Fireworks Sputter but Rarely Explode in Damp Weekend

Boys from Hanover were in town over the weekend. They walked off with a football game and parts of a goal post. They left behind them a grey, dismal Cambridge, splashing sadly in the Sunday morning rain.

For a good while, it appeared that the days of the Stutz Bearcat and the soon coat were gone forever--even from the country club environs of the Dartmouths. There was little hoopla--no sabotage. The Harvard rally had gone off as scheduled Friday night, John Harvard was unsullied by even the faintest tinge of green, and silence reigned through the long, cold pre-game night.

Only a scant few hours before the kickoff did the customary gaiety appear. It came out of bottles and punch bowls. It appeared simultaneously all over Cambridge, and it finally dispatched the largest October crowd in recent Cambridge history over the Larz Anderson bridge. By the time fans poured into the Stadium, they were almost rollicking.

Fuse Is Lit

It took one heliuva good football game to set the fuse. Then the firecracker burst brilliantly, violently, and briefly. Between halves, the near-nude Indian cheerleaders led their partisans out of the stands to set up a tepoe. A few of the locals offered half-hearted opposition, which resulted in a disruption of the band formations and little else.

In the battle of the goal posts, the East uprights foil first, but the Green's earned only a split decision for possession of the wood. The battle on the western front raged for more than an hour.

Thousands of embattled undergraduates halted the fracas to stand and watch as two youths raced into the wooden stands and snatched a blanket from over a couple who were engaged in "amorous activities." It was probably the best-witnessed indiscretion since the Harvard off-side penalty that called back Cannon's touchdown.