FOOTBALL OF TO-DAY
— James W. Crabtree | 02/11/1901 —

It is not without diffidence that I approach this subject; indeed, it bristles with difficulties, because it is always unsatisfactory to compare the present with the past. When a man has ceased with football, he is, I fear —  at least my experience of other individuals seems to teach me this — apt to dwell too much on the deeds done during the period at which he was at his best, and to depreciate the play of his successors, just as he had previously been inclined to think lightly of his predecessors. The man who ventures to criticise while he is still actively engaged in the game, has an even greater tendency to laud the style of play of which he is (say) a successful exponent. There is, as the American humorist — a philosopher — once said, a great deal of human nature about man. I think I might venture to say, without being accused of egotism, that I am qualified to speak concerning present-day football as well as most men, but I want to warn you that I may possibly be led to think more highly of the football of to-day than many older and more experienced writers, and players may think of it. To be open to conviction that a fault may be in you is at least one good point in any man's favour. Many Midland writers have been prone to institute a too searching comparison between the Aston Villa team of four, five, six, and seven years ago, and the eleven which the club has put into the field of recent seasons. They seem to forget, in a measure, that they are not dealing with football as a whole. The old Aston Villa eleven was as nearly as possible the finest eleven that ever played the game, and if we of the present team have not been quite true to all their best traditions, our partial failure does not prove that football as a whole has deteriorated. However, I hope I may avoid the slight defects which I fancy at times I see in others. We all do our best, but we are liable to err, and, whatever we think, speak, or write, we may be sure that some will dissent from our views.

WHY COMPARISONS ARE HAZARDOUS.

As I have said before, to compare the past with the present is always hazardous. There is always a glamour over the past. And past football was not, as a whole, so earnest as is the football of to-day. The clubs did not take the same means to render the players thoroughly fit as they do to-day. They were not so particular as to his mode of life; he had not the publicity which the player of to-day gets. Let a present-day footballer misconduct himself in any way, however trivial, and the whole town is ringing with the fact; his club directors are bound to hear of it, and the player is forthwith taken to task — and the officials are none too lenient with us. I am not complaining. The conditions under which football is played have altered altogether. Clubs have a right to expect loyalty and careful conduct from their players. Sobriety, the leading of a life calculated to yield the best results on the football field, strict attention to training, and implicit obedience to the expressed wishes of the committee, represent in the footballer what punctuality, diligence, and a desire to succeed represent in the clerk; or fidelity and watchfulness in the business manager. Some people, however, seem to forget that the footballer is a human being. He is human, and, more than that, he is exposed to temptations which any man would find hard to resist. Still, let him remember that he is paid to keep fit, and to play in a way which will reflect credit upon himself and his club. He is paid fairly well, too, although I shall ever protest, and protest emphatically, against any artificial legislation which makes it impossible for the best man to get more than £4 per week for his work. Such a breach of the law of supply and demand is unheard of in connection with any other phase of business, and in a sense foothall is a business; at any rate, it has reached a magnitude which renders it essential that it should be conducted on business principles. The life of the average footballer — the playing life, I mean — is brief, all too brief; and if the expert, the man who tries to excel his fellows, is robbed of the chance of reaping the maximum reward of his labours, a great injustice is being done to him. I am hopeful, however, that matters will find their right level shortly.

PLEASURE THAT HAS BECOME BUSINESS.

You have heard of thw wild, tearing times which footballer of 12 years ago used to enjoy, especially when his club went on tour. I have heard of, and seen, some stirring scenes in hotel bedrooms and corridors, where you could walk ankle deep in feathers which had oozed from pillows and bolsters used in sanguinary combats with these effective and always popular weapons. These things were all very well in their way, and I am not hypocrite enough to say that I do not look back upon them with a certain sense of pleasure. The indiscretions of youth ever yield pleasant reminiscences. And the officials used to be in the thick of the fun, too, but, of course, that is another story. But did all that, plus a superfluity of Scotch whisky, mean good football on the following day? I trow not. We are not allowed such license to-day. We go out in a saloon, under the watchful eyes of strict, if genial, directors, and nine times out of ten we are on our return journey within an hour of the whistle blowing. Yes, football of to-day is a serious business, and, as a rule, men are careful of their condition. And they have to be, when they are called upon to take part in matches in which there is never a slack movement from first to last. If present-day teams could meet some of the brilliant amateur elevens of the past, we should probably run them off their legs halfway through the second half, if not before. I remember the time when the professional teams used to play the Corinthians almost to a standstill in the closing half of the match; and even now, good though the condition of the average first-class amateur may be — for even he is compelled to take the game more seriously than he was wont to do — you will generally find the professional eleven growing more and more aggressive as the game proceeds.

ANNIHILATION OF INDIVIDUALISM.

But, I hear some one say — "We have no brilliant dribblers now; where are your Cobbolds, your Archie Hunters, and your Jimmy Browns!" Have we such men playing to-day? Yes, we have. They may not be so brilliant, individually; the passing game, which has been found by hard experience to pay better than dribbling, has naturally stifled individual excellence somewhat; the man who passes the ball the moment that he sees someone more advantageously placed than himself, does not get the dribbling practice that fell to the man who invariably dribbled when the ball came to him, no matter how well his partner stood in relation to the opposing defence. If a man tries to dribble nowadays, even though at that particular juncture it may be the game to dribble, the crowd shout at him. I have heard the crowd hoot because a man quite rightly, as I could testify by reason of my position behind him, quietly proceeded to take stock of the situation before he parted with the ball. Now all this stifles individual effort; the public are hard task-masters where a footballer is concerned, and too many of them are apt to think that they know more of the game than the player. But an even more potent factor in the annihilation of individual skill in the forward is the combination in defensive tactics between half-backs and full backs. 

When Cobbold used to start upon his sensational runs, he often — nay, almost invariably — had to deal with a scattered and incohesive defence. Please be careful to mark that I am not depreciating in any degree the skill — the superb skill — of those great players of the past; would that I could see them repeating their triumphs to-day. All that I am seeking to do is to suggest that combination in defence has made matters very sultry for the dribbler. I should not mind meeting Cobbold or any other dribbler at his best, provided — and this is important, because it demonstrates that I am not relying at all on my own ability — provided, I say, that I had James Cowan at his best, or Groves at his best, or Johnny Holt at his best, in front of me. Cobbold might beat Cowan — although James has knocked the heart out of many a clever dribbler without any outside help — and he might still more easily beat me, although I know some of the dodges of the man who tries to circumvent a defender single-handed; but my point is: Would he beat James Cowan and myself, or, for the matter of that, any first-class back? (I am putting my own name in because I am trying to view the situation as it appeals to me as a practical footballer, and I am sure the reader will see the motive, and forgive the apparent touch of egotism.) My grand old colleage, Howard Spencer, bears me out in this. In a delightful article he wrote recently he said "I do not fear one forward so much as two." Really that explains what I mean. A clever wing pair can beat a clever full-back. Howard Spencer has found that out, and if they can beat Howard Spencer, they can beat me, or any other back breathing. Precisely in the same way, two defenders, two experienced defenders, acting in perfect unison, a unison made possible by long experience in playing together, can and must check the cleverest dribbler. But if, while that clever dribbler is engaging the attention of two of the defending team, he adroitly slips the ball to a man almost as clever as himself, and possessing a dangerous turn of speed; well, then the defending side may be in difficulties. But then, you see, the dribbling ceases, and the combined play begins, and that seems to me to prove my case. I think the argument has been logical, has it not?

DRIBBLING NOT A LOST ART.

I am not inclined to believe that backs are cleverer to-day than they used to be, although I am certain that they are quite as clever. But the forwards have not been alone in mastering the art of combination; the rear division have profited by the experiences of the past. Dash, endurance, perfect fitness, and knowledge of combination are all as essential to-day as dribbling was years ago; and all the half-backs are faster to-day than ever they were. But do not think that dribbling is a lost art. Have you ever noticed a match in which one team have been so superior to another that that they could afford to take liberties with them — a state of things which never occurs in a League match now? Men show that they can dribble then. This may be an extreme case, but it will serve. Fred Wheldon is a modern player, yet when the Villa met the Kaffirs, I believe Wheldon, in pure fun, dribbled in a way which no forward that ever lived has excelled. Plenty of men can dribble, but it does not pay. Still every man who aspires to rank as a great player must learn to dribble, because even in the hardest game an opening may occur when the expert dribbler will have the goal at his mercy. And, after all, the expert dribbler can be expert at passing, too.