Take Me Out to the Ballgame

A man and a small boy hurried through the ticket gate at Harvard Stadium and proceeded to Section 42, Row F, Seats 3 and 4. The man, in his 30s and his best tweed jacket, moved toward the seats instinctively. Why not? This was his 15th straight season in those seats, and likewise it was 15 years since he had sat with his fellow undergraduates, cursing out the season ticket holders and their better accomodations. Now he was drawing the curse. Oh well.

The boy, maybe 11 or 12 years old, peered around wide-eyed. This was his first Harvard football game. Things seemed so strange, and Mister Rogers was not on hand with the answers. Maybe the man, who served also as his father, could explain this sudden onrush of the bizarre.

"Daddy, why are you wearing a tweed jacket and a sweater on a warm day?"

"Because that's what you're supposed to wear to a Harvard football game. You see the way all the players on the different teams wear the same uniforms? It's kind of that way with the spectators."

The Star-Spangled Banner droned to an off-key finish. The boy and his father sat down.

"Daddy, how come we are sitting on cement steps instead of in seats?"

"Son, Harvard Stadium has an old and lasting tradition. These concrete steps have served as seats for over 75 years. It gives you a feeling of pride, a feeling of distinction, to sit here."

"My rear end hurts."

"It also gives you that feeling to sit here."

The game began and Harvard went on offense.

"Daddy, why are all the players running around before the hike? And why is the quarterback putting on a striped shirt like the referee?"

"This is Harvard's multi-flex offense, son. The reason why all the players are running around before the play starts is to make their opponents on defense think that they are confused. The defensive players think they are the cause of the offense's confusion, and they feel so guilty they let the Harvard backs run easily past them.

"As for the quarterback dressing up like a referee--that is the newest wrinkle in the multi-flex. Every time Harvard is about to get called for illegal motion the dressed-up quarterback simply calls a penalty on the defense and the two infractions cancel each other out."

The two continued to watch the game. The father politely clapped after each Harvard gain. The boy sat pensive, still bewildered as to why he hadn't seen a hot dog vendor in the stands, or why the stadium clock had ticked down so fast when the opposition was threatening to score late in the half.

He looked out and saw a brand of football and a variation of the game that he hadn't seen before. It was a lot like the day he had first learned to write his name cursive. It was his name all right, but written in a way that was not straight-forward, not easy to look at, or understand. The Harvard Band marched on the field for the halftime show.

"Daddy, why is everyone yelling 'boring, boring' at the band? I think they play okay."

The boy's father was embarrassed. "Son, they don't mean 'boring' like when we hear your grandfather recite the Gettysburg Address in Latin. It's just a tradition at Harvard that when the crowd particularly enjoys a half-time selection by the band they yell 'boring!' in honor of Leonard Boring, the first director of the Harvard Band."

The boy was finished with his questions for the day. The second half began with Harvard trailing, 13-7. Both teams were relentless on defense, and the boy was tempted to ask his father why the lineman seemed to receive most of the punts. He didn't.

The clock wound down. With three minutes remaining, Harvard began to march down the field. Runners made sharp cuts and wore for good yardage. The quarterback began hitting receivers in full stride, almost at will. With ten seconds left and 11 yards to go for the winning touchdown, the team in the gold pants and crimson jerseys finally scored. A quick pass over the middle hit a linebacker's helmet and fell into the hands of an end, sprawled on the ground with a pulled hamstring muscle.

The boy has never seen anything like it in all of his two years of watching football. For the first time that day he was standing and cheering madly. The final gun sounded.

The father and son walked across the street to the Business School parking lot.

"That was unbelievable, Dad! Do they always do stuff like that at Harvard, or is it just during the football games?"

"Son, this is Harvard. There's a little bit of a football game in everything here."