Grioiron Chosts

The story of the Harvard-Yale football series is the tale of the ebb and flood of two great tides of victory, broken only by occasional pauses. From 1876 to 1908, Yale was riding on the crest of the wave of triumph, sweeping all Harvard elevens before her with relentless power. In 1908 the tide turned, and although the Crimson victory in that year was followed by a Yale win in 1909, Harvard was launched on her triumphant march under the headship of Percy D. Haughton '90, the coach who led the Crimson forces out of the football doldrums.

It was a 25-yard field goal from the toe of V.P. Kennard '09 that halted the Yale advance and brought Haughton and his team into their place in the sun. When Yale came to the Stadium in 1908, Harvard had not won since 1901, and had tallied only four conquests since the opening of the series in 1875.

Kennard Kicks

From the opening kick-off the game went slightly in Harvard's favor. Late in the first half a sustained march started toward the Yale goal. Yard after yard was clicked off, with F.P. Ver Wiebe '09 carrying the ball on most of the plays. A touchdown was in sight.

At the 20-yard line Ver Wiebe was suddenly withdrawn from the game. Kennard entered quickly, took the center pass without calling a string of signals, and kicked the ball squarely between the goal posts before Harvard, Yale, or the stands realized the significance of the play.

A field goal then counted four points, and this margin was a winning margin in that game.

Under Haughton's leadership the Harvard elevens became incarnations of smooth power and merciless efficiency that crushed all opposition. Evolving a complicated system of hidden ball plays, which were revolutionary in American football, Haughton uncovered the system which was the envy and despair of every coach in the country. Even after his coup in the 1908 encounter, it was four years before he scored over Yale, but minor victories came thick before this.

One-sided scores tell the story of the games immediately before and after the war. In 1923 Yale finally broke the spell with a 13 to 0 victory, scoring the only touchdown which the Bulldog has pushed across in the Stadium since 1907. Two victories and a tie since that lone touchdown indicate that the Blue may be on the eve of a football resurrection to avenge her dearth of victories for 19 years.

Next to the Yale-Princeton series, the rivalry between the Crimson and the Blue is the oldest in the country. After a mess of preliminary negotiations Harvard faced Yale at New Haven on November 13, 1875. Contemporary accounts state that about 140 students accompanied the team to New Haven, "so that the college was very well represented at the match."

Teams Concede Rules

American football was still in its swadding clothes, and like two sandlot teams, each outfit had to concede point to the other before play could be started. Yale agreed to play with 15 men on a side, as in Rugby, if Harvard would forfeit the privilege of trying for a goal after touchdown.

The sporting scribes of the day testify that Yale showed a woeful ignorance of the rules, and ascribes to that fault the overwhelming defeat which was her portion at the hands of Harvard. Four field goals and four touchdowns told the story of the Crimson's superiority. Yale was held scoreless.

The following year, the newspapers observe that the Elis were quick to path, and commend the style of play that brought one Yale field goal to win over three Harvard touchdowns that failed of goal. Under the old scoring system this plan was in force; the idiosyncrasies of the system are seen in 1881, when Yale did not score, but won because Harvard made four safeties.

After this, until Kennard kicked his goal in 1908, the Crimson flaunted over the Blue three times--in 1896, 1898, and 1901. The Harvardians instituted most of the new wrinkles in the games, but Yale had most of the power. The "Deland Flying Wedge" flew in 1892. This strange play was the terror of all comers, but Yale won the game because of involuntary foreign aid.

In this wedge, the captain stood at midfield with the ball. The remaining ten men formed in two lines, the five lighter on one side, the heavier on the other, extending back diagonally across the field. At the signal the two lines ran forward, converged at the captain's post and kept on in a diagonal direction, gradually turning to form a wedge behind the apex of which the runner was safe for a 20 or 30 yard gain.

Englishman Spoils Wedge

An amiable English gentleman who had never seen an American football game was responsible for the breaking up of the "Flying Wedge." He was the guest of Major Henry L. Higginson, Hon, '82, donor of Soldiers Field, at secret practice one day. A few weeks later he related to some friends in San Francisco the story of the practice and the "Flying Wedge" as he saw it. At a nearby table in the restaurant sat a Yale man. He could make nothing of the tale, but wrote to New Haven that Harvard apparently had a dangerous formation. The coaches put their heads together, guessed at the Wedge and devised a defense which, after the first half of the game, smashed the attack completely.

Twenty years later Harvard had her revenge, and again an Englishman was the middle man. A visitor to the University in 1914, a total stranger to American football, had seen Yale practice, and remarked to Coach Haughton that Yale played very much on the Rugby style. This startling news called a coaches' conference, it was decided that the Elis had something of a lateral pass up their sleeves, and plans were laid accordingly.

When Harvard visited the Bowl that fall, there was the Yale lateral pass, and there was Harvard's answer. Harvard won the game, 36 to 0