New Hampshire, 1939. A foggy morning in mid-September, Dartmouth vs. Androscoggin, just a mid-season practise run. On the wing is young Hawkeye Pierce, not yet eighteen and just out of high school. Not much of a passer, not much speed, but a fighter. His opposite number is Dartmouth's find of the season – first year in college and already captain. Tall, rake thin, elegant, with an effortless, long-legged running gait, sandy curls, and a mocking grin.
It is this grin which is particularly infuriating Hawkeye Pierce, the heart and soul of the motley Androscoggin side, whose combined efforts 20 minutes into the second half could perhaps be best described as enthusiastic rather than stunning ball play. A strange intervention of fate, and Bugsy Carter successfully intercepts his first pass of the game. He tosses a wild one somewhere in the direction of the wing, and Hawkeye springs into action. Skinny arms scrabble in the mud, and he emerges from a tussle with the ball still in hand. Seeing the way ahead clear, the Hawk grins, head down, and sprints for the line. Out of nowhere, something hits him, and Hawkeye finds himself buried beneath several hundred pounds worth of skinny Boston winger. He twists angrily in his opponent's grasp, and regains his feet in time to catch a glimpse of the infuriating grin as his opposite spins a perfect pass to the centre and racks up another seven points for Dartmouth.
Another pass, and another brilliant tackle, and Hawkeye is once again left glaring after a silver-footed Mercury with a mocking laugh and sparkling devil's eyes. Yet another, and Hawkeye again crashes to the ground beneath the Dartmouth winger, and in desperation lashes out with an angry fist which strikes his opponent square in the jaw. The tackler, showing more spirit than the Hawk had anticipated, retaliates, and he grins as he lands a bruising punch below Hawkeye's left cheekbone.
Later, in the changing room, a limping and bloodied Androscoggin side peel off their sodden sweaters with groans of agony. Hawkeye Pierce stands naked and dripping from the shower in front of a rust-spotted mirror and examines a beautiful black eye, and what he suspects to be several cracked ribs (though it is difficult to be certain as their class has not yet progressed past "acne" in 'Hobson's Medical Encyclopaedia').
The door in the mirror reflection opens, and the young Dartmouth winger enters, clean-shirted and fresh-faced with his curls only slightly damp, and with only a split lip to remember the match by. He proceeds to shake hands, congratulate them all on a bloody good game and a bloody good punch up, and invite them all for a couple of drinks in the clubroom. They have the couple of drinks, and then several more, and the Boston winger is introduced as one John Francis Xavier McIntyre. The game is lauded generously, the Androscoggin team congratulated for their little short of miraculous win, and the Dartmouth side congratulated for the altogether more substantial honour of having soundly thrashed not only the entire opposition, but also two back-benchers, a coach, a referee, and several bystanders.
Another round of drinks, and Hawkeye realises that he has forgotten to leave on the bus with the rest of the team, and returns to the Dartmouth campus to crash on the floor of Johnny McIntyre's dorm room. The next morning they awake from an alcohol induced stupor, jump together into the college lake, and return to the dormitory for a breakfast of black coffee and peanut butter. On such things are lasting friendships forged.
It is September 1939. Britain and her allies have just declared war on Germany.