White sweats, splinters, high hopes

Now justify this. You wake up, go to a few classes in the morning, but from noon to seven, some days to nine, you're talking football, football, football.

First for lunch--you have to have something in your system after all--an hour to digest and get psyched and then the walk to Dillon.

Tape up, get the pads in place, adjust that chin strap and now it's out to the field. Sweat, breathe deep, hit those dummies harder--inside, keep the runner to the inside. How many times are you going to have to be told?

OK, it's finally over. Shower, get dressed and it's already time for dinner. Varsity Club tonight and remember, don't miss the films.

You finally return to your room in time for Charlie's Angels. How about a little nap before hitting the books, you've got to be tired. The nap ends in time for breakfast the next morning, and here you go again.

So you're Jim Kubacki and you can justify it. You're good, you've got professional scouts peeking around at you, it might mean a job someday. You're Tommy Winn, you're a hero, you're breaking records and everything, or you're Tommy Joyce, defensive standout and you're always in there tackling somebody.

But everyone can't be a star. If they could American Express would have to devise a new set of commercials. But take a close look at the Harvard bench tomorrow afternoon and you'll know what I mean.

When the game is over, note the number of red jerseys that look like they just came back from the cleaners, the number of sweats that remain whiter than white.

And then check the season statistics and see how many players, guys who put in their 25 hours or so each week, who came back to school in August for two-a-day drills, never made it into a game. Maybe a few plays, an occasional appearance on one of the specialty teams, but basically, they never made it into a game.

Why one would subject himself to such an existence for three months of the year is a question that does not have one correct response. There are as many different answers as there are players with clean uniforms. Some do it for the love of the game--"football junkies" so to speak--others because they're chasing that elusive rainbow, the hope that someday they'll get their chance in front of 40,000 people in the Yale game.

And then there are those who choose an alternate course--with the thought of two months, if not three years of splinter-gathering looming large, they quit the team altogether.

* * * * *

By the name itself, you'd think that Bob Peabody would be a star. You know Peabody, as in Endicott "Chub" Peabody '42, former governor of Massachusetts and the last Harvard All-American before Pat McInally; co-captain at Groton and all that.

But Bob Peabody, at least as far as Harvard football is concerned, is not a star. In fact, he's not even a starter, but an occasional performer at left tackle in this, his senior year, after having spent the last two fall campaigns as a non-playing, non-lettering reserve.

During the week, you'd never know that Peabody is a spare part; he practices as hard and as long as anyone else. It's just that on Saturday afternoons he spends his time on the sideline.

Does this bother Peabody? Did Watergate bother the Democrats? Peabody, you see, is a football rarity, a "football junkie," the type of guy who, as he readily admits, "loves the game and the people who play it," who seems to get much satisfaction providing enthusiasm and cheers from the bench (and does he ever) as he would throwing a winning block.

Well, almost. "Of course I'm not thrilled about not starting," he says, "and as a senior I was hoping that I would have gotten the first shot, but (junior Bruce, the starting left tackle) McKinnon's done a fabulous job. I've resigned myself to the fact that I do the best I can, and I'll always be ready to contribute."

Regardless, though, of whether or not he ever sees game action, Bob Peabody definitely contributes. How? "I'm just really enthusiastic about it--I find my contributions to the team in that way." Or, in the words of an acquaintance, "Every team needs a Peabody."

This afternoon Peabody will practice officially for the last time. Although the number of his practice hours divided by his number of game hours forms a ratio equivalent to the odds of the New York Giants winning a game this season, he's still going to miss it.

"This is the last week of practice in my life" he says with a slight look of regret. "I'm going to miss it, maybe not next week, but I got going immediately as a freshman. That's a long time.

"Sure, it will be a nice change. I'm dying to come back and tailgate; I haven't really seen a game in the Stadium in three years."

Tomorrow against Yale, Bob Peabody, who played not at all one year, behind Danny Jiggetts the next and then only briefly as a senior, will roam the Crimson sideline for the final time. He will be the guy jumping the highest and screaming the loudest when Harvard scores. Does he have any regrets about his role? Need you ask?

* * * * *

Fred Cordova is Bob Peabody two years ago. He's a sophomore who so far has played in one game at his position, defensive cornerback. Cordova has appeared on the specialty teams, but for the most part, he, too, has had to sit and watch.

Which, for someone who has played competitive football since second grade, is not the easist thing to do. As a freshman a year ago, Cordova played offensive halfback; his decision to switch to the defensive secondary was based on his desire to play.

"I thought my chance of playing was much better," he said at breakfast the other day. "I really didn't expect to start. There were 12 guys for two positions. You have to set certain goals, and as a sophomore, the most important thing is getting recognized as a candidate to play."

But that's as a sophomore. What about next year? "With each year," Cordova explains, "your goal changes. Next year my goal is to start, and it would bother me if I didn't. You bank more on accomplishing your goal, put more into it. I'll come back next year a lot more prepared, ready to fight back. I don't consider the idea of not starting as an alternative, because you can't think negatively. It's a strike against you from the start."

For Cordova, the first, foremost and only thing is to play. "Everyone's personal desires and motivations are different," he says. "Mine are to play."

Cordova really doesn't feel like a part of this year's team. Sure, he practiced with it, and in that sense helped the starting players to improve, but as he says, "I feel a little distant. I don't feel any credit for what's going on. My effect has been indirect. I feel more responsible for a loss than happy for a victory."

Two years from now, for all anyone knows, Fred Cordova could be the 1978 version of Bill Emper. Or, he could still be on the bench. One second thought, though, Fred Cordova doesn't talk like the type who will spend too much longer on the bench. He is different than Bob Peabody, and if you don't find Cordova on the field in the next year or two, you probably won't find him on the bench, either.

* * * * *

You definitely won't find Dave Mitts on the bench, not now, not next year, not ever. You won't even find him on the roster because Dave Mitts, high school football captain and all the rest, terminated his Harvard football career before, it even got started--after the training camp of his sophomore year.

Mitts is now a junior; had things going his way, he would not doubt be suiting up against Yale tomorrow, perhaps as a starter. But things did not go Mitts's way, and as a result, his football activity is now limited--by his own choice--to the house variety.

What happened? Nothing drastic, nothing too unusual, in fact it happens every fall. It's just that it had never happened to Dave Mitts before.

After returning for training camp a year ago. Mitts, a starter for most of the season on the previous fall's freshman team, found that he was being overlooked. He did not move up the depth charts, and after impressive, at least according to him, performances in the preseason scrimmages failed to alter his status on the team, he saw the writing on the wall.

Now you have to understand that once the depth charts are determined--before the opening game--they pretty much remain that way for the rest of the season. And Mitts preferred not to be the fourth-string left defensive tackle for the entire season.

"After the season starts," Mitts said yesterday in his Kirkland House room, "there's no chance to move up unless by injury or a guy playing really poorly, which you don't expect. I was pretty much being told [by Chet O'Neill, defensive line coach] that I've improved a lot, but not enough for me, yet everybody else knew I did well."

So what were Mitts' options? He could hang on with the varisty, go to the practices (which he did once a week), play in the J.V. games and then warm the bench on Saturday. Except that at the practices, he would have to play on the "scout" teams and be a bagholder for the first-and second-stringers, a job he terms "depressing. It seems you can get cheerleaders to do that."

Mitts did play in the J.V. games last year, but he terms the J.V. program a joke, and this year limits himself to just house football--"a real blast. Most sophomores on the team are resigned to not playing but I'm not that type. After playing in high school, to be told that you're not going to play, that's baloney."

So Mitts selected another option--he quit. "Anyone can lose interest," Mitts states, "but I think it takes a strong person to lose interest and then quit. Most people hang on because football has been a big part of their lives for a long time, and it's difficult to break with that.

"I don't particularly want to get involved with the Harvard football organization again," Mitts says. At least, that is, when for him, the Harvard football organization is associated with a bench, one he did not think he would ever get off.

* * * * *

Andy Puopolo, now why Andy Puopolo? He's not a bench-warmer, you all know that, but one of the starting defensive cornerbacks. In fact, Andy Puopolo (whose name is easier to pronounce than type) was one of the Harvard Players of the Week last Saturday as he intercepted two passes against Bob Graustein and Pennsylvania.

So why Andy Puopolo? Because Andy Puopolo also knows what it's like to garner splinters; he did so for most of the last two seasons.

Sophomore year he hardly played at all, and last year, he was injured in the Columbia game, which he started. But the injury, a torn knee cartilage, was not diagnosed for over a month, during which time Puopolo did a lot of hobbing and an equal amount of spectating.

This time around, however, Puopolo got the starting nod. "I won the job in camp," he said the other day. "It came down to the last five minutes before the opening game until I knew. If I hadn't started, I would have been a little disappointed, but I'm not sure at whom, myself or the coaches."

But what if Puopolo had not gotten a break? He was obviously aware, especially since he was returning from an injury, that he might not start, so what motivated him to give it another shot, what carried him through two years of bench duty?

"If I didn't believe that I could play someday, I wouldn't have gone through with it. But I wanted to play football for Harvard, for the sake of the game, and I didn't want to lose contact with the guys. I enjoy kibbutzing." For Puopolo, it wasn't a question of "If I don't start I'll quit," but more of a search for that elusive rainbow.

Andy Puopolo says his biggest thrill was the victory over Yale a year ago, a game in which he did not even play, so when you watch him perform in a starting capacity tomorrow afternoon, you just know that you'll be watching someone who has reached his goal.

And if you look closely enough on the Harvard sideline, you'll see Fred Cordova, still in search of his, and Bob Peabody, who, by his wild gesticulations, will let you know that he, too, has reached his goal, albeit one of a different sort.

And Dave Mitts will be quite happy that he is warming a bench in the stands.

...with the thought of two months, if not three, of splinter-gathering looming large, they quit the team altogether.