BOLD, THAT TIGER

To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

Down here in New York the football fervor is reaching its customary stage of mild mania and this year they are tormenting us with a new charge, emanating primarily from Princeton. Our schedule, they claim, lacks virility. We must go on the offensive and you may be interested in a recent exchange of sentiments I had with a Princetonian. I think you will agree that their 24-game winning streak was a bit of a sham.

Princeton's feat is a real treat,

But one must ask what kind of meat

Does the tiger eat?

The alumni roars as the tiger scores,

But wise men wink as they run for the sink.

The tiger's diet is far from quiet,

But hardly ever is he seen together

With the bigger beasts at a football feast.

While the Cantabs stumble,

And the Bulldogs rumble.

The tiger chews on his weakly stews.

Now they wonder why he went under

When he met our old pet, George Munger.

But let them fret as they try to forget,

The tired old tiger was dying of hunger. A..C. Merrill '45