Harvard-Yale and its Meaning Over Time

My family comes together for three holidays every year: Harvard-Yale, Christmas, and the Super Bowl. And when it comes to family tradition, the latter two can’t compare. It’s impossible to describe my family without mentioning The Game we hold so dear.

My first memories of Harvard-Yale have about as much to do with football as most of the Super Bowl commercials do. I was too short to see the action and often too cold to care. What I remember most from my early years are frostbitten hands, food, and a seemingly endless amount of time spent standing in front of a car.

Eventually, the action on the field caught my eye, and I began to be curious about this mysterious game going on in front of me.

It took me forever to understand why teams would punt on fourth down instead of going for it. If eight-year-old me were in charge of a football team, she would’ve gone for a touchdown on every play.

As I became a football-obsessed middle schooler, The Game turned into an event I looked forward to every fall. I watched professional football on T.V. all the time, but because I was busy with soccer and later cross country, Harvard-Yale was often the only time I had the chance to see football in person.

And if you asked me what my favorite weekend of middle school was, I wouldn’t have hestitated: sixth grade Harvard-Yale in New Haven, Conn.

While The Game has always been a family activity, this time two of my friends were coming, too. I remember endless games of catch and pick-up football.

And this was middle school, before all the boys became faster runners than all the girls, so I had game.

I almost didn’t want to leave the tailgate, but the action on the field proved to be more than worth it. Behind Neil Rose ’03, the Crimson topped the Bulldogs, 35-23, for its first perfect season in 88 years.

Back in the parking lot after the final whistle had blown, my family stayed to throw around the football, wishing the day would never end.

Then there was The Game I almost missed my sophomore year of high school. I don’t think I’ve ever showered as fast as I did after that morning’s basketball practice.

I wanted to take the time to stretch because the tendonitis in my knees was bothering me, but because I knew my mom was risking being late just for me, I skipped it.

Somehow, despite the horrific traffic, despite the fact that my mom had to pull over on the side of the highway so I could go to the bathroom, and despite the fact that my dad had inexplicably taken out all the CDs in the car save for one Enrique Iglesias album (which I’m still not sure why we own), my mom and I made it to New Haven on speaking terms.

With the Crimson down 21-3 at halftime, it looked like our trip had been in vain.

Instead, we bore witness to a remarkable comeback, where Harvard scored on a two-point conversation to bring the game into overtime for the first time in the rivalry’s history.

After the Crimson had won the Ivy League’s first ever triple-overtime contest, my mom had one thing to say.

“Yale deserved to win that game.”

Perhaps. But it didn’t.

Some might say the same about last year’s game, when a Bulldog victory seemed all but guaranteed heading into the fourth quarter.

In the post-game press conference after the Crimson’s surprising 2009 victory, one of Harvard’s receivers, Matt Luft ’10, appeared to be missing a glove.

It wasn’t long before I found out what happened to it: after the game, my brother stormed the field, and Luft had been kind enough to grant his request for a glove.

Just as I can’t imagine my family without Harvard-Yale, my perception of The Game wouldn’t be complete without an understanding of my family’s involvement in it.

It’s people like my grandparents—perennial tailgaters—who embody the true meaning of Harvard-Yale.

Even though it seems to be all about competition and winning, The Game is really a celebration of community, and I think that is why my family’s connection to it has never faded.

My cousins and I have grown and changed over the years, but there’s still nowhere we’d rather be on the Saturday before Thanksgiving than at Harvard-Yale watching the Crimson take on the Bulldogs.

—Staff writer Christina C. McClintock can be reached at ccmcclin@fas.harvard.edu.