Tending the Flock

I spent my Wonder-Bread years in New Haven, Conn., and perhaps that's why, as a freshman, it took me three years to discover that the advertisements in Cambridge for 'The Game' were not intended to increase ticket sales for the upcoming Harvard-Yale football match. You see, that's what 'The Game' means down in New Haven--not the Massachusetts state lottery.

A strange phenomenon occurs in the Elm City come the third week of November. Suddenly sportswriters take a liking to the shift button on their typewriters. If they quote anyone talking about the two teams' upcoming contest, the reference is not to 'the game' but to 'The Game.' And as kickoff-time approaches the sickness grows to epidemic proportions: no longer 'the game' or even 'The Game,' suddenly the confrontation is labeled 'THE GAME.'

Unfortunately THE LATEST GAME (Why not?) did not merit a spare upper case letter, much less an inch of newspaper copy. The only good thing about the game, if you ask me, was my seat in the coveted pressbox. The shelter, located on the rim of the Bowl, was especially rewarding once the distant mist closed in and turned to drizzle towards the end of the third quarter.

The fans would have done better to stay home and watch Michigan beat their brains out to tie Ohio State--only to be voted out of the Rose Bowl--or even to spend the afternoon raiding the Thanksgiving-day remains. Piling disappointment on disappointment, even the Harvard band was not up to par, although their topic--shortages--was timely in light of the Crimson's meager showing. After a misleadingly promising initial drive the Harvard offense settled into a complacement, mediocre game plan that earned the Crimson the dubious distinction of being shutout for the first time since 1969 (7-0 against the Elis, in New Haven, oddly enough.) The defense put on an equally un-stellar performance, yielding the largest losing margin to Yale since the fifties.

Right from the start the Yale offense ran with the greatest of ease up the middle, off tackle, and around the Crimson ends. In the early going Harvard had sufficient strength to contain the Eli runners and to prevent a sustained drive. But slowly the stellar Rudy Green and Tyrell Hennings, and later even the less spectacular, bulldogish John Donahue and finally a sophomore replacement gained a few extra yards after first being hit by the Crimson defenders. The Harvard secondary, especially the heralded John Clarke, was taken apart by Yale's substitute quarterback, Kevin Rogan. Early in the season the Harvard defense had like Icarus approached the sun and gained fame, but like the Greek it melted from the exposure and quickly plummeted into the sea.

A horrible call by an official during the first quarter sent the Crimson offense into their fatal tailspin. The contested play: a Stoeckel pass to McInally; the criminal: a stingy Yale defensive halfback named Charity; the crooked judge: an official who refused to call interference after Charity flattened McInally while (but not before) the Stoeckel throw was in transit; the result: in six plays a Yale touchdown. From then it was all downhill: 14-0, 21-0, 28-0, 35-0. Splash.

I spent the first half being amazed at Harvard's poor performance and somewhat befuddled by the success of the bookies' pro-Yale, pre-game augury. I expected Harvard to revive and regain at least some vestige of its lost honor, if not the lead. But things only got worse: the New Haven sky grew grayer and grayer, obscuring the surrounding hills. By 3:30 p.m. the weather was uncommonly foul. The brightest objects in sight were Harvard's white jerseys, the fans' foul weather gear and the grass on the field. The situation became downright absurd when the gray metamorphisized, converting into rain, and gave 41,247 disgusted fans the excuse to depart they wanted. The Bowl, which had originally been little more than half full, grew emptier and emptier. By the final gun, the 70,000 blue seats were almost entirely bare.

Admittedly there were some amusing moments in the last three quarters: the announcer's pro-Yale bias and inability to pronounce Tsitsos ("See-tus") and Harvard's comical attempt at a reverse with both Milt Holt and Stoeckel in the backfield.

But all in all the afternoon was a bore. Most Harvard-Yale games (or Yale-Harvard depending on your bias) go down to the last minute, not in the first. Witness Harvard's 29-29 victory in 1968: the Crimson scored 16 points in 42 seconds to win. Saturday Yale scored two touchdowns within 25 seconds, but who cares in a 35-0 game, especially when they do it in the second quarter. Even this newspaper's inevitable 23-2 victories are more exciting.