After a breach in athletic relations which has lasted for two years, the Harvard CRIMSON and its long-nosed contemporary from Mount Auburn Street will meet today on the inter-literary diamond. The final score, when the tumult dies way and the last hero has been lifted into the waiting van, will be 23 to 2. The Sacred lbis, somewhat missing in spots since a certain memorable occasion when it was prepared for the fire, will ruffle its remains with pride at Bob Lampoon, Esquire, steward, oarsman, jester, author, and pitcher, ascends the mound for the twenty-ninth time in defence of his heavily whiskered and otherwise disfigured brethren.
The pertinacity of the Lampoon forces cannot but be admired as they troop to combat this afternoon, for extensive research has proved that during the last five games they have mustered ten runs against the 115 which have been amassed by the pressmen. A gentleman who is in hourly communication with the president of the humorous periodical, has intimated that he contemplates disguising his myrmidons in such a way that the score-keeper will be foiled in his frenzied attempt to keep track of the errors committed. It has even been suggested that they report in human guise, since they are familiar to the public only in the beaver hats and sideburns in which they make their regular appearance in the metropolitan tabloids.
Following preliminary skirmishes in sundry Cambridge haunts, the respective presidents are scheduled to cast the first ball at 3.30 o'clock. The second team field is the probable battleground, although arrangements have been made to secure the Stadium in case of capacity crowds.