With the notion that there could possibly be snow in the forecast when Georgia plays in Columbia, Missouri, the question has arisen if the Bulldogs have ever played in a “snow game,” whereby snow either fell during the contest or had already accumulated on the field of play.
UGASports dug deep and discovered the first and only (entering this Saturday) snow game in Georgia football history.
Besides being the Bulldogs’ first game in the snow, the 1912 Georgia-Auburn game played in Athens on Thanksgiving Day was also the first contest in the series held in the Classic City—after the first 18 Georgia-Auburn games were played in either Atlanta, Macon, Savannah, or Montgomery. Notably, featuring newly-constructed Sanford Field, the “hope” of Georgia officials was that the 1912 game would be the start of a series played in Athens on an annual basis.
With Georgia entering with a 5-1-1 record, and Auburn at 6-0-1, their affair from 108 years ago was also the first game in the series with a conference championship on the line for both teams. Finally, there was some added excitement in the air as the contest loomed, according to the Atlanta Constitution, as “the first game of football in this state, and very probably the entire South, to be recorded by a motion picture camera.”
Favored to win at 3-to-2 odds, Auburn, coached by Mike Donahue, arrived in Athens the day before Thanksgiving. Less than a week before, the Plainsmen had pulled an “upset” by tying mighty Vanderbilt—the same team that had defeated Georgia, 46-0, six weeks before, in Atlanta.
As Auburn did its evening walk-through at Sanford Field, it started to snow—and it continued to snow for most of the night. The snow had accumulated to nearly one-half-foot deep by the next morning. A “large scraper,” of sorts, was employed by “practically the entire student body” (roughly 400 students or so)—and a good portion of the white coating was removed. Still, as the morning turned into afternoon, a thin sheet of snow still covered the Georgia gridiron.
Georgia’s quarterback, Dave Paddock, must have felt right at home. Paddock, a native of Brooklyn, N.Y., who had recently been moved under center from halfback, was the only non-Georgian in his 68-student class. The junior signal-caller had decided to leave home for UGA because of the university’s reputable agricultural school and, ironically, his dislike for northern winters.
As a preliminary to the big rivalry game at Sanford Field, Riverside Military Academy defeated Georgia Military College, 20-6, turning the thin sheet of snow into an icy, slushy mess. By the game’s 3 p.m. kickoff, the field’s 3,500-capacity grandstand was filled despite the weather—and it was said that hundreds more had anticipated attending, but never arrived, “having bogged down on the muddy country roads leading to Athens.”
After a scoreless opening quarter, Georgia, coached by Alex Cunningham, scored first on a 25-yard touchdown run around left end by halfback Bob McWhorter, who remains arguably the program’s most valuable player of all time. For McWhorter, who would become Georgia’s first All-American a year later, it was his 47th of what would be 61 career touchdowns, an unofficial school record.
In that era, there was a rule where a football thrown out of bounds on only fourth down went to the opposing team where the ball went out. Leading 6-0 while facing fourth down in the second half, Paddock instructed McWhorter to throw the ball as close as he could to Auburn’s goal line—and the ball had to go out of bounds. Indeed, McWhorter flung the ball downfield with all of his might, but instead of heading out of bounds, the ball unexpectedly headed down the middle of the field into the waiting arms of left end Hugh Conklin, who raced another five yards, completing a long touchdown pass. The surprised Conklin later said that in all of his years playing football, “I feel certain that's the only pass I ever caught—in fact, the only one ever thrown to me in actual competition.”
Georgia missed both its extra-point kicks, and Auburn’s J.P. “Rip” Major connected on two second-half field goals; nonetheless, the Red and Black held on to a 12-6 upset victory.
It was reported the game was more decisive than the final score suggested, citing Georgia’s overwhelming advantage in first downs (20-7) and its deficit in punts (6-11). Following the game, Paddock was praised for his quarterback play. McWhorter was named captain of the 1913 team within 20 minutes of the game’s end, becoming the first UGA athlete to be named captain of both the football and baseball squads in the same calendar year.
And then there was unheralded Bill Arnette who, essentially out of nowhere, had an on-field performance like few other linemen of recent memory. Arnette, who was considered only a “mediocre” player, had been suddenly thrust into a starting spot—yet was considered the “Georgia star of the day” from his right tackle position.
Following the game, a report surfaced suggesting why favored Auburn may have gotten off to such a slow start in the contest. When it came time for the team to leave the fifth floor of the Georgian Hotel for the field, a group of players overcrowded the elevator. According to the Atlanta Journal, the elevator operator “lost control of his machine and it dashed to the basement and hit with a thud.” Although no one was seriously injured, it was said a “badly frightened” Auburn team left the hotel and were “still white-faced when they reached Sanford Field.”
From escaping tragedy to a tragic loss, it was also revealed that Arnette, the once mediocre, budding star tackle for Georgia, had been in no condition to play. Despite the cold, snowy conditions while enduring a high fever, he elected to take the field, whereby his fever eventually developed into pneumonia. Arnette died the day after Thanksgiving. Soon afterward, coaches Cunningham and Donahue discussed the Georgia star of the game, agreeing “that for one day and one game, [Arnette’s] playing had been the best they had ever seen.”
Accordingly, the 1912 Georgia-Auburn game is certainly significant as it was the Bulldogs’ first—and still only—snow game in school history. Still, perhaps more important: It was a game of several firsts, and one that ultimately resulted in the loss of a young life—after having played the game of his life.
