First on the ground appeared the god-like Trojan Eleven, Shining in purple and black, with tight and well-fitting sweaters, Woven by Andromache in the well-ordered palace of Priam. After them came, in goodly array, the players of Hellas, Skilled in kicking and blocking and tackling and fooling the umpire. All advanced on the field, marked off with white alabaster, Level and square and true, at the ends two goal posts erected, Richly adorned with silver and gold and carved at the corners, Bearing a legend which read, "Don't talk back at the umpire"-- Rule first given by Zeus, for the guidance of voluble mortals. All the rules of the game were deeply cut in the crossbars, So that the players might know exactly how to evade them. On one side of the field were ranged the Trojan spectators, Yelling in composite language their ancient Phrygian war-cry; "_Ho-hay-toe, Tou-tais-ton, Ton-tain-to; Boomerah Boomerah, Trojans!_" And on the other, the Greeks, fair-haired, and ready to halloo, If occasion should offer and Zeus should grant them a touch-down, "_Breck-ek kek-kek-koax, Anax andron, Agamemnon!_" First they agreed on an umpire, the silver-tongued Nestor. Long years ago he played end-rush on the Argive eleven; He was admitted by all to be an excellent umpire Save for the habit he had of making public addresses, Tedious, long-winded and dull, and full of minute explanations, How they used to play in the days when Cadmus was half-back, Or how Hermes could dodge, and Ares and Phoebus could tackle; Couched in rhythmical language but not one whit to the purpose. On his white hair they carefully placed the sacred tiara, Worn by the foot-ball umpires of old as a badge of their office, Also to save their heads, in case the players should slug them. Then they gave him a spear wherewith to enforce his decisions, And to stick in the ground to mark the place to line up to. He advanced to the thirty-yard line and began an oration: "Listen, Trojans and Greeks! For thirty-five seasons, I played foot-ball in Greece with Peleus for half-back and captain. Those were the days of old when men played the game as they'd orter. Once, I remember, AEacus, the god-like son of Poseidon, Kicked the ball from a drop, clean over the city of Argos. That was the game when Peleus, our captain, lost all his front teeth; Little we cared for teeth or eyes when once we were warmed up. Why, I remember that AEacus ran so that no one could see him, There was just a long hole in the air and a man at the end on't. Hercules umpired that game, and I noticed there wasn't much back-talk."