In the very pink of condition after its preliminary training and the recent contest with the Princetonianine, the CRIMSON baseball team this afternoon engages the Lampoon sandlotters. Whereas since time immemorial the newspaper men, have triumphed over the wearers of the henna, the coming walkaway is expected to eclipse all previous victories. Official prognosticators, while declining to make any direct forecasts, have intimated that they believe the score will as usual be 23 to 2.

Men have come and men have gone, but when faced by the doughty Plympton Street aggregation the University punsters have inevitably succumbed. Investigation has followed investigation but never has any cause been found for the defeats except the undeniable superiority of the newspapermen. Already, in anticipation of the gloom which will be its lot while all Plympton Street rejoices at sundown. Mt. Auburn street is being decked in black. The inevitable is rapidly becoming known as such:

Bob Lampoon, intrepid and impotent burbler of the invading nine, was seen during the greater part of yesterday afternoon twining himself into grotesque and inhuman knots on the front steps of the Lampoon building, accompanied by the faint cheers of the teeming masses indoors who were gradually preparing themselves for the fray.

According to tradition short bats and a soft ball will be accorded the visiting nine, and all other advantages will be placed at its disposal. But as has so often been the case, matters will come to a close with the utterly and absolute visiting humorists at the disposal of the journalists.