Editor's note: In an effort to provide OBNUG readers with the best news, analysis and insight, we've brought on legendary 1920s sports reporter Melvin "Inky" Marsh to assist us with columns on a semi-regular basis. The best part about having our very own old timey reporter is that we no longer have to hold out for a press pass—Melvin already had one, tucked into the hatband of his fedora. I hope you'll enjoy his old timey reporting and insight.
I arrived in Boise Wednesday last on the Union line and took an autocar ride to the Bronco football arena. What I saw there took my breath away (and not because I lost nearly half my lung in a trench outside Verdun). A splendid azure field 'neath a majestic mountain skyline met my gaze—I knew that this was the place for me to ply my trade. I secured a small apartment overlooking the Boise linen district with just enough room for me and my steamer trunk full of typewriters and got right to work to meet deadline. I won't be paid to provide statistics, no sir...if you think that, you're on giggle water. I'm paid for one thing—to weave a rich tapestry of words for the football fans of this fair valley and by golly, that's what I intend to do. It'd be easy to say that this here gridiron squadron is the cat's pajamas, but delve further down the rabbit hole and you'll find that they're actually the cat's meow, follow?
No intention of scramming
Monday's when the rubber really hits the road! The pastoral calm of Spring will be broken by the dull thud of what I can only assume are leather helmets. The sidelines will be freshly stocked with gauze, leeches, and gin and our squadron will begin to prepare themselves for the struggle that lies before them. The Pep squad can blow their horns, the juke joints can play their songs—these boys are ready for war. I'll find the true measure of these men on Monday morning, just after my chipped beef on toast and lemon fizz—but I can tell you now that these Broncos contain the following: Pep, Moxie, Vim, Vigor, Barley. I dare say they could give the boys from Army all they could handle—and I saw them put up a whole 8 points in a 6-hour contest against Yale, September last. It'll be swell to see what their hard-boiled ball coach, "Old Dutch" Petersen can wring out of these boys of Spring—and this intrepid reporter will be there to give you the full story—on the level. If I don't, you all can give me a bronx cheer and then a swift bum's rush!