College sports -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Sports stories; Track and field -- Fiction
I could see among the crowd of contestants who gathered around the white
lines at the start several boys in whom I was interested; but I had
nothing to say to them, and went over to the opposite corner, where the
judges clustered around the finish posts. The red worsted was waiting
for its first break, and beyond, hung against the walls, were the
mattresses to catch the sprinter unable to check his speed. On one side
were the hurdles in a long row ready to be pushed into place. In a third
corner was the seven-foot circle with its raised cleat for the "shot
put," and the last triangle was occupied by the standards and cross bar
for the "high jump." The movable platforms for the raised corners were
in two sections, and pulled apart so as not to interfere with the
"dash."
I had only time for a word or two, a nod here and a handshake there,
when, at a sign from the starter, the judges took their places, and the
timekeepers stood with watch in hand ready to record the flying fifth
seconds. I could look along the smooth floor and see the men take their
places. There was Downer, a little Freshman, white with the excitement
of his first public performance. He was a nervous chap, and one of my
most promising men. Up goes the starter's hand, "Marks," "Set," the
report of the pistol, and out of the circling crowd break the five
struggling forms. There is the beat of eager feet, one, two, three,
four, and between the posts they dash, little Downer coming away in the
last few strides. "Thud" he goes against the mattress; "thud," "thud,"
"thud," "thud," go the other four, and the first heat is over. As they
come back, the judges check off the "37" from Downer's back, his
nervousness all gone, and in its place a confidence for which there is
as little excuse.
There were a score of heats varying little from this, as many more in
the "forty-yard handicap," and when they were finished nearly every seat
in the building was taken, and the platform had blossomed out like a
bank of flowers with the bright colors which the ladies wore. Now the
band starts up with a swinging "March," and everything takes on a new
life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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