The Third Man
09-18-10, 01:45 PM
There was a time when football resulted in 5 deaths per year in the US. When helmits were originally introduced, none other than Teddy Roosevelt lamented them as sissifying the sport. But this is about the flying wedge.
The early days of college football were exciting days, but as it turns out, dangerous ones as well.
"During kickoff plays, teams made use of a loophole in the old rule that required the offense to kick the ball, but did not specify that the receiver had to be on the opposing team. Amos Alonzo Stagg (http://www.the-game.org/trading%20cards/Amos%20Alonzo%20Stagg%20Card%20(ok).jpg), a Yale All-American in 1889 and later one of the game's greatest coaches, recalled that "the subterfuge was conceived of inch-kicking," whereby the kicker made an "inch kick" to himself, thus retaining possession of the ball. He would then hand it back to a teammate in a play called the V-wedge, "and the slow-moving mass of players clinging to one another moved forward in a slow lock-step run. The strategy was to open an aperture at a certain point of the wedge, through which the imprisoned runner would dart."
The suffering wrought by such plays increased dramatically with the introduction of the mighty "fling wedge," a remarkable "kickoff" play invented by Lorin E Deland, a military strategist, chess expert, and Harvard supporter who had never played a game of football in his life. Fans got to see Deland's bold new tactic for the first time in the second half of the 1892 Harvard-Yale encounter.
Deland divided Harvard's players into two groups of five men each at opposite sidelines. Before the ball was even in play team captain Bernie Trafford signaled the two groups. Each unit sprang forward, at first striding in unison, then sprinting obliquely toward the center of the field. Simultaneously, spectators leapt to their feet gasping.
Restricted by the rules, Yale's front line nervously held its position.
After amassing twenty yards at full velocity, the "flyers" fused at mid-field, forming a massive human arrow. Just then, Trafford pitched the ball back to his speedy halfback, Charlie Brewer. At that moment, one group of players executed a quarter turn, focusing the entire wedge toward Yale's right flank. Now both sides of the flying wedge pierced ahead at breakneck speed, attacking Yale's front line with great momentum. Brewer scampered behind the punishing wall, while Yale's brave defenders threw themselves into its dreadful path.
Brewer was finally forced out of the partially disintegrated wedge at Yale's twenty-yard line, where he tripped over one of his own players just as he was tackled by Frank Butterworth. Parke Davis, an early footballer turned historian, wrote of the action: "Sensation runs through the stands at the novel play, which is the most organized and beautiful one ever seen upon a football field."
Yale's incredible defense held and eventually won the game. However, Deland had opened Pandora's box. According to Davis, "No play has ever been devised so spectacular and sensational as this one." Stagg, writing in 1926, remarked that "The Deland invention probably was the most spectacular single formation ever opened as a surprise package. It was a great play when perfectly executed, but, demanding the exact coordination of eleven men, extremely difficult to execute properly."
Harvard's dangerous flying wedge quickly became the standard opening play for teams all across the country. But the play, which used the principle of mass momentum to great advantage, was deadly as well as effective. The cause of numerous deaths, the flying wedge was outlawed after only two seasons. As often happens with new sports rules, however, coaches and players soon found intriguing loopholes that kept the flying wedge alive."
http://www.the-game.org/history-flyingwedge.htm
The early days of college football were exciting days, but as it turns out, dangerous ones as well.
"During kickoff plays, teams made use of a loophole in the old rule that required the offense to kick the ball, but did not specify that the receiver had to be on the opposing team. Amos Alonzo Stagg (http://www.the-game.org/trading%20cards/Amos%20Alonzo%20Stagg%20Card%20(ok).jpg), a Yale All-American in 1889 and later one of the game's greatest coaches, recalled that "the subterfuge was conceived of inch-kicking," whereby the kicker made an "inch kick" to himself, thus retaining possession of the ball. He would then hand it back to a teammate in a play called the V-wedge, "and the slow-moving mass of players clinging to one another moved forward in a slow lock-step run. The strategy was to open an aperture at a certain point of the wedge, through which the imprisoned runner would dart."
The suffering wrought by such plays increased dramatically with the introduction of the mighty "fling wedge," a remarkable "kickoff" play invented by Lorin E Deland, a military strategist, chess expert, and Harvard supporter who had never played a game of football in his life. Fans got to see Deland's bold new tactic for the first time in the second half of the 1892 Harvard-Yale encounter.
Deland divided Harvard's players into two groups of five men each at opposite sidelines. Before the ball was even in play team captain Bernie Trafford signaled the two groups. Each unit sprang forward, at first striding in unison, then sprinting obliquely toward the center of the field. Simultaneously, spectators leapt to their feet gasping.
Restricted by the rules, Yale's front line nervously held its position.
After amassing twenty yards at full velocity, the "flyers" fused at mid-field, forming a massive human arrow. Just then, Trafford pitched the ball back to his speedy halfback, Charlie Brewer. At that moment, one group of players executed a quarter turn, focusing the entire wedge toward Yale's right flank. Now both sides of the flying wedge pierced ahead at breakneck speed, attacking Yale's front line with great momentum. Brewer scampered behind the punishing wall, while Yale's brave defenders threw themselves into its dreadful path.
Brewer was finally forced out of the partially disintegrated wedge at Yale's twenty-yard line, where he tripped over one of his own players just as he was tackled by Frank Butterworth. Parke Davis, an early footballer turned historian, wrote of the action: "Sensation runs through the stands at the novel play, which is the most organized and beautiful one ever seen upon a football field."
Yale's incredible defense held and eventually won the game. However, Deland had opened Pandora's box. According to Davis, "No play has ever been devised so spectacular and sensational as this one." Stagg, writing in 1926, remarked that "The Deland invention probably was the most spectacular single formation ever opened as a surprise package. It was a great play when perfectly executed, but, demanding the exact coordination of eleven men, extremely difficult to execute properly."
Harvard's dangerous flying wedge quickly became the standard opening play for teams all across the country. But the play, which used the principle of mass momentum to great advantage, was deadly as well as effective. The cause of numerous deaths, the flying wedge was outlawed after only two seasons. As often happens with new sports rules, however, coaches and players soon found intriguing loopholes that kept the flying wedge alive."
http://www.the-game.org/history-flyingwedge.htm