If one were to ask, Who were the three greatest forwards of all time? no matter what other two were named, W. N. Cobbold would perhaps come first to the lips. This is placing the Old Carthusian on a pedestal indeed, but there are few who knew Cobbold in his prime who would not agree with the appreciation. One may doubt, of course, whether the famous Cambridge forward would be able to cope with the modern half-back — the enfant terrible of the football field. One could almost see Ernest Needham smile if he had to oppose Cobbold as we knew him. An individualist, as the old Charterhouse boy undoubtedly was, might conceivably receive short shrift from a smashing half-back of the type of Alec Leake. There are those who think that the Cobbold type of forward would thrive even in these days of a scientific trio of halves who play the modern game; but the mere fact that there are no players of the Cobbold type is at least a negative proof that they might not be successful under the prevailing conditions of defensive play.

I was talking to Bethel Robinson quite recently on the subject. Robinson used to partner Nick Ross in the Preston North End club in the old days, and was known as a versatile player of a very high order. He could play at half and at full back equally well. He played against Cobbold frequently in 1884, when both men were in their prime, and Robinson's opinion is that there never was, and never would be, a forward so clever and deadly as Cobbold. He regarded the Cantab as the greatest forward of all time.

Now it is very difficult for a man who has retired from the game for nearly twenty years to compare the men of his day with the players of modern times. The tendency is to glorify the past at the expense of the present. I feel sure that Cobbold, had he played at any time during the past three years, would have had to alter his style to excel as he did in the old days. His methods were the correct and effective methods at the time he played, but I am certain in my own mind that they would not meet with anything like the same success to-day. All the same, such was the masterly mind of the man, I believe he would have adapted himself to modern conditions and still have held his place as a prince of forwards.

Judging him, however, by what he was and did, Cobbold must rank as a giant of no ordinary magnitude. I have said that he was individualistic in style, but he also had the power of combining in a high degree. In those days "dribbling" was the great game, and one only passed the ball when one was completely hemmed in, and not always even then. The chief difference between forward play of the old days and the present day might be described in this way: the old forward only passed when he could not do anything else; while the new forward passes because he cannot do anything else.

Cobbold was not the last of the dribblers, for he passed on the tradition to the younger generation of the Corinthians, and R. E. Foster in particular was a magnificent exponent of the art. Of the present generation S. S. Harris is a very able dribbler, but he too finds that passing form the major part of the forward game. Amongst modern professionals, J. Walton, of Tottenham Hotspur, is the only dribbler of note, and clever though he is, this fine forward does not find dribbling pay against a really good half-back. Dribbling, like back-heeling, must be used with great discretion against anything like a powerful defence.

W. N. Cobbold, however, was not a mere dribbler. He was essentially a scoring forward, and one, too, that made most of his own chances. Cobbold and Bloomer, both inside forwards. The former was almost continuously on the ball, while the Derby man seems to be doing nothing, and doing it well, for the greater part of the game. When Cobbold got possession of the ball he seemed to keep it glued to his toe, darting hither and thither as he pursued a tortuous course towards goal. One man was practically powerless to stop him. Two men might stay his career by dividing their attentions between the man and the ball, but they were not always successful even then. Very frequently Cobbold would shoulder his way through a whole crowd of the opposition, and emerge triumphant with the ball at his toe. He was built for hard, strenuous play, but he did not go to work like a battering-ram. He seemed to possess the knack of following what Herbert Spencer calls the line of least resistance. If any one got in his way he would try to get round him, but if not, his opponent usually felt the weight of a ponderous shoulder, and he did not ask, "By your leave?" 

In one respect at least Cobbold had no superior, if, indeed, he ever had an equal — I mean in shooting at goal. He could shoot in any position, and he sent the ball in like a charge from a hundred-ton gan. He could shoot with several opponents clinging round him, and if only he had two feet of daylight to aim at, he seldom missed the mark. In this respect modern forwards have a lot to learn. For shooting there is no Cobbold nowadays, nor any one approaching him. Why is it? Must we again put it down to the prowess of the modern backs and goalkeeper? 

Cobbold was powerfully built, strong on his legs, and with determination written all over him. It was probably this latter quality that exalted him above his fellows. It is amazing what one strong determined man can do. Cobbold knew his own strength, and he never gave up. He always fought till the last gasp, and it is curious how, if one can survive the "last gasp," one's adversary fades away, for he too st this time has usually shot his bolt. Great, daring, original, plucky, fierce, chivalrous, the old Charterhouse boy has passed out of the arena of football conflict, but those who saw his great deeds some twenty years ago will always be inclined to repeat the scriptural reflection that — "There were giants in those days."