Riotous Crimson Partisans Rip Up Goalposts, Yale Men

After it was finally over, when all the scoreboard lights went out except those that said, Harvard 20--Yale 7, an old, old grad--he must have been about 70--sat down on the concrete steps and, smiling from ear to ear, lit a big after-dinner cigar.

The younger generation had another way of showing it. What they did was kiss everybody they could lay their hands on. Mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and girl friends were kissed and hugged until their ribs started popping like firecrackers. The air was filled with hoarse whoops of joy, with the scream of in-numerable sirens, and with dozens of red flares. Every few seconds someone shot off a little cannon that struggled to make itself heard above the din.

Guys that had never cheered for anything in their lives suddenly found themselves down on the field howling like madmen and charging everything that wore blue. It was the first victory since 1941. It was a fine clean win and what the hell.

The Bulls Wore Blue

Bill Bingham's nice white goalposts lasted about 15 seconds before being shredded into a thousand souvenirs. The boys didn't care which goalposts they took. Just so they were white and standing was all that mattered. The cops in blue guarding them just sort of disappeared. Maybe they were trampled into the ground, maybe they helped pull down the posts. It was hard to tell.


A Yale man in a white hat made two big mistakes. The first was to go down on the field. The second mistake was trying to salvage his blue banner. The white hat went sailing up in the air and it's a miracle his head didn't go with it. A few of his compatriots made a rash sortie in rescue, but it was a lost cause. They were neatly cut off and annihilated.

Dan Turns Chicken

Handsome Dan, Yale's Bulldog, didn't have a very good day either. The Harvard Band came over during the half and blew in his car and then there was that damn turkey. A couple of guys, Harvard cheerleaders by the looks of them, brought this tough old bird over to do combat. But Dan wasn't having any, not with something that flew and pecked and scratched. He showed the turkey his rear and made it very plan he wanted to be left alone. After the game, when the noise really started, Dan made a boe-line for New Haven where a man can be among friends when he's feeling blue.

The victory parties and dances lasted most of the night. Maybe some of them are still going. Harvard men drowned Yale men in gallons of whiskey and then swam in to help out their unhappy brothers. A guy could retire if he had a nickle for every bottle of liquor that went down the hatch Saturday night