Egg in Your Beer

The showers of April annually bring the flowers of May is an ancient truism. Even the rugs of many a Yardling will be sprouting, if it comes true. As is usual, the spring crop of water pistols, rather than Jupiter Pluvius, is spraying the area both indoors and out, but mainly in.

Like the blossoming flowers of May, Harvard's annual crop of water pistols has sprouted. Thousands of guns more colorful than a flower show in full bloom suddenly appeared since spring vacation. Sales are booming. Local stores call Harvard the "Arsenal of the East," and proudly claim part in its newest sport.

No simple game, this water shooting, but an intricate sport requiring a special set of arms, with new models appearing annually. Most popular of the latest crop is the blood-red "shorty" model, easily palmed out of sight and fired from the hip. Its blunt barrel is designed for the lazy gunman who lacks the energy to fire further.

Long Range

Its more expensive big brother, the long-barreled revolver, shoots for a guaranteed 75 feet, and further, if boosted with a special jet squirt. The sleek, narrow barrel aims with pin-point accuracy, known to flick a pencil from a hand. Even the great man of guns, Ed McGiverin, claims no such feats in his "Fast and Famous Revolver Shooting."

Battle technique is simple soak the other guy. Fights have so far been confined indoors. Fighting outside is taboo, particularly when its raining (or snowing)--the idea is to bring the wet inside. Water bombs are out, since the more refined pistol shooters claim the bomb thrower has an unfair advantage.

Ammunition drops from the sky, when its raining, or runs from the basin any other time. Victims are in every room. And so far, the only unfortunate incident has been over a budding chemist who found that acetic acid would not shoot. The milk shortage has put a damper on that ammunition for the time being.

With no expense but the gun, the sport appeals to every man from brain to brawn. The intellectual relishes in dousing his roommate, then seeing if he can't talk him out of returning fire or beating him up. It's the scientist who tests his latest theory of hydro-dynamics. (Can I squirt this guy full in the face without hurting him?)

The poor athlete is relegated to the ignominous position of playing just for fun. But he relishes in a game with no professionals or league standings, no rules or regulations, and where everyone wins, sooner or later.

As a game of judgment, it is unequalled. As a cure for spring fever, it is guaranteed. But as the newest sport in collegiate circles, it is rejected, at least on local ground. The H.A.A. lacks the funds to send a team on road trips.