TALES AND FANCIES

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 182, 22 October 1927, Page 11

TALES AND FANCIES

FROM THE PEN —OF— | FRITZ HOLLAND I Col — TH*j STJFT Feature Service

RAMBLINGS

The other day I saw a baseball story in a newspaper. The writer thereof alluded to a home-run. He called it a “record stroke.” What lamentable ignorance! But. still, it was perhaps, no'more deplorable than the stupidity of a certain Yankee pug, w ho was at a loss to understand why in Rugby the referee invariably would blow his whistle just when the melee was becoming interesting. He noticed also, a glaring lack of loyalty among the team-mates of either side, for it seemed quite the usual thing for players to remain neutral while another of their pals was being chased or man-handled by the opposing side. It should be explained that in the American game of football there is what is known as the interference and there is no such position as "off-side.” For instance, if you try to tackle me one of my mates may tackle you, whereupon, or previously, another of your mates should tackle, or should have tackled him, and so on. That is Interference. You will readily see the advantage of this in that these rules lend themselves to unanimous and continuous action. After the whistle blows, it is open slather, tackle whom you like —or dislike. Under the new rules, however, the referee is, I believe, entitled to a measure of exemption, for should he succeed in crossing the side-lines he, regardless of whatever provocation be may have given. Is then entitled to police protection. This hampering clause is not, however, rigidly enforced. Then, too, our fistic friend discovered a woeful want of Infighting in the serums. He reckoned that if a Yang footballer had leaned forward like that, somebody would have uppercut the head off him. It reminded me of a certain society reporter who showed his astutness hy proclaiming triumphantly that "the gentleman in the cerise pants had been overcome by an over-arm uppercut, he had expected a straight leftswing.” Then there was the case of Barney McCarthy. Barney, despite his gameness, ambition, and ability, and the frequency of his fights, had suffered under a serious handicap; he could not earn enough money to buy a set of boxing gloves with which to practise. Then again, take the case of the undefeated Spokane ice-hockey team, of the year 1909. We did not get a single game all winter, because there was no ice. And consider Rough-house O’Brien’s

predicament. Rough-house, after spending hours in learning to eat with a fork, was invited to afternoontea, where the only eating weapon given him was a knife! Rough-house, you may remember, has been mentioned before in these columns. He had been a ploughman. McGrath “discovered” him. Mac happened along and inquired a direction. O’Brien, so Mac declared, picked up the plough by its handles and pointed the way for Mac to go. “Rot!” sneered a bystander. “Did he lift the horses, too?” “What horses?” “The horses that were hitched to the plough.” “Hitched to Heaven!" Mac ejaculated. “Rough-house had been pushing the plough.” Which suggests Jack Johnson’s musical accomplishments. He plays the bass-viol. He admits that the violin makes sweeter music, but the little fiddles are broken too easily, or sawn in twain. Lowe Diggs was black, penniless, and hungry. These conditions had prevailed for some considerable time, for Lowe had quitted the boxing game where jabs were too plentiful, and had embarked on a career In which jobs were scarce—for times were hard. Then came a wind-fall; Ringling’s Circus had a kangai-oo that, had been trained to box, and for which a sparring partner was wanted. Lowe got the job. He was instructed In h!s duties, and warned that he must invariably lose by being knocked out. Until that time came, be was merely to shadow-box, or, at most, was to limit his aggressiveness to friendly taps on the kangaroo’s nose. Lowe laughed at his former misgivings. The marsupial was as helpless as a baby. Lowe at once bucked up and started to rebuild his reputation, at the kangaroo’s expense. He smote the ’roo on the nose. There had been nothing in his training to provide for such a contingency, so the roo had to resort to primitive means of retaliation. Lowe got a kick in the stomach that almost disembowlled him,' and a swipe of the ’roo’s tail seemed to have disabled Lowe’s legs. Agonised, he sat on the ring-floor, arms clasped around his knees. “Ladies and gentlemen!” the trainer announced. “Kalgoorlie, the fighting kangaroo, wins by a knock-out.” Then to Lowe: “Are you all right? Do you need assistance?” “Ah needs a, blankit, dat’s what Ah needs. Dat damn kangaroo went an’ kicked de front outa mah pants!”