SOME OF MY INTERNATIONALS
— James W. Crabtree | 16/11/1901 —

A footballer's greatest aspiration and ambition is to represent his country. One would think, to read some dissertations we are treated to by writers who do not see below the surface, that football was wholly a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence. I am not speaking of good, reliable writers; I know many critics whose opinions I value — even when they tell me of my faults — but there are others who write with insufficient knowledge of the game. A man may be keen upon making the best bargain he can for himself; small blame to him, for his football career may be brief, and we all have to make hay while the sun shines. But every first-class footballer yearns to be selected for an international, and if he gets his cap against Scotland his cup of joy is full. I know many old footballers whose one source of grief is that they did not get their cap against Scotland. It is John Devey's greatest regret; a great many capable judges think that he ought to have had it, but of course he was very unlucky in being a contemporary of both John Goodall and Steve Bloomer.

Some men are unlucky in having fierce opposition during their whole football careers. But we do like to be chosen for these great games; if a man were to tell me he don't care a rap whether he got his cap or not, I should decline to believe him. I do not mind confessing that I am inordinately proud of my caps, and I hope to obtain some more yet. I am getting too old? Not a bit of it. I am playing as well as ever I did; the only point that troubles me is this, are any of the other and younger backs playing better? If they are, then I hope they will get their reward, whether it operates prejudicially to me or not. Anyway, a man will always be the better footballer for trying to deserve his international cap, whether his name be James Crabtree or Tom Jones.

INTERNATIONALS v. CUP TIES.

I suppose I ought to be content with my stock of international honours, and I in a sense I am. It has been my privilege to play against Scotland in 1895, 1896, 1899, and 1900; against Wales in 1896, 1899, 1900, and 1901; and against Ireland in 1894, 1895, 1896, 1899, and 1900. Then I have often represented the League in their internationals, and have quite a collection of medals by me. I value them highly, and often look at them with a pride which I believe to be pardonable. Most of them conjure up pleasing recollections, for I greatly enjoy the keenness which is ever associated with international football. But although the play is always keen, it is never unsportsmanlike or dirty. The difference between an international, for instance, and an English Cup tie is very pronounced, and the difference is not at all in favour of the Cup tie. Cup-tie football is a trifle too keen to be appreciated; men who want to obtain or retain the highest honours of the year are apt to go in for winning at any price; and to sek to compensate for lack of natural skill by the adoption of tactics which in the opposition paper are designated "vicious and brutal," and in the friendly organ "vigorous." Personally, I shall always look back to my internationals as the most enjoyable, and at the same time the most interesting contests in which it has been my good fortune to participate.

FICKLE FORTUNE.

But if I have had my share of honours, I have also had ample cause to complain against fortune, for injuries have caused me to miss several great internationals in which I might, had all gone well, have played my part. I was not able to take part in that very fine match at Celtic Park, when England beat Scotland by 3 goals to 1. I saw the game, being up there as a reserve, but Frank Forman, Wreford-Brown, and Needham were the English halves. That was a very fine game, and I shall not readily forget the skilful wing play of Fred Wheldon and Spiksley, back up so resourcefully by Ernest Needham. I have rarely seen forwards play more skilfully than the Englishmen did on that occasion, and the back ork, too, was very sound.

A WONDERFUL DISPLAY BY OAKLEY.

But Scotland had an ample revenge when, two years later, we were routed at Celtic Park by four goals to one. The Scottish forwards, John Bell, Robert Walker, R. S. McColl (whom I am very pleased to see figuring in English League football), John Campbell, and Alec Smith, gave what I suppose will rank as the greatest exhibition of skilful passing ever seen in an international game. From the very moment that the ball was set going those five fleet-footed Scotsmen seemed to do pretty well as they liked. Our half backs were far below their form; indeed, I have no hesitation in saying that the half-back line was the weakest that ever represented England. A great ideal of work was thus cast upon the backs, and I regret to say that we, too, were unable to cope with the Scottish attack. Oakley and I were the English backs, and it would not become me to make excuses for myself, but, as everyone knows, I broke down after the game had been in progress a quarter of an hour, although on the morning of the match I gave my leg a very thorough trial, and should not have played had I not felt quite confident that I should be able to do myself and my side full justice. However, I became a cripple, and to make matters worse, quite early in the game Oakley and Robinson came into violent collision, and Oakley played in a dazed condition for the rest of the match. Of course, Oakley's play was very inefficient, but considering the stunning blow he got, I think I am justified in saying that he gave one of the most wonderful displays ever seen on a football field. I am sure that he never thoroughly realised what was going on, but I suppose this fine player's natural instinct told him what to do, and I should not expect to do as well as he did under similar circumstances. I consider it was an exhibition that one might almost term heroic. With our defence so shattered it was not to be wondered at that the Scotsmen were able to do pretty well as they liked. It was a very unsatisfactory match to me as an individual, as well as to England, but if the critics could have realised as fully as I did the enormous difficulties under which we laboured, I think they would have admitted that four goals was a small aggregate for such a clever team to obtain against a pair of backs utterly unable to do themselves justice, and who did not receive the assistance from their halves that backs in international games usually get.

A GREAT GAME.

One of the very greatest games in which I have participated was the Inter-League fixture between England and Scotland, at Celtic Park, in 1899. Some thought we had not any too good a team; it was rather an experimental one, perhaps. But the League have generally put a pretty serviceable side into the field, and this eleven was no exception. There was a terrific gale of wind. and we had the advantage of it in the first half. Going on strict theory we ought to have scored three goals during that half to have any chance of victory, for the wind was undoubtedly very trying to the side which had to face it. But our forwards did not use it well; I don't know how it was, but games do go like that. Our forwards did not get going; that is all I can say for or against them. When we crossed over, the game seemed irretrievably lost. For our inability to score had not been our only misfortune. Prescott, of Notts County, who was playing back with Eccles, kicked the ground instead of the ball, and injured himself so badly that he did not play again that season. We seemed in a hopeless plight. I was captain, so I asked Settle, the Bury forward, to play at half, as I felt that our defence must not be weakened, whatever happened. Settle did not seem to like the idea, and, as events proved, it was perhaps a good job that my judgment and his did not happen to coincide, for he afterwards played as finely as a forward could have played. But Joe Turner, of Stoke, was willing to give the halves a lift occasionally, although he joined in the attack whenever he could, and I went back to keep Eccles company. Eccles "bucked up" — please excuse the expression, but it so exactly represents what I want to say — wonderfully, and we pulled the Scottish forwards up pretty well every time they came down upon us — and that was pretty often. But Eccles and I were not the only men who rose to the occasion by any means; indeed, we did no more than anyone else. Tom Crawshaw played a most strenuous game at centre half, and Frank Forman was brilliant. And you should have seen the four forwards work! It was inspiring. Athersmith and Bloomer seemed to leave the Scottish defenders standing still, and Toman was very good in the centre. We won by four goals to one, but I must add. in justice to the Scottish team as a whole, that McArthur, their custodian, was painfully nervous, and naturally each mistake he made increased his nervousness. We got a splendid reception from the crowd, and I was very proud of the comments on our play which appeared in the Scottish Press. We deserved them, and trat match will ever stand out as one of the most remarkable, if not the most remarkable representative match in which I have been actively interested as a player.

FORWARD WORK AT ITS BEST.

I think the most wonderful show of forward work I have ever seen took place in the match Amateurs v. Professionals at Trent Bridge, in 1894. We won by nine goals to none, although the Amateurs had some splendid men in their ranks. I remember what a grand game little Adam Scott, of the Forest, played alongside me. As for the combination of Bassett, Bloomer, John Goodall, Chadwick, and Spiksley — well, it was unique. In another trial match, Whitehead and John Southworth, of the Rovers, played grand football; that was at Richmond, and Whitehead and I both got hurt and had to go to Allison's at Manchester. I have been over to Ireland four or five times for International or Inter-League matches. I played in the first Inter-League game there; it took place on the ground of the Glentoran Club, and Bob Howarth and I did not disgrace English defensive play; at least, that was what everyone said. A fine, reliable partner was the splendidly-built Preston man. He was indeed a credit to football. I met a clever centre half in Ireland — Milne, who is absolutely first-class. We had some great fun on the German tour, although the football was not of a very serious order. Of all the many nice amateurs I have met — and all professionals esteem — G. O. Smith, W. J. Oakley, C. Wreford-Brown, and other Corinthians — our captain on that tour, Stanley Briggs, of Clapton, was possibly the nicest.