FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT

What's in a goal - post besides splinters? The alcoholic warriors who stormed the end zones Saturday afternoon were no sordid materialists interested in amassing odd cubic feet of painted woodwork. It was the story of the Grail all over again, and the strength of each embattled defender was the strength of ten because, like Tennyson's Galahad, his heart was pure. It was fight for honor--not exactly the much-publicized national honor, but something essentially as noble.

Holy Cross and Harvard students took little part in the combat--probably their spirit has already been sapped by the insidious radicalism of pre-Oath teaching. Only outsiders, unexposed to cowardly rationalism, were eager to do or die for the dear old College and the dear old Flag. These heroes fought the good fight and went home with spirits uplifted, eyes inflamed, and noses bloody. The Cambridge police eventually intervened, although civilization would have been better served had the carnage continued, with more spirits elevated, more eyes blackened, and more noses smashed.