Jake's Corner

(This column, written by a devoted fan of all sports, will appear as infrequently as possible. Mr. Jacobs never played a game of football in his life, but in 1968 he was the freshman intramural mile champion.)

Suspense has never been a drawing card for Harvard's season opener. Those who go do it out of habit-perhaps even a vague sense of loyalty-rather than interest. The opponents, if you can call them that, are usually not known for their prowess... lucky if they are know at all. Three years ago, Harvard lined up lowly Lafayette and won, 51-0. Last year, Harvard took on Holy Cross a few days before the team came down with hepatitis and eked out a 13-0 victory.

By all outward signs, there was no indication that Northeastern would be any different. The school is so poor it couldn't afford to bring its own flag to put on top of the stadium, and their band arrived in cast-off Salvation Army uniforms. When the captains met for the coin-toss, the yearbook sent a photographer onto the field to get a picture of the event-ostensibly for display at the Monday morning assembly.

Bad as Harvard was supposed to be this year, there was little doubt that Northeastern was worse-until the kick-off. The Crimson offense ran true to Woody Hayes's maxim "three yards in a cloud of dust," but it forgot the three yards. After ten minutes, it looked like our long gainer this season was a fake punt. When we ran an end sweep, people thought Blankenship was shifting over to lone end.

A New Hand

And then came Rod Foster, a second-string sophomore quarterback from Dallas, who, as a freshman, couldn't throw a lateral that didn't wobble. On his second play from scrimmage, he started to show his hand. It was a simple fake hand-off in the backfield, hardly worth noting except that in other years it would have been called a broken play. Then a pass for a first down. And another pass-on first down! You look to the sidelines to see if Yovicsin has crawled out from under the bench, and there he is standing resolutely next to the phones as if he expected it. And another pass, and again. Four in a row. The last time a Harvard team passed four times straight was the 1965 intercollegiate bridge tournament.

Under Foster, the team moved downfield. With Varney out, the backs were running forward, not down. The receivers broke open, and a majority of the passes began to arrive at the right time in the right place.

There was a show after all in the Harvard Stadium, and it wasn't the band, but the football team. Foster rolled out, dropped back, ran, threw, faked, and punted. He did everything Harvard quarterbacks have never been able to do.

Frank Champi, the last star quarterback Harvard had? thought he was a poet and made two appearances in Soldier's Field and one on the Dating Game. Foster thinks he's a football player and now he's got to finish the season out well to prove it.

A Switch

A brother-in-law of Jethro Pugh, defensive tackle for the Dallas Cowboys, he spent the summer in Dallas turning his wobblers into bullets. After his freshman season, people said his poor passing would get him switched to halfback. After a summer of practice throwing to Bobby Hayes of the Cowboys, people are afraid to say anything.

He could, after all, bomb against Rutgers this Saturday-or get fed up, or quit, or, worst of all they say, get too cocky. Northeastern was a pushover, they say in retrospect, forgetting who got pushed around in the first quarter. When we beat Rutgers Saturday, and Columbia in two weeks, the same retrospective analysis will be dragged out. Only victories over Cornell and Dartmouth can destroy it.

Two Cheers

After the third touchdown Saturday, a rambunctious little senior, worldly-wise in his years of arm-chair quarterbacking, was jumping around in the stands shouting "We've got a team! We've got a team!" People are afraid to say it, but maybe we do.