Their eyes like marbles, their legs like glass, the gamest CRIMSON nine of them all fought back from certain defeat today under a lemon yellow sun, to win an embattled 23-2 decision from a gloriously fighting Lampoon team, stirred to unrivalled heights by the pre-game banning of their great little leader, Lionel (the Toy) Train.

With the aid of a balk, walk, two bases on balls, and a nylon parachute the Poonsters jumped off to a two run lead in the first inning beneath the Euchre Sun. Then while the saffron sun poured its heat down on the diamond the minions of the Ibis ranged far and wide to gobble up the tremendous pows of the CRIMSON batsmen.

Aside from a slight case of indigestion incurred among the outfielders in the incurred among the outfielders in the heat of the midday jonquil sun, the Lampooners managed to stave off bid after determined bid.

Finally, the CRIMSON came to bat in the last half of the ninth inning: the evening shadows were lengthening in the sun now turned orange. The first man to the bat was the inspirational leader of the CRIMSON nine, Pompous Prexy Pratt, his face fiushed in the Cadmium sun. He reached first on a walk.

The Dllemma

The next stalwart to stride to the plate was aging, lecherous old Wilful S. Foulfellow, his eyes burning in the apricot sun. He could barely reach the plate. But he managed to lash a whistling bunt to the catcher. When the dust had died down Foulfellow stood on first, Pratt stood on second, and the henna sun stood in the sky.

Now the CRIMSON was on the spot; who could they send to hit under that blazing russet sun? Carodny had been traded to the Times. Ludendorff lanquished in Minneapolis. Suddenly from the dugout the diminutive figure of Frail B. Little-fellow emerged into the garnet sun.

Could he do it? Twenty-three years of tradition rested on his puny bat. Twenty-three runs had yet to be scored, and inexorably the cardinal sun was fleeing from the skies. Littlefellow swung and hit a towering fly ball. Surely this was an out. Here, at last, was the end of the amazing Crimson winning skein. But no, for somehow fate was riding out here today in the ruby sun. The Lampoon infield lost the ball in the miniaceous sun and while they were looking for it twenty-three CRIMSON runs scampered home.

And so virtue triumphed and the revelling crowds poured back home over Lars Anderson Bridge as the heliotrope sun sank into the golden Cambridge dusk