On Bard Time

Behold, what fullback through yonder defense breaks? It is Steve Ernst, and Harvard is the sun. Yet, see, the Crimson doth itself appear, as doth the blushing discontented sun from out the fiery portal of the Ivy League, when it perceives the envious Crusaders are bent to dim its glory and to stain the record of its bright passage through the 1983 schedule.

Oh that Holy Cross were a mockery team of snow, standing before the sun of fair Harvard, to melt itself away in water-drops! Good Crimson, great Crimson, and yet not greatly good, and if its ability be sterling yet in Division I-AA, let it command an upset hither straight, that it may show Harvard what pride it has since it is bankrupt of the Ivy lead.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends once more; or close the score up to cover the point spread. The Cross is but a team as Harvard is. The ball bounces for it as it doth for us; the clock shows to it as it doth to us; all its players have but human conditions. Its victories laid by, in its nakedness it appears but a team.

Let me have a dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear as will disperse itself through all plays that the unbeaten Crusaders may fall dead, and that the Gil Fenerty may be discharged of yards as violently as hasty passes fir'd doth hurry from Peter Muldoon's fatal cannon.

Its backfield is more full of strength than ours, its men more perfect in both pass and rush, its line as strong as its record the best; then reason will the Cross should be as good.

Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish Holy Cross thus forsworn, or to dispraise Harvard with that same tongue which I hath prais'd it with above compare so may thousand times? Go, predictions, thou and my school spirit henceforth shall be twain.

O God, that one might read the book of fate.

HOLY CROSS 10, HARVARD 0--A game there is, my lord, some 10 points long, which is as brief as I have known a game; but by 10 points, my lord it is too long.

DARTMOUTH 7, COLUMBIA 6--I should to Columbia too, but time will not permit. All is uneven, and every thing is left at six and seven.

PENN STATE 20,000, BROWN 0--Paterno had for himself, is he not king? Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepiest. Is not the king's name 20,000 names? Arm, arm, your name! A puny subject strikes at thy great glory.

COLGATE 18, PENN 6--Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!

LAFAYETTE 10,000, PRINCETON 25--This note doth tell me of 10,000 French that in the field lie slain. And of all other men but five and 20.

YALE 10, CORNELL, 1--Is this a victory which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come let me clutch thee: I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Ay, no no, ay.

Last Week--4-1. Season to Date--24-13, .649. If this column has offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but stumbled here, on some lines of Shakespeare. Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. What's done cannot be undone.