Call vault: Friday Sept. 26, 1947

That Great Game, Football

Kitsy Jordan

I had never seen a football game before, you know, so you can imagine how I felt when I was asked to go one bright Saturday afternoon. My date was the type who hated ignorant girls so I could not tell him that I knew nothing of this sport-this sport that only a stupid person wouldn’t know about. He might get the wrong impression so I told him, “Certainly I will be so happy to go with you to the football game.” Now I was in for it. I would have to carry out plan No. 3 you know- the “I know all about this sport” routine. It wouldn’t be so hard if I read on this strange game before hand, I thought.

The great day dawned and I thought I would be okay, for all I had to do was sit and watch. We brought a comfort to keep our feet warm, a couple of apples and the football line-up. I felt as natural and at home in that stadium as a yokel in the “big city,” but I kept on acting as though I were the “big cheese” and really knew “all about it.” We had good seats which immediately eliminates reason number one for not catching something important, which was “I wasn’t able to see very well.”

The game had started. I was getting along swell and understanding the game a little when the whistles blew and a man in a convict’s shirt ran around waving his hands and throwing a red handkerchief. The man with the striped shirt on kept waving his hands, players piled on top of each other and were dragged off the field and the crowd cheered. They call this a game but it looked more like a free-for-all to me. All of a sudden, while I was eating my apple and trying to look interested as well as pleasant, a huge arm came between me and my delicious fruit. I was surrounded by people standing all around me. Someone in the excitement of jumping up to see the game knocked my comfort off- I was beginning to hate this game more and more but I gritted my teeth and finally stood up to cheer and strain my eyes with the rest of the crowd. At last I got to my feet only to find that everyone else had sat down again. I was mortified, mad, and uncomfortable. Finally came the end of the game and my date replied gaily, “Boy, what a wonderful game”- “Yeah, wonderful,” I replied although this isn’t the exact  word which I would have used.

Hockey Starts

As usual, the hockey season got off to a flying start this year under the capable management of Mrs. Neukum, Mrs. Wright, and the two hockey managers, Bessie Meyers and Hildegarde Buhning. On Sept. 15, the first practice games were held and he freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors turned out in full force. Among last year’s varsity stars to return are Fitzpatrick, Tiesler, and Swank to name a few. It looks as though all four of the class teams and the varsity are really going to be in form, so a large number of students should attend a few of the games and show them that Kirkwood High is really behind them.

Pioneers meet Statesmen

On Friday afternoon of Sept. 12 the Pioneers met the Statesmen. No, it is not two months early; it was just a scrimmage. Nevertheless it was just about as rough as the real thing. Both teams fought with savagery and skill. One would have thought that it were the big game of the year.

Kirkwood started things off with some beautiful running by Dave Jones and Art Hebberger. The Pioneers rolled up a first and en but couldn’t make it two in a row. The Statesmen then took the ball and marched right through the Kirkwood line. After two or three plays, Russ Zimmermann, 200 lb. tackle, got mad and started tearing the opposite line apart. The local team held them until it regained the ball.

It was a see-saw battle all along. Both coaches sent in subs. As in the last scrimmage, everyone got to play.

Extra Points: Orchids to Art Hebberger, who made one-man tackle that prevented a sure touchdown. Carroll Mass should get a citation for some of the bone bruising blocks that he made. Kirkwood’s three stars, John Smith, George Buchanan, and Richard Zeppenfeld, didn’t get to play much. Reason- they were too good for the opposition.