Yeah, and that was 1918, pal. High-button shoes. What have you done lately? Face it, you're a loser, Eleven. Or—heh, heh—are you going to tell me about 11-pin bowling, the 11 days of Christmas, the original 11 states? Shakespeare didn't write Eleventh Night, buster. Mrs. Thatcher isn't answering the mail at 11 Downing Street, is she? Does a cat have 11 lives? And don't gimme any stuff about the 11 tribes of Israel or a stitch in time saving 11. Even Jesus took in Judas before he'd get stuck with 11 apostles. You are the most shiftless, useless number around, you know that?
Do you think that's the whole 11 yards, your honor?
Get this creep outta here. Eleven days in the county jail, and I better not see you back in here again or your number's up. You hear me, Eleven?
Now, now, your honor, don't worry. You see, it's almost fall, and I can always get a little seasonal work.
Yeah, how's that?
You know, it's the football season, when the 11's play.
Well, I guess that's so. So get on your 11-league boots and take a hike outta my courtroom. Next case, bailiff.
Your honor, the state of common sense hereby brings a civil suit against football, charging that the use of 11 men on a side is a waste of human resources and causes second-degree tedium.
Walter Camp, who inflicted upon us All-America teams and many other football institutions, was primarily responsible for football having 11 men to a side. Lord knows, the number wasn't carved in stone; it wasn't in the 11 Commandments. The first football game, between Princeton and Rutgers in 1869, featured 25 men to a side. Fortunately, that number has been reduced, otherwise ABC would need seven guys in the booth for a Monday night game. But why stop at 11?