Mad Fun In the Sun

It's that time of year again, a time when hibernating students come out of the woodwork, squirrels entertain Yard tourists en masse, and new lovers engage in public displays of affection on your entryway steps. That's right: it's spring-time in Cambridge.

For many Harvard students, it is the season of spring formals, sandals, sunglasses. For Anne H. Beaudreau `01, it is also the season for recreational Yard Frisbee.

As the weather warms, many students display their latent athleticism (or lack thereof) by participating in individual sports such as bikeriding, rollerblading, or group endeavors like whiffle-ball or soccer.

Beaudreau, sighted in Harvard Yard with Frisbee in hand on a recent sunny day, has her own warm weather sports ritual.

"People from Weld who are interested just get together and throw a Frisbee around," she says, alluding to the informal nature of her Frisbee group, which does not generally play ultimate Frisbee, opting for the less structured toss-around-a-circle route.

Her experienced hand (the disc travels straight and smoothly where she aims it) betrays an expertise that extends beyond that of the usual recreational Frisbee player.

Beaudreau is in fact a bit of a "ringer." She admits under duress that she is a former member of the Radcliffe Ultimate Frisbee team.

Yet she insists that recreational Frisbee is enjoyable at any skill level. "I think it's definitely a good way to relax," she says. "Even for 15 minutes, it's good to take a break."

Other students prefer to mix their athletic endeavors with other recreational pleasures. When the weather heats up, Daniel C. Kline `98 and a group of four or five Harvard men enjoy the combination of two stereo-typically American male pastimes--beer and baseball.

"Basically, what we do is we go grab a six-pack and then throw a baseball around," says Kline. "We have accessories," he adds, referring to their equipment, which includes baseball gloves and a real baseball.

"We start out in [the Lowell House courtyard], get kicked out by one of the tutors, and then move to the M.A.C. [Malkin Athletic Center] quad," says Kline. "We have done this a number of times," he adds gleefully.

Kline attributes his "beer n' ball" attraction to a case of high school nostalgia. He says that in his rural town, weekends would often consist of picnics with high school friends featuring--you guessed it--brewskies and baseball.

"I hate to say it, but it allows you to temporarily convince yourself that you're not in an urban setting," he explains. "It totally brings back high school in a small town."

Boozin' while playing catch may not be the healthiest form of springtime recreation--in fact, more calories are probably gained than burned--yet, for its adherents, it seems to hold the same principal appeal as Beaudreau's Frisbee extravaganzas: it is a relaxing outdoor activity.

Kline's beer-ball is the equivalent of running a marathon, however, when compared to the "sport" practiced by a group in the M.A.C. quad on a recent balmy day.

Our man, comfortably lying on a blanket in the grass surrounded by his roommates, appears to be lazily enjoying his Discman and the weather. However, his innocence is feigned--he is up to nefarious activities.

"I'm looking at girls," the student readily admits. Our man, a sophomore, wishes to remain anonymous, saying, "My girlfriend would beat me up if she knew I did this. She just doesn't get it."

Clearly he has some sense of shame about his recreational pass-time. He offers explanations, however. "When it gets warm out, they start taking off the layers," he enthuses. "It's a great time--" his praise of female summer clothing is cut short by the appearance of a woman in a skirt and tank-top walking briskly down the sidewalk.

He is well-practiced; his eyes are on her from the moment she steps into our line of vision, and his roommates acknowledge the subtle signal he gives--a tap on the leg and a quick raise of the eyebrow. The other men are also skilled at this sport. All four of them watch her closely without appearing to look--their collective stare is trained to be invisible.

"A feast for the eyes," one of them breathes as she disappears from view, and the rest agree. "Man, this is great," he adds, echoing a sentiment that all the recreational athletes interviewed felt about their respective activities.