Chapter I
Brack ko-ak, brack ko-ak,
Whee-e-e-e, wham;
Chop suey, chop suey;
Tate! Tate! Tate!
Whee-e-e-e, wham;
Chop suey, chop suey;
Tate! Tate! Tate!
The shrill war cry, flung into the autumn air by thirty thousand loyal Tate throats, thundered across the gridiron streaked by the late afternoon shadows. Down on that lime-marked battlefield the old traditional rivals, Tate and Union State, were fighting out their annual battle. And though the cheers of the Tate cohorts were as voluminous and shrill as they had been at the start of the game, hope burned low in the hearts of the Red and White supporters. For it was the fourth quarter, there remained but three minutes to play, and the scoreboard heralded the dire tidings—Union State 3, Tate 0.
Truth to tell, the germ of discouragement was eating at the spirits of the Tate team also. Battling valiantly for two hours against the
