Don't give an inch; die first.

Tackle low, run high, _and keep your eyes on the ball!_ And now, fellows, _three times three for Harwell!_" And what a cheer that was! The little building shook, the men stood on their toes; the head coach cheered himself off the bench; and Joel yelled so desperately that his breath gave out at the last "Rah!" and didn't come back until the little door was burst open and he found himself leaping the fence into the gridiron.
And what a burst of sound greeted their reappearance! The west stand shook from end to end.

Crimson banners broke out on the breeze, every one was on his feet, hats waved, umbrellas clashed, canes swirled.

A youth in a plaid ulster went purple in the face at the small end of a five-foot horn; and for all the sound it seemed to make it might as well have been a penny whistle.

The ushers waved their arms, but to no purpose, since the seats heeded them not at all, but shouted as their hearts dictated and as their throats and lungs allowed.
Joel, gazing about him from the field, felt a shiver of emotion pass through him.