Writers of sporting articles are forever chafing themselves into a fine frenzy over nothing at all. It is their trade. Poor fellows, they must find something memorable in every tilt they see and a shred of Hector in every county champion. They are paid to make things seem exciting and in pursuance of their calling they resort to many sad devices so that when at last a moment occurs which, by its inherent humanity, is dramatic and blood-stirring, they have nothing left to say, and can only shake their heads, and tap out fustian...
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