A Shot in the Arm for Harvard Sports

There's nothing quite like sports to bring our entire campus together. The problem, however, is that Harvard students are notorious for being fair-weather fans. We ignore our losing teams and only take notice of our winning teams after they've accomplished a major feat on the national scale. Indeed, with the exception of certain Yale football and Princeton basketball rivalries, our bleachers usually don't need much cleaning.

One theory is that our athletic indifference stems from the increasing prominence of extracurricular activities, a trend that has taken attention away from our teams. Others have suggested that many of us don't have any school spirit, either because were too embarrassed or too cynical to be rooting for Fair Harvard. And, of course, it could be that students are just too busy.

I think the problem is much simpler: We need a Cup.

This past weekend in Brookline, the United States made a remarkable come-back-from-behind to reclaim the Ryder Cup. But even more remarkable was the pre-game hype and post-victory hyperbole.

According to most accounts, the event was Dramatic. Epic. Heroic. Our boys in red, white and blue persevered through sand and rough. Justin Leonard's 45-foot Shot Heard Round the World was a thundering triumph for democracy. Our NATO allies were sent home empty-handed.

Pardon me, but isn't this golf were talking about?

Certainly, sports-writing can tend to be melodramatic. But how the Ryder Cup has managed to galvanize such a large segment of the American populace--the event was front page news across the country--is beyond me. According to NBC, a record 55 million viewers tuned in to watch the trans-Atlantic battle of our country clubs' finest. Add to that the 30,000 fans who gathered a dozen-deep to wave and cheer America on.

What's so special about the Ryder Cup?

The only explanation is that competition is most meaningful and fierce when it is about prideno matter how misplaced.

As many of the players on the American team have expressed, its one thing to lose a tournament and miss that paycheck. But it's quite another to see the Ryder Cup--a 27-inch gold chalice with a tradition that dates back to the famous 1927 match between the "Yanks" and the "Brits"--leave for foreign soil.

And so maybe what we need to here at Harvard to rejuvenate our faltering sports interest is our own Cup. Currently, our sports teams play for division titles and championships. Meaningful endeavors certainly, but nothing that fans can directly relate to.

Instead, we could take a little bit out of that multi-billion dollar nest egg and donate what we could call the Crimson Cup. We'd make it big and shiny. Inscribe on it the names of our undergraduate Houses. Smack that Veritas shield right on it's face. Then put it up for grabs.

Winning the cup would be possible every two years. That's long enough build up hype and distinguish the event from other yearly traditions, but short enough so each class has two shots to bring (or keep) the Cup home.

And, just like the Ryder Cup, the Crimson Cup tournament would be an elitist event. We'd invite only our Ivy League rivals, making snobbery towards our foes not just tolerated but enthusiastically encouraged. Jeering and heckling would be mainstays in the Crimson Cup peanut gallery.

In the end, it doesn't really matter what we'd be competing in. So long as we have something physical onto which we can stake our pride and genuinely believe we are in danger of losing it, students will come out in droves. It could be football, hockey or badminton. Or even a different sport every year.

Just anything but golf.

Richard S. Lee '01 is a social studies concentrator in Pforzheimer House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.