The World-Herald cameraman snapped three consecutive plays in the Nebraska-Iowa State game at Lincoln Saturday good for two touchdowns. Above see Lester McDonald, Nebraska end, being tackled after grabbing a pass from Johnny Howell. After one plunge in the line, Sam Francis, Husker Olympic man, tossed to Howell who lateralled to Lloyd Cardwell and the middle picture shows the Wild Hoss scoring on that play. Cardwell is flat on his stomach in the scoring area with the ball tucked under an arm. On the ensuing kickoff Francis raced 98 yards to score a second Nebraska touchdown and the photographer, Eldon Langevin, caught Francis going across upright with a teammate trotting behind to protect him from the pursuing Iowa State boy. By a World-Herald Staff Photographer
Memorial Stadium, Lincoln, Neb., Oct. 3—The reckoning, Nebraska 34, Iowa State 0, represents the victors’ most abundant margin over the losers since 1922. That year it was 54 to 6.
Close to 30 thousand people, the most ever to watch the Cornhuskers unveil themselves, and to look upon the Cyclones at any time, must have concluded that the figures resulting from this day’s contest represent a good many other things, too.
To my notion they represent, or reflect, some of the dog-gonnedest most brilliant football ever committed anywhere at any time of autumn—this in spite of the pretty obvious fact that Dr. George Veenker shooed onto the field the least gifted passel of kids in his five-year tenure at Iowa State.
Joyous Gallops, Canters
They also represent, or reflect, prodigious individual feats, like Wild Hoss Cardwell’s joyous, 72-yard touchdown gallop with a fielded punt aboard, his several lesser canters that resulted more or less directly in his other two goal crossings, and Sam’l Francis’ astonishing demonstration of swivel-hipped, open field razzle-dazzle that swept him, behind savagely decisive interference, 97 yards across the last white line with Freddy Poole’s kickoff hugged tight to his bosom. These yell-yanking achievements stemmed not from lucky intervals, but rather from deft and emphatic maneuvers, sometimes hurriedly formed and executed.
Bit still the representation is not complete. The tally tells something of the belated rally to unison of those problems children, the sophomore reserves.
Sophs Sparkled, Too
Dana Bible used nearly two complete lineups of them; they held the Cyclones to nothing more damaging than a deep exhalation, and finally produced a fourth quarter offensive that culminated in Will Andreson’s touchdown plunge, after much practically uninterrupted co-operation by a parade of linemen and such understudy backs as Art Ball, Harris Andrews, Marvin Plock, Ernie White, Thurston Phelps and Dick Fischer.
These, plus on other thing, might be called the profitable reflections, induced by happenings that piled up the score. But not all was profitable. There were entries to be made on the debit side, and you can safely bet that Dana Bible made them.
Huskers Lucky, Too
There were numerous occasions when the Nebraska laddies turned their miscalculations and misplays into miraculous and incredible gain, in much the same manner as the new dealers hope to do, come the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November.
They’d fumble, for example, and a weary but alert Cyclone would recover. Then a second later they’d have the ball, either back of their opponents’ goal or bound in that direction in a point much nearer than when they bobbled.
The boys in the red, both veterans and beginners, foozled their stints woefully at times. When they had the ball, their synchronization at times was worse than the postoffice clock’s.
Cyclones Never Dangerous
There were intervals when they clawed at the black-topped luggers, and went down flailing the over-warm October atmosphere.
These let-downs, though, never happened when there was danger of the Cyclones blowing themselves into payoff territory. The Cyclones never really threatened.
The most they did was keep the Huskers from being very menacing in the second quarter. They didn’t do this until 14 points had been entered against them within a two-minute interval, before the proceedings were 10 minutes gone.
Only one party in the press hutch seemed to doubt the Cyclones’ lack of cohesive aggressiveness, and preferred to credit their bad afternoon to unusual Cornhusker prowess.
He was old Lief Bierman, who turned the drilling of his Golden Vikings over to subordinates and came down to do a personal appraisal.
“It’s the finest Nebraska team I’ve ever seen,” he said after taps had popped.
“Do you think they can make it as tough for your boys as last year?”
“Tougher,” said Old Lief Bierman, “very much tougher. It’s going to be a terrific contest. We’ll need luck if we win.”
Ames Rated Very Weak
Then he repeated:
“Yes, it’s the finest Nebraska team I’ve ever seen—no doubt of it.”
But as he spoke a puzzling smile pulled at his lips.
Said Homer Woodson Hargiss, the keen-eyed bald eagle from Kansas U. whose Jayhawks meet the Cyclones next:
“Ames isn’t so hot. Weakest they’ve been in several years. At least they looked that way today.”
Cardwell Goes Over
And that, I say again, is how Ames looked to me, most of the times. It looked that way in the first quarter when the Husker starters put together their first scoring drive. This followed Cardwell’s 26-yard run back of Poole’s punt to the Nebraska 37.
Two plays later the Old Hoss flicked his tail high again and, unaccompanied, swept right end for 37 more. Francis hammered the middle for short gains. Johnny Howell pitched to Ron Douglas, who was felled eight paces from the goal, and then the Merry Mustang charged to the right again. Poole and Charley Heilman were waiting for him. He gave Heilman his hip and bunted Poole out of bounds, to cross standing. Sam’l’s south foot kicked the extra point and then Sam’l proceeded to demonstrate how a shot-putting fullback can sprint.
Brock Clears Path
Poole kicked off deep with the high south wind. Sam’l made the catch three paces from his own goal, and started upfield, pounding hard.
Ahead a red shield quickly took shape. It was spearheaded by sophomore center, Charley Brock, who for more than half the game demonstrated that some guys are natural born footballers. The red shield magically became a scythe, and mowed down the furiously charging boys in the deep blue. Sam’l pounded on, giving his hips a strange twisting motion as he lumbered at surprising speed.
“He’s trying to be elusive,” someone of the press hutch said.
Twenty yards out only the ubiquitous Poole remained to challenge his progress. Ahead Charley Brock alone gave protection.
Cardwell Gallops Again
Charley took care of Master Poole. He batted a Texas leaguer with him, and Freddy came thumping to earth far from the spot of the impact. Sam’l scored untouched, then bent forward, hands on knees. You could see the hard pumping of his bellows.
With a minute and a half remaining in the third period. Cardwell raced 37 yards again around Heilman’s end, for the third touchdown. They started after a touchback on their own 20-yard stripe, and mindful of old Lief Bierman’s presence, worked their way along the 80 yards by the expert execution of extremely simple maneuvers.
To score his third touchdown, Cardwell fielded Poole’s punt on his own 18 and made a practically unconducted sprint through the panting, dragging Cyclones. A few tore madly and vainly after him; most of them merely made a gesture at pursuit, which showed good judgment, if not a high competitive spirit.
The reserve scarlet-shirts had the field throughout the second quarter, and made several midfield pushes, but not until their second summons in the final interval did they ring up a sale. Ernie White’s passing was prominent in their progress. He pitched mostly to Art Ball. Art did some spectacular running, too, as did Andrews and Andreson.
Andreson Bucks Over
The latter plunged two yards for the points that made the total 34. Bob Mills’ kick was blocked, but Bob Mills played a promising game at tackle. As did the other understudies, George Belders and Theodore Doyle.
George Seemann and Lowell English manned the guards spots well and Bob Ramey subbed efficiently for the sensational Brock. Among the veterans, McDonald, Amen and Richardson played a fine game at end. Shirley was grand at tackle—at times even superb. The senior-junior backfield—Howell, Douglas, Cardwell and Francis—was mighty and swift and deadly during its high moments.
The whole affair produced the conclusion that unity is the goal to be achieved. And it must be achieved in a very parsimonious spell. Next Saturday, it’ll be Minnesota.