The Eastern Sprints

THERE ARE two worlds at the Eastern Sprints and they never touch. The world of the oarsmen, coxes, and coaches who are competing at Lake Quinsigamond does not meet the world of the spectators at the Eastern Sprints who are enjoying their spring weekend.

For the oarsmen, the Sprints are not just a one-afternoon affair. For them, it all begins with a bus ride to Worcester Friday. That late afternoon they will practice on the lake for the first time. The practice is quiet and intense--the lake is silent and without spectators. After practice the crew eats dinner at a Howard Johnson's, then finds a motel to sleep in. There while the crew tries to rest for Saturday the coaches and coxes for all the boats competing in the sprints assemble to iron out the technical details of the meet, preparing for Saturday morning.

Eliminations begin around 9:00. They will cut down from the entries in each division from eighteen boats to six boats which will race in the afternoon.

After the elimination heats, the crews eat their training lunches. No one jokes at the meals, for by this time the tension has mounted too high for humor. This tension does not reflect worry. Even after beating Yale soundly in their 1966 trial heats, the Harvard heavies ate a tense lunch. There had been technical imperfections that had to be corrected.

As the crew rests, the Eastern Sprints begin for the spectators.

Leaving barbecues and softball games at their houses, Harvard students will pile into cars, checking for beer in the back, and begin the drive to Worcester. It's a quick drive, good scenery lines the route; speed a little and it takes 45 minutes.

8,000 spectators have arrived by early afternoon. Some are in the grandstands at the end of the course, some along the beach.

From 2 to 5 o'clock is a good time for the crowds. With decent weather few things can be more pleasant than a seat by Lake Quinsigamond. People get thrown into the lake; some who are not so fortunate plunge in on their own. And above all, crews finish at fifteen minute intervals. There is no chilling half-hour wait for the next race as there is at Charles River regattas:

At about 3 o'clock the crew leaves the motel. Dressed for the race already, they have nothing to do but wait around the back of the boat-house, watching the other crews leave until it is their turn.

Warm-ups for the varsity heavies begin at 4:30. The crew will practice for 45 minutes, then stroke silently along the banks up the lake to the start. As they pass the crowd there will be some murmurs, but most of the crowd's attention will be on the race in progress. Or their date. Or beer-cooler.

Only at 5:30 when the varsity heavies race begins does the crowd shift its attention. For the six-odd minutes it takes to cover the 2000-meter course everyone listens to the loudspeaker reports, cheering at favorable reports on the invisible boats. Then they see the shells coming.

As the crews approach the finish line, the world of spectators and participants meets. Screaming encouragement, 8000 people cheer the six final crews.

The crews don't hear them. All the tension is being released in this last surge and no one in the shells has time for the crowds. They've got a race to row.

The race finishes. The crowds begin to break up with the Harvard students heading for Saturday night dances. Finally the crews can begin to unwind at the award ceremonies. But for them the unwinding is different from what the spectators have in mind. For the crews, the Eastern Sprints end as apart from the crowds that watch them as they began.