There's No Excuse to Stay in Cambridge

Editor's Note: We just received this urgent fax late last night from Naples Pizza Parlor and Copy Center in New Haven.

Fellow Students,

Though I oppose what you do, my friends, I still love you dearly.

I implore you, reconsider. You still have time to join me here in scenic New Haven. The Game begins a scant few hours from now, and our Crimson squad needs your moral support and guidance. Just as Tinkerbell needed the applause of all the little boys and girls around the world, so do our gridders demand the sanctifying spirit of the 10,000 men and women of Harvard and Radcliffe. Cheer, hurrah.

I have not convinced you. You remain in Cambridge, wallowing in problem sets and self-pity.

"But I have a paper due Sunday."

Oh, boo-hoo--I mock you. You should feel guilty, embarrassed.

Look to the example of your peers. A woman of Adams House--Adams House!--has resolved to come here to New Haven to pray for victory. She doesn't even have a ticket; she is barred from the Yale Bowl. Her plan? To enter one of Yale's crumbling libraries and hold a Satanic ritual--a ritual calling upon all the powers of darkness.

She will pray to Beezlebub, to Luxeveritazlebub, to Bubba Smith. These demons she will command to wreak terrible vengeance upon Eli's defensive line and to give the QB Darin Kehler the hiccups. Now that's dedication.

Still here? Unregenerate vermin. You are not even fit to be the smallest flea on a bulldog's tail. What excuse can you still have?

"I hate football."

Coward. That's no excuse. The Game transcends football. The Game transcends all mortal sporting events. We're on a mission from God. Victory shall be the highest spiritual glory, but defeat (I shudder) would plunge us into the depths of ignominy. Your hatred of football threatens to besmirch the good name of Harvard for all eternity.

To hate football, how can that be? You must feel some sympathy for those who "hurl that spheroid down the field, boys, and Fight! Fight! Fight!" The sudden violent collision, the one-handed catch, the perfectly-placed punt--all these are possessing of sublime beauty. These graces of football represent the acme of 6000 years of developing civilization.

Football is patriotic, as well. The game and The Game stand for the American dream, for freedom, equality and the pursuit of happiness. Did you know that before Gorbachev and glasnost, there was no word in Russian for football? It's time to be Crimson, not Red.

"It's too cold."

So put on a jacket. This is a holy war. The weather won't stand in our way. In fact, the aforementioned Adams House sorceress plans to call for a hurricane. Rejoice in the storm! The 150 m.p.h. winds--ordered to blow in the proper direction, of course--will turn the measliest Harvard screen pass into a potential 30-yard gain. We won't even need to tackle Yale's running backs, as the wind will push the Elis back into their own end zone for a Harvard safety.

"New Haven is ugly."

Hogwash. Sociology majors should relish the opportunity to examine first-hand the finest example of American slum. Architecture buffs should jump at the chance to view decaying pseudo-Gothic buildings.

New Haven is a cultural center, as well. The Yale Whiffenpoofs prove to all of us who sing in the shower that even if we have no talent, we can pretend to achieve musical greatness. The Yale School of Drama has given the American entertainment industry such enduring idols as "Fonzie" from "Happy Days."

And where else but in New Haven can you look out your window any time of day or night and witness a genuine mugging or purse-snatching?

"We're going to lose anyway."

Blasphemer. Sinner. A pox on thee and on thy children's children. May you choke on a wishbone. Thou shalt be cast unto the deepest pit of the abyss. And there shall rise a foul beast, a beast of the sorrowful appellation, "Benno." And in the seventh fire of the seventh hell shalt thou be tormented by the unrepentant spirit of Brian Dowling. And your skin shall be as pigskin, and your heart pierced by the spikes of vengeful Harvard guard Doug Rosenberry.

"Hockey vs. Princeton."

Don't be foolish. Hockey is nothing more than a...a...Is Melrose playing? Wait. Hold on. Taxi! Hope I can make the train. I still have a few hours. Don't start without me. You're not a black hole...

Editor's Note, Part II: For those unfortunate souls unable to attend to today's Game, the Sports Cube, with the help of The Crimson's Executives-to-be, will publish a special extra edition to be distributed at the dining halls during the evening.