THAT'S LIFE

Phases of contemporary America will be brought in a moving show to the great Forum that is the Yale Bowl tomorrow. What place the market fairs of Lyons yesterday filled or the medieval fields of the cloth of gold, the growth of the football stadia more adequately supplies for a nation of stockholders. Furs, fine fabrics, fair women, the light and shadow of autumn, the iridescent color minglings of eighty seated thousands form the tableau at New Haven. It appears new and of certain splendor. Yet the first roar that greets the raising of the grate for the two opposing teams dispels the note novelty. Echoed into mind are the arenas of Tiberius, the lists of Provence.

Obviously there is no great distinction between the Connecticut merchant who shouts for the maiming of a halfback and the thums-down plebeian of the Rome of Caligula. There is less between the Park Avenue matron in sables, emeralds and satin and the Rhine countess who wore at dance festivals the plunder of there unguarded trade routes. The stadium seems, however, somewhat more than a link between the varied ages and concession to the gregarious instinct. It is for those Americans who have diminished interest in the ordained issues of politics and ecclesiastics, a necessary focal center, necessary because it provides an opportunity for arrogant partisanship and an actual uncertainty as to the outcome of a pre-arranged contest. Rarely in an era of corner-pools and Wall Street cabals can anything but a football game present Chance unhandcuffed.