Close Encounter

Something weird is happening on the hardwood.

The Harvard men's basketball team is 10-5. To the uninitiated there is nothing wrong with this, but veterens such as myself are surprised and unsure.

One could always count on the Crimson losing--frequently. This year however, Harvard has its most wins since a 12-14 record in 1990 and its most wins in the fall semester since 1984-85.

It is all so sudden. 6-20 last season, 10-5 now. What February will being is a complete mystery.

Friends come up to me and say, "Wow, they're doing well this year! But we don't have a chance to beat [insert team here], though, do we?"

I shrug, because I do not know. Who knows if even the sun will rise again? Harvard beat Cornell and Columbia last weekend, improving its Ivy record to 3-1. What can I be sure off.

Seeking the truth, I took a walk one night. I strolled along JFK over the frozen Charles--buried under piles of snow (over three feet in January! Who would have known!)--and stopped midway, looking over the whiteness.

Suddenly, it appeared. The ghost of failed Harvard seasons.

The apparition had many faces. Sometimes it looked like last season, when Harvard lost 17 out of 18 in one stretch. Or it appeared to be the aforementioned 1985 campaign, when Harvard started 11-1 but finished 4-8. But above all, it looked like something that has never won an Ivy league title in 90-some years.

"Eric, you are perplexed," it said.

"Yes. What the heck is going on?," I responded. "Harvard's winning games--big. The Crimson crushed Cornell and Columbia, and it ate up Colgate. It avenged a December loss to Dartmouth by holding the Big Green to 40 points. What gives?"

The ghost chuckled. "Yes, Harvard is playing well. The team has done that before, you know."

"But this year it's playing great," I retorted. "Junior Kyle Snowden has been ranked in the top 10 nationally in rebounding all season, and Harvard's free-throw percentage and defensive shooting percentage consistently lead the Ivies."

I fell silent for a minute, searching for words.

"My point is that this team has the talent to win the league title. Is that, like allowed?" I said. "I thought it was written in stone that the Crimson would never be successful."

Again, the ghost smiled--if you can call it that--and seemed to understand my plight.

"You know, Eric, the 1984-85 team cocked like it had just drunk a bottle of bleach."

I stared at the ghost and wondered. "So you're saying that this team will lose its last seven games, finish--say--about fifth in the Ivies and spend the summer wondering what could have been?"

"Do you want that?" it asked.

I stopped, realizing that I had fallen into ghost's trap. Did I want that? There is safety in repetition, but shouldn't all things change--even the Harvard men's basketball team?

"Not necessarily I just want to know the future. No one knows "What's going on with this team--whether it's a flash in the pan or the start of a major power. I'm so used to knowing what will happen when the Crimson takes the court."

"It's kind of cool, isn't it?" the ghost replied. "When you go to a same, you don't know what to expect. Isn't that what sports are about?"

"Wily ghost," I thought aloud, you got me again."

And with that, it vanished. Maybe to return, maybe not.