AT THE FINAL
IT is hard to say which was the more interesting—the crowd at the Stadium last Saturday or the Cup Tie Final itself. But the crowd bulked largest, and deserves to be taken first. In other years the crowd behaved itself badly, we hear ; but this year it was as jolly and contented as it could possibly be—a really best-behaviour crowd. And in such a mood a crowd is a good, fat, beam- ing, blundering animal. One can be sure that the angels bend down and pat it on the head.
Even then it would seem a little rough to people who mind being poked in the ribs or squashed along into their places. But the crowd itself didn't mind. And all the vociferous rivalry between partisans was obviously known to be merely high-spirited and rather comic. A Bolton man would go as far, perhaps., as to burst a Manchester man's balloon. There were any amount of witticisms. Rattle was whirled against rattle and voice was strained against voice. And everybody laughed and jested and enjoyed himself without afterthought. There was plenty to laugh about, especially since you were in a crowd. During the match the ball went off the field and a large and important-looking policeman, twice as large and important as before, strolled up to it, made a huge effort and miskicked the ball entirely. That was very fun-ny: Witt fannies still when he nonchalantly took off his helmet (I don't know why he took it off) and -tried to look as important as ever while he _strode back to his place. And what a laugh rose another time when the ball was kicked off the field whack into the middle of a cinematograph man's camera Ninety-one thousand- is a large number. When I speak of the crowd I mean the twenty or thirty thousand near. by. The people at the far side of the Stadium didn't seem to belong to us at all. They all looked like rows of raspberry pastilles in a confectioner's bottles ; and it was almost impossible to see that they were alive. But I dare say they were as happy and good-natured as we. Outside the gates of Wembley, it seems, there was a disappointed overflow crowd which had no tickets, and they showed there could be hidden violences beneath that giant contentment. The touts who had cornered the rest of the two-shilling places and tried to sell them at seven or eight hundred per cent. profit were very badly hustled and battered about. This was portentous enough. Let-no one wave a red flag at the good animal, we felt. And even the high spirits could be ponderous. After the match was over, in the rush to get back to town, there was 'such jostling and pressing and pushing at the bottle, neck stairs of Baker Street that any fragile person• might have been seriously injured, crushed against the walls or hurt internally by mere weight of the movement around him. It would be harmless enough• for a burly man who could keep his chest taut and push as hard as the best; but we had to throw ourselves back like demons to keep the ladies of the party safe.
Moir for the game itself; The play • was fascinating to watch, and the struggle took on almost an epic character, since the teams were so thoroughly contrasted in type. Bolton Wanderers were 'older and more experienced. Their movements up the field had the perfection of absolute skill and neatness. To see the long, low, accurate passes from Vizard to Joe Smith, or from Joe Smith to Vizard, was pure loveliness. Indeed all of the Bolton forwards and half-backs seemed to be true in their positions and true in their passing through the whole game. Manchester City were a younger and more romantic team. They had none- of the grace and accuracy Of Bolton, but they made up in vigour and determination. They rarely succeeded in interrupting these long, quick passes, but they worried the ball out- of the possession of the Bolton players by sheer persistence. - Neither side was outclassed ; though their methods were so different, their strength seemed to be equal. Most of the pressure came from Manchester, and most of the sudden, unexpected changes in the game came from the Wanderers.
Fortunes fluctuated, of Course. After the kick-off, Manchester City began an awkward, nervous movement into their opponents' territory.. For twenty minutes afterwards Bolton were working beautifully, and Man- chester had hardly found their feet. Then for the twenty-five minutes before the interval Manchester took charge of the game, and but for the excellent goal-keeping of Pym would certainly have scored. They seemed to play as much with their heads as with their feet : this in itself meant slower, intenser play than when Bolton were most in view. But, excitement apart, they appeared to do as well with their heads as Bolton with their long passing. It was from a head into the goal mouth that Pym made the most flashing and brilliant save of the match. It waiz incredible that anyone could judgq and move so quickly as he did.
Atter the half-time, Manchester City at first continued to make most chances for themselves. But teNwarcis the end they became a little ragged, and Bolton Wanderers curie- splendidly into action again. • The -friend next to me had just remarked, • " Bolton are going to score in extra time;" when—what had- happened ? Another quick movement of Bolton up the field-, looking no different from any of the others. Butler had rounded McMullan, a pretty piece of work. The ball- goes quick and true to Vizard, quick and true to Jack in front of the goal, bang into the-net. It was dazing to have so great an event . finished off so unexpectedly. As quick, almost, as; reading the description. " Do it again " I felt like shouting, " Do it again, so that we can all see exactly: what occurred."
The game was over.- Ten minutes to go, and Manchester fighting desperately to score, fighting twice as urgently as before, almost beside themselves with haste and effort. When Goodchild took a goal kick, he went like lightning about it, to get the ball in play again. But Bolton seemed to have solidified into a rock of defence. Nothing could pierce them. Those frenzies of heroic ' play spent themselves without effect.
J. R.
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