe ... maybe ... but you know that it won't work. Bradley back again to pass, Yale players spread out over the field. Then you spot Roger Hanlon going alone into the end zone. Bradley's pass is a thing of beauty - straight to Hanlon - and your heart goes up with the ball, then plunges to the turf with it as it sails through Hanlon's outstretched fingers. Twenty seconds left and the clock still racing. Dartmouth quickly to the line again, still fighting and you with them. This time Bradley fires a bullet pass to Dave Moss on the eight-yard line and Moss snags it low as he falls to his knees. Run down the sideline now, yelling, yelling and hoping - still time, time for one, maybe two plays. Bradley back again - another pass - and Brian Hepburn, substitute fullback, leaping up from a mass of Blue shirts to clutch the ball and fall in the end zone. You can't think now. The noise of the crowd is inside you - a roaring part of you - still echoing as Palermo's kick goes through the uprights. It's all over!

But no. Somehow there's still about ten seconds left. Somehow over the roaring pandemonium of the crowd the game is still going on. And the Dartmouth team is not going to settle for a tie. It wants to win this game.

The clock is stopped now for the kickoff. Dartmouth knows it won't be able to stop the clock again as it has already taken the regulation five timeouts. Coach Blackman rushes in word to try an onside kickoff to the left and to call some pass play before the kickoff so if the ball is recovered the Big Green can put the ball into play immediately without taking time for a huddle. Bradley calls for the same pass play used a minute ago when Hanlon was wide open in the end zone.

Now Palermo and Krutsch fake at kicking the ball and Hepburn boots it from the right side exactly as rehearsed so often in practice. The ball bounds into Yale territory and halfback Don Klages pounces on it. The clock ticks away - seven seconds, six - as Dartmouth comes up rapidly to where the referee has placed the ball down. They want to get this one pass play off. It could go for a touchdown. Fogarty has the ball now ready to snap it. Then the referee steps in, takes the ball from Fogarty and paces off a few yards toward the Dartmouth goal. The team starts to line up over the ball again, but both hands on the clock are upright now. Action stops on the field. Someone says, "It's all over - that's the game!"

You stand there not feeling a thing. Blackman is in motion now, moving quickly across the field to shake hands with Jordan Olivar, the Yale coach. Then you lose sight of him. Dartmouth players mill around uncertainly. No one seems to know what to do. A few spectators are on the field. One girl runs over to a Dartmouth player and kisses him. He stands there, then slowly squeezes her hand. A few players drift from the field and into the tunnel. More follow with spectators exiting after them. The Dartmouth Band marshals, marches off playing. The equipment men go past carrying bags. You look once more around the stadium, and head into the tunnel for the journey back to Hanover.

Somewhere around Northampton on the drive back that Saturday night you begin to talk and think coherently about the game. Now it's just a figure in the record book. For those who played in it and those who watched it will always be much more - more than the statement by the exuberant Dartmouth alumnus who reeled from the Yale Bowl shouting, "Boy, was Yale lucky" - and much more than Coach Blackman's apt comment, "I'm glad we got this one out of our system."

New York Dinner To Honor Mr. Hopkins

PRESIDENT Emeritus Ernest Martin Hopkins will be honored on the occasion of his Both year at a special alumni dinner in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria, Hotel in New York City on the evening of Wednesday, February 5, 1958.

Nelson A. Rockefeller '30 is chairman of the national sponsoring committee for this dinner honoring Dr. Hopkins. The National Sponsoring Committee is composed of prominent alumni and friends of Dr. Hopkins and the College.

Planning this major alumni occasion in New York is a special committee made up of representatives of each of the seven alumni associations in the Metropolitan New York area and alumni representing other College activities in New York.

A special mailing to the entire Dartmouth alumni body is planned to give all Dr. Hopkins' friends across the country the full particulars on the dinner and ample opportunity to join with the alumni in the Metropolitan New York area in attending the February 5 event at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.

Dartmouth players coming out for the second half which produced plenty of drama.

Yale, on the march to one of its two touchdowns, springs a runner into the Dartmouth secondary. Quarterback Dave Bradley (14) is making the tackle from behind.

Dartmouth's final scoring inarch pulls the whole bench to the sideline to watch and cheer.

C.L. Jordan Coach Bob Blackman walks away dejectedly as a Dartmouth pass misses connections.

Captain Joe Palermo's kick soars between the uprights to tie the score at 14-14.