Our schedule might fairly be described as active. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays we practiced assiduously. Wednesdays and Saturdays we met rival institutions on the stricken field, the contest being an hour and a half long with but one intermission. It was a rigorous life, but we survived it.
It was assumed of a first-team man that if he was able-bodied enough to start he should be able-bodied enough to finish. Consequently, the substitute squad was of modest proportions. Six was a liberal allowance for a small college. Our Hamilton outfit listed five, of whom one was the business manager (to save on traveling expenses).
From these premises it may be argued, 1) that the ancient game was slower and milder than the modern. Or, 2) that the oldtime players were less breakable than today's prize specimens. Well, possibly we were. At any rate, we felt no desperate need to protect ourselves by a panoply of armor calculated to make Richard Coeur de Lion feel as if he were going to the crusades in his nightshirt.
In a conflict between one of the crack elevens of 1890 and a typical cash-and-carry team from some well-heeled university of the Golden West, there is no question as to where the odds would be. The score? At a guess, about 180-0. Of course, if the moderns were limited to six substitutes, it might be different.