I have been working on other projects lately, which is why there hasn't been an update. I have just got in the mood though, so here is one.
Interlude #17: Fun and Games
Addendum by Dr David Wostyn: 24/10/2015 (OTL Calendar)
Although I have been allowing these excerpts to largely stand on their own rather than bias the eyes of the Institute with my commentary, in this case I feel I should make an exception. At first glance this material may seem to be of little relevance to our overall narrative or Team Beta’s urgent mission. And it is certainly of little personal interest to me. However, it is in fact of some bearing on both issues: the first will become clear near the end, while in the latter case, Lieutenant McConnell was almost discovered earlier today when an exploratory conversation with a local resident turned to matters of sport, and the rules turned out to be rather different from what he was used to...
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From: “The Crucible of Modernity: The Nineteenth Century And What We Owe To It” by Seth Livermore (1992):
Football, and other popular sports, are among the things which reflexively we tend to imagine as always having been there. This is true to a certain extent, but in their recognisable forms their development is far more recent than one might guess.
Of the popular western team sports, cricket is arguably the oldest, its rules having changed the least since its rise in the eighteenth century. Cricket developed a reputation in Georgian and Frederician England as an egalitarian sport, one that could (in theory at least) be played between gentlemen and the working classes as equals on the pitch. Although already popular, it underwent a particular boost when Frederick I came to the throne, as he was particularly fond of the sport.[1] Frederick’s American connections also popularised the sport in the Empire of North America, but the different and more flexible class system there meant that the uniquely egalitarian image did not quite carry over. Perhaps not coincidentally, cricket never became as mainstream in the ENA as in Great Britain. The rules of the British game were codified by the Pall Mall Cricket Club in 1778,[2] and the public acceptance of the Pall Mall Rule Book by Sheffield Cricket Club, the country’s oldest organised cricket club,[3] ensured they would be universally complied with.
In America, by contrast, the Rule Book was not widely available or used, and each town or university typically had its own local variant of the rules. It was not until the late 1830s, following the Virginia Crisis, that an Imperial Cricket Federation was formed in Philadelphia and attempted to enforce the Rule Book (or rather a slightly modified American version) to prevent disagreements when university teams travelled to play each other. However, by this point cricket had a rival. The precise origins of diamondball are a matter for considerable debate, with somewhat similar games like ‘stoolball’, ‘rounders’ and ‘baseball’[4] having a long but murky history in English folklore. It is clear that precursors to the modern game had already extensively been played throughout New England and New York back to the founding of the colonies, alongside cricket (and not derived from it, as some have claimed). A popular theory, though much contested, is that versions of the game spread throughout the Empire due to soldiers from different Confederations being brought together during the Lakota War, the Superior War and the Virginia Crisis. According to this theory, the New England and New York soldiers introduced the game(s) to their comrades from other Confederations, and they brought it home with them. Certainly one point of evidence in this theory’s favour is that diamondball never much caught on in Carolina, which rarely had its soldiers serving alongside those of the other Confederations. However, this could conversely simply be due to the fact that diamondball in its modern incarnation was viewed as an alien Yankee invention. Regardless, cricket continued to reign supreme in Carolina as the bat and ball game of choice.
Further north, though, in 1841 the Mayor of Boston, Edward Michael Taft (younger brother of Robert Taft V, one of Boston’s MCPs) published a codified rule book for the sport he named ‘DIAMOND-BALL, or, An Instructive Guide to the Rules of The American Game’. The latter part of the title may reveal why Taft’s standardised rules and new name for the game caught on; the 1840s represented a strong tide of American nationalism, as evidenced by the Flag War, and by claiming (inaccurately) that ‘diamondball’ was a wholly American invention as opposed to cricket, Taft caught the zeitgeist neatly. Whereas ‘baseball’ had referred to the fact that the game involved scoring runs between multiple bases, and ‘rounders’ had referred to the fact that one made a loop around the bases back to the home base (as opposed to cricket’s linear runs back and forth), the name ‘diamondball’ drew attention to the fact that the bases were now typically arranged in a diamond shape—which, it seems, had not always been the case with the game’s earlier and less standardised variants. Some commentators have even suggested that it was also an attempt to tie in with the new use of diamond symbolism to represent rationalism and purity by the Adamantine political movement, but this seems rather questionable. Diamondball did not use wickets and thus the wicket-keeper’s title was contracted to Keeper.[5] The bat was initially similar enough so that cricket and diamondball bats could be used interchangeably, but gradually evolved into a straighter and more cylindrical shape.[6] The Imperial Diamondball League was founded in 1846 and diamondball swiftly became the game of choice between city and country clubs, while the universities tended to stick to cricket.
Facing opposition from cricket, diamondball never spread back much to Great Britain, but was seized upon by some of the public schools, who created an indoor variant in their never-ending quest to develop ever more dangerous sports. Popularly known as Eton Diamondball, this version never achieved widespread popularity but did in turn spread back to the American universities.
The British public schools were also responsible for several more developments in sport in this era. They kept tennis going at a time when it was falling out of favour among the wider public—though in any case it would have survived due to its popularity with France. Some of the trends involved can be traced to the fact that the Populist government of the late 1830s and early 1840s had a class prejudice against the public schools and took action accordingly. President Thomas’ relative moderation on the subject ensured that the schools were not shut down, but they were vindictively taxed and forced to accept more students on scholarships from poorer backgrounds. One consequence of this was that the schools tended to band together more to form a united front against the government (as well as develop closer ties to the universities) and this in turn meant that they typically played more sports against once another. A problem soon arose: different schools often used the same name for completely different sports that had evolved differently over the years. According to (at least partially substantiated) legend, it was this dilemma that led to the origins of H- ball. In 1842, a team from Harrow had allegedly arranged to play one from Winchester at ‘football’, only to turn up and discover that the Harrow game was from the kick-ball tradition, while the Winchester game was from the carry-ball tradition. Both, like all football variants, were ultimately descended from the ‘mob football’ of the Middle Ages, which had very few rules and any means by which the ball could be got through the goal were allowed. Harrow and Winchester also disagreed on whether the goal should have a vertical limit or not.
The legend says that the two teams hammered out a compromise set of rules, by which Harrow proceeded to beat Winchester at by 14 points to 13. This supposedly gave them the right to name the resulting game ‘Harrow football’ or ‘H-ball’ for short, but this is probably a myth, as it seems far more likely that the nickname arose from the H-shaped goalposts. H-ball is played between two teams of 14, 13 players plus a goalkeeper. Both kicking and carrying the ball is permitted, and physical contact is allowed with a few exceptions, making for a brutal and challenging sport. The most clear example of H-ball’s compromise origins lie in the fact that three possible types of goal can be scored: the ball can be kicked past the goalkeeper into the lower part of the ‘H’ for three points, kicked over the bar of the H for one point, or physically carried through the lower part of the H for five points. The latter, known as a ‘try’, is naturally the most challenging, and various mathematicians have proved that it is usually not worth the effort compared to scoring a larger number of overgoals or undergoals, but the macho culture pervading the sport tends to dismiss teams who focus on the other goal types. A try can also turn the tide of a match at the eleventh hour. H-ball has mainly remained a British game, though it has gradually spread to foreign universities and even the general public.
There were far more mainstream developments in ‘football’ at the same time. Under the Populist government in Britain, the working classes for the first time often had the capability to travel between cities on the new railways. Many workers used this to travel to the seaside in the holiday periods their employers were now legally obliged to give them, but almost as popular was the realisation that team sports could now be played between rival cities on a regular basis. Forms of football had been popular for centuries and the grudge match between villages would have been familiar to Shakespeare, but now everything escalated to a new level. Disagreements over rules (and indeed whether there should be rules) ensured that many matches ended in a fight between rival supporters. Some matches were already violent enough and had so few restrictions on team size that one could barely tell when a match became a riot. The ‘bloody games’ of the late 1830s are in the popular imagination as emblematic of the romantic lawlessness of Populist Britain as the New Highwaymen. Indeed, as individual footballers/fighters became famous, a few of them had florin bloodies written about their exploits.
The destruction wrought by these matches meant that many sought to try and prevent them, but with the abolition of local government and the police forces by the Populists, few were in a position to do so. In 1843, Hugh Percy—former Duke of Northumberland before the Populists eliminated the peerage, and instrumental in the fight against Blandford—published his “A New Football”, in which he put forward the rules he had developed at Bamburgh in the years leading up to the Popular Wars.[7] Initially known as Percy Rules Football, this form was radically different to the mob game, restricting team size to twelve a side plus a goalkeeper, standardising the size of the pitch and goals, creating the office of a neutral umpire, and banning most forms of contact (as well as carrying the ball). Percy sought to set a good example and some teams did form using the new rules, but many hardcore fans dismissed it as a lily-livered, watered-down version. Yet in some ways they sowed the seeds of their own ruin, for it was the intensifying rivalries between cities that began to undermine the Populist Party’s overwhelming majority in Parliament...
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From: “A Brief Constitutional History of the Hanoverian Realms” by Joseph P. Yaxley (1951)—
The Populists had always been a loose alliance of factions based in different cities, and when Birmingham fans were rampaging through Manchester (or vice-versa), the Manchester Democratic Association’s Burgesses were suddenly less likely to want to work with those from the Birmingham Convention for Popular Representation. The party held together as long as Llewelyn Thomas remained president, able to knock heads together as ably as any of the riotous footballers. Yet the annual elections that the Populists had demanded were taking their toll. As the novelty of the right to vote wore off and fatigue set in, fewer of their supporters turned up each year. The Populists’ opponents were also fighting back, in particular the Regressives with their powerful message of ‘The Way Back’ and able leader in William Wyndham. The ‘Green Radicals’ under Joseph Hartington continued to search for a place now that they had got everything in their wildest dreams, only to find it was rather different from what they had expected. And, to the surprise of everyone, the remnant of Churchill’s Phoenix Party hung grimly on, even increasing their seats as a few industrialists—typically those of Quaker background—found the balance between making their workers happy and opposing some of the Populists’ ideas. There were some breakaways from the Populists under Thomas, always ruthlessly crushed, with a single exception: Donald Black’s “Scottish Party” continued and thrived, and by 1846 had won 25 out of Scotland’s 91 parliamentary seats.
Popular misconception would suggest that the Populists remained defiantly opposed to the idea of restoring local government right up to the end. In fact papers declassified some years later indicate that after particularly grievous losses in the election of 1846, President Thomas secretly called a select committee to examine the implementation of a new and reformed form of local government from the ground up. Some of this committee’s work was later appropriated and taken credit for by the government’s successors. Before the committee could report back, however, the Populists were thrown into turmoil when President Thomas died in his sleep at the age of 53, three months into his seventh elected term as President of the Council of Government.[8] The precise circumstances of his death are naturally fodder for conspiracy theorists, but most historians agree that it was a combination of the strain of his office (and Thomas’ habit of refusing to delegate), his drinking habit which had worsened due to the aforesaid strain, and the fact that Thomas’ earlier life in the coal mines of Wales meant that his health had never been the best.
Regardless, Thomas’ death was the Populists’ greatest challenge yet. He had successfully held together the disparate elements of the party (save for Black’s Scots) for years, and suddenly without the implicit threat of the Welshman and his militia connections, there was nothing holding that unity in place. The succession provisions in the Constitution of 1839 activated on Thomas’ death and the office temporarily passed to the Lieutenant-President, a rotating office in the Council of Government which at the time of Thomas’ death happened to be held by the Home Secretary, Ned Green. Green became temporary President while the party balloted to choose a new leader to present to the King. And that was where the trouble started.
It was obvious to everyone that Peter Baker was the natural choice of successor to Thomas. He had come second to Thomas in the 1835 ballot, had patiently served as Foreign Secretary for years and tried to ameliorate the effects of Thomas’ rather domestic-focused policies, and like Thomas had been a prominent militia leader during the Popular Wars, in his case leading the Manchester Democratic Association. That should allow him to continue Thomas’ strong approach towards division, with the implicit threat of calling in those connections. Furthermore, in his time at the Foreign Office, Baker had had to rely more on old establishment figures as advisors than the other Populist ministers, which had established links with those who otherwise disliked the Populist government. He would be a perfect replacement.
However, the Populist parliamentary party refused to agree.The first ballot split a ridiculous number of ways, with eight candidates receiving at least 5% of the vote, seventeen in all receiving votes, and Baker earning by far the most but still only topping out at 27%. Successive ballots raised that to 35%, but many still refused to vote for Baker simply because he was a Mancunian and tensions were running high over football riots by Manchester supporters. ‘Favourite son’ candidates from different cities simply refused to drop out or compromise.
This farce was terminated a month of ballots later when King Frederick II stepped in and announced that in the absence of the Populists presenting him with a new leader, he would affirm Ned Green as full rather than merely acting President. This was reluctantly accepted simply because there seemed like no alternative and Green was sufficiently inoffensive to most, but the whole affair had done nothing for the Populists’ credibility to govern. Baker resigned as Foreign Secretary, went to the backbenches and became a critic of the government. Green, meanwhile, who had often found his office overruled and interfered with by Thomas, now found himself out of his depth both to manage the parliamentary party and rule the country. Three months later, and five months before the next election was due, the government collapsed when Green found himself unable to pass a budget to cope with the economic crisis developing in Europe: the Populists from the cities that would benefit most from the changes voted yes, the ones from those that would suffer voted no. The Regressives, Green Radicals, Phoenix Party and other opposition jumped on the bandwagon and toppled the government. Green resigned, the King dissolved Parliament and a fresh election was called.
The second election of 1846 demolished the Populists’ formerly insurmountable majority in Parliament. On paper they at least were the second biggest party, but they were unable to agree on a single leader and the factions refused to unite. The loss of credibility as a united government meant that their supporters stayed home on polling day or turned elsewhere. The Green Radicals benefited somewhat but still lacked much credibility themselves, and the result was that the Regressives shot into the lead. Wyndham’s party won 461 seats, 47 short of a majority, and he formed a minority government. After years criticising first the Marleburgensian regime and then the Populists—though remaining respectful of Thomas, to whom he gave a eulogy in his first speech as President—William Wyndham was finally in power.
The Regressive Party’s first actions, rather opportunistically according to some, were to amend the constitution so that elections would be triennial rather than annual. This change required a two-thirds majority vote of the House of Burgesses, but was passed quite easily: the Green Radicals and Phoenix Party supported it, and at least half of the Populists thought that they needed time to get their own house in order before the next election. The country as a whole breathed something of a sigh of relief. As Wyndham had pledged, no other changes were made to the constitution, but a new Local Government Bill (1846) was soon tabled. Rather than recreating the old municipal corporations, the Bill created County Corporates, elected assemblies for each county in England and Wales that would manage local affairs and appoint committees to govern particular cities. This was a partisan master stroke, as new municipal corporations would easily come under the control of Populist political machines in different cities, but county-based government gave the Regressives more influence and allowed, for example, the Regressives in Lancashire County Corporate to play off the Liverpudlian and Mancunian Populists against one another. Although opposed by many Populists (helping the misconception that the Populists were opposed to the restitution of local government in general), the bill passed with Green Radical support. The first County Corporates were elected in 1847, on the day which would have been general election day, thus helping to assuage those who viewed the change to triennial parliaments as a power grab. Members of County Corporates were referred to as Aldermen, resurrecting a term that had fallen out of use since the Populists abolished the municipal corporations.
The Local Government Bill did not apply to Scotland, ostensibly because the government was still consulting. This meant that Scotland was perceived as continuing in lawlessness after England began to calm down with the development of new county-organised police forces, which did not do anything for cross-border relations. When the new provisions were applied to Scotland in 1849, they were done with the same one-size-fits-all approach, and a programme designed for English counties did not work as well with their Scottish counterparts: smaller, often geographically separated, and with burghs administered separately to shires. Discontent with this served to give a coherent purpose to Donald Black’s party for the first time, and they began calling for the Corporates to be replaced with a single national Scottish Corporate—which over time evolved into a demand for the restoration of the old Scottish Parliament, and they became the Scottish Parliamentary Party in 1857...
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From: “The Crucible of Modernity: The Nineteenth Century And What We Owe To It” by Seth Livermore (1992):
...formation of the National Football Authority in 1848 gave statutory backing to Percy Rules football (henceforth known as Authority Football) as the only legal version, with teams having to register in order to play. The NFA was originally highly unpopular and illegal mob football matches continued, but the new county police forces suppressed them. The law was eventually relaxed following the Great American War when it was pointed out that, technically, the popular H-ball matches held by public schools were now illegal (though, typically for the Regressives, the law had not been enforced when it applied to such institutions). Another challenge was brought due to staff from the French Embassy playing Lyonnaise football, a variant that involved seven players a side plus two goalkeepers, with the entire edge of the pitch considered the goal, but otherwise kept to the same standards of behaviour that Percy demanded. In 1867, the law was rationalised by the Moderate government to the point where all football variants were now legal, and it was merely the destructive behaviour itself that was criminalised, but the damage to football diversity had been done. Authority Football was the game in Britain, and eventually, the world..
[1] Indeed in OTL it killed him when he was hit by a cricket ball in 1751. Incidentally, though the narrative does not make it clear, cricket in LTTW still uses a version of the 18th century bat design, looking more like a cross between a baseball bat and a hockey stick, rather than the flat paddle design now standardised in OTL.
[2] The Pall Mall Cricket Club, also called simply ‘the Cricket Club’, was the club that in OTL was replaced by the Marylebone Cricket Club in the 1780s (and then codified the rules itself) but not in TTL. Ironically enough, Pall Mall the street is itself named after another ball game, ‘pall-mall’ (as in ‘pell-mell’) from the 17th century, which is the ancestor of croquet.
[3] Also true in OTL. Sheffield Cricket Club, which later became Yorkshire County Cricket Club, was founded in the 1750s. Remarkably, in OTL Sheffield can lay claim to having both the first organised cricket team and the first organised association football team, Sheffield F.C., in but in TTL will only have the former claim to fame.
[4] Obviously in OTL this ancient name ended up being applied to the modern sport, whereas in TTL the codified version is given a new name. Rounders remains in use for the variant occasionally played in the UK.
[5] Bowler and Keeper are the terms used in TTL rather than OTL baseball’s Pitcher and Catcher.
[6] Like OTL baseball bats, but the TTL version is somewhat shorter.
[7] The Percy Dukes of Northumberland were instrumental in the development of football in OTL as well.
[8] I.e. the Populists have been re-elected seven times in annual elections since 1840. This doesn’t count that Thomas originally became Prime Minister/President without an election when the Thompson ministry fell in 1835, so Thomas has been PM/President for a total of 11 years.