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To the Editors of The Crimson:
Just who does Michael K. Savit think he is? For that matter, who is Michael K. Savit? Well, he's a multi-talented and witty writer for the Harvard Crimson. Unfortunately, like many of today's athletes, he's been reading too much of his own press. After all, he's certainly not Red Smith of the New York Times, or even Milton Richmond of UPI. He's only an undergraduate writer working for a college paper. He shouldn't degrade or ridicule any of the school's athletic teams, and should be especially polite when discussing ones he hasn't even seen compete.
"For Tom Sanders, this isn't a dream, his team really is as bad as it seems."
Just how bad is it, Michael? In its season opener, it played a Syracuse squad called "the best in the East" by Sports Illustrated even for a half. It beat Springfield handily, and only lost to a strong B.C. crew by four. It is still very competitive, despite losing its four top scorers and rebounders from the year before. Two graduated, two took leaves of absence, and one just retired due to lack of interest.
This lack of interest is the Harvard Basketball Program's greatest sickness. It doesn't just deter its development, it suffocates it. Let's face it, most of the college community reads journalists like Mr. Savit every morning, and he does little to help a struggling program's development.
The reason Harvard Hoope spends every season in a constant state of rebuilding is definitely complex. The gym is on the fourth floor of an old building, the coaches can't recruit, scholarships are forbidden, and there is little if any serious alumni support. However, Harvard basketball is almost always respectable. After one disastrous season, Michael is breaking out his shovel, but his burial plans are just a little early. Judging a very young and inexperienced team on the basis of its first four games is absurd, and any objective reporter, not to mention a home-town one, would not make such a mistake.
Hopefully, the Harvard basketball team will be able to ignore grave diggers like Mr. Savit, and go on to win its fair share of ballgames. Then perhaps Satch will sleep well, while a certain uninformed, pessimistic, grand-standing reporter tosses and turns at night, dreaming about the team that really wasn't quite as bad as it seemed. Charles P. Baker
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