Judge — October 1932 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Judge JUDGING mE SPORTS ERE we were all ready to epitomize the Spirit of Heecoon Coat, 1932, and with winter's icy blasts just around the corner comes a fan letter from one f those bitter old Trojan rooters out in Long Beach, Cal. “If you are so smart,” he says, “why not give us a few of your feeble id on the coming football sea- son? And don’t forget, that, for every Eastern college am you may mention we got High School bench warm- ers out here who can trim ’em!” To such a warm outburst of neighborly love there is ittle to say. A lot of those Sunkist cracks are sub- stantiated by past performances. I have no ideas on the coming football season which will in any way alter the results. I do think tho that is only time for us to look into this matter of Far Western suprem- acy a bit, and find out for ourselves in which direction the star of pigskin ascendency is wending its way. With the passing of Walter Camp and the fall of the Sig Three, Eastern Football, as reckoned in terms of touchdowns and national laurel wreaths, has hardly been worth the name. Now I may be drowned in a vat of boiling orange juice some day for saying this, but I do not allow the Far West's claims to greatness. Fordham, N. Y. U., Penn, and Dartmouth, in latter years at least, have not been fair yardsticks to measure greatness by. And these are the teams upon which giant killing reputa- tions out West are built. For many years now the real football of the country iL doen Be a has been played in the Middle West. And you Eastern fans can have Pittsburg as your own if it is any sop to your pride. As soon as Stagg at Chicago started to fade there were a dozen others to take his place. Illinois, Northwestern, Michigan, Minnesota, Purdue and Nebraska, were only a few of the teams which came along and filled the record books with inspiring point totals and a galaxy of gridiron heroes. Knute Rockne at Notre Dame, never faced any of my Long Beach pal’s High School teams. No, sir, Stanford and U. S. C. were toppled four times from national honors, by the boys from South Bend. ND now the pupils are striving to don the mantle of the Master. Rockne coached teams are all over the football map. Little St. Mary’s the pride of the West, is coached by Slip an, a Rockne man. Tom Lieb at Loyola, Cal., is another one who is building up a new Western menace. Maurice Smith at Santa Clara and a host of as nt line coaches on every campus along the Pacific, bear witness to the worth of Rocknds far flung tra hool. Back in 1913 Rockne and electrified a blase East with their forward passes against the Army. In like manner was I thrilled a few years ago when a plucky little team from South- ern Methodist arrived at West Point and repeated the process. Here, I said to myself, is a new menace to be reckoned with. And listening to the stalwart band of rooters, come all the way from Texas, I saw that here was that fervour, the self-same football hysteria, which, altho it may not please Carnegie Foundation greybeards, certainly brings happy (Page 27, please) comicbooks.com