A small thing may turn the scale between two evenly balanced teams.

Evans, the captain, placed the ball in front of him upon the ground, with his men lined all along on either side, as eager as hounds in leash.

Some fifty yards in front of him, about the place where the ball would drop, the blue-vested Scots gathered in a sullen crowd.

There was a sharp ring from a bell, a murmur of excitement from the crowd.

Evans took two quick steps forward, and the yellow ball flew swift and straight, as if it had been shot from a cannon, right into the expectant group in front of him.
For a moment there was grasping and turmoil among the Scotchmen.
Then from the crowd emerged Grey, the great Glasgow forward, the ball tucked well under his arm, his head down, running like the wind, with his nine forwards in a dense clump behind him, ready to bear down all opposition, while the other five followed more slowly, covering a wider stretch of ground.