Elis: Don't Be Losers

Everyone loves the comforts of home. And while in years past we have referred to New Haven as “degenerate” and “a putrid cesspool,” times, they are a-changin’. New Haven, indeed, is in the midst of a renaissance; this is something we can no longer deny. With your fancy restaurants, flashy nightclubs, and newly paved roads, we understand even why it might be difficult for you to want to leave your resurgent town. Yet, let the words of Nancy Reagan resound: “I have been very happy with my homes, but homes really are no more than the people who live in them.” Sweet Elis, there is no escaping the fact that New Haven will continue to suck as long as you are there.

With that, we urge you to question your motivation for staying home this weekend as The Game approaches. Aside from giving relief to the thousands of decent folk who also claim themselves as inhabitants of New Haven, you should come with a further assurance: Cambridge is prepared to absorb your stench in exchange for the joy of seeing your faces as the mighty Crimson emasculates the demure—at best—Bulldog for the sixth consecutive year.

Yes, the employment prospects of being a Yale graduate are dour. And you rightly fear the one dollar cost of beers at our tailgate this year. Who knows if you’ll ever get a job? It doesn’t help matters that your Council of Masters strives to shield you from the light by ceasing to provide shuttles to transport you from your misery. But keep your chins up; Harvard has a charitable side. Despite having to rummage aimlessly through your wasteland and mix with your lot the night before last year’s game, free parties await you on Friday night.

Delude yourselves with a sense of pride; go ahead, pretend you’re a Harvard student for the weekend. Wear Crimson; no one will question you. It’s better than choosing Princeton as a new rival and finding out that you’re not even second best.

In the end, greatness can only be defined by its opposition, and if you don’t show up, what will we be defined by? Who was Batman without the Joker? The Allies without the Axis? Mel Gibson without Jews and alcohol? In this comic book world, you have been given the ultimate of superpowers: the ability to live again to die again. So go forth from your homes, you pale, sickly malcontents. Three hundred and five years of inferiority beg you to die again on Saturday.