Now justify this. You wake up, go to a few classes in the morning, but from noon to seven, some days to nine, you're talking football, football, football.

First for lunch--you have to have something in your system after all--an hour to digest and get psyched and then the walk to Dillon.

Tape up, get the pads in place, adjust that chin strap and now it's out to the field. Sweat, breathe deep, hit those dummies harder--inside, keep the runner to the inside. How many times are you going to have to be told?

OK, it's finally over. Shower, get dressed and it's already time for dinner. Varsity Club tonight and remember, don't miss the films.

You finally return to your room in time for Charlie's Angels. How about a little nap before hitting the books, you've got to be tired. The nap ends in time for breakfast the next morning, and here you go again.

So you're Jim Kubacki and you can justify it. You're good, you've got professional scouts peeking around at you, it might mean a job someday. You're Tommy Winn, you're a hero, you're breaking records and everything, or you're Tommy Joyce, defensive standout and you're always in there tackling somebody.

But everyone can't be a star. If they could American Express would have to devise a new set of commercials. But take a close look at the Harvard bench tomorrow afternoon and you'll know what I mean.

When the game is over, note the number of red jerseys that look like they just came back from the cleaners, the number of sweats that remain whiter than white.

And then check the season statistics and see how many players, guys who put in their 25 hours or so each week, who came back to school in August for two-a-day drills, never made it into a game. Maybe a few plays, an occasional appearance on one of the specialty teams, but basically, they never made it into a game.

Why one would subject himself to such an existence for three months of the year is a question that does not have one correct response. There are as many different answers as there are players with clean uniforms. Some do it for the love of the game--"football junkies" so to speak--others because they're chasing that elusive rainbow, the hope that someday they'll get their chance in front of 40,000 people in the Yale game.

And then there are those who choose an alternate course--with the thought of two months, if not three years of splinter-gathering looming large, they quit the team altogether.

* * * * *

By the name itself, you'd think that Bob Peabody would be a star. You know Peabody, as in Endicott "Chub" Peabody '42, former governor of Massachusetts and the last Harvard All-American before Pat McInally; co-captain at Groton and all that.

But Bob Peabody, at least as far as Harvard football is concerned, is not a star. In fact, he's not even a starter, but an occasional performer at left tackle in this, his senior year, after having spent the last two fall campaigns as a non-playing, non-lettering reserve.

During the week, you'd never know that Peabody is a spare part; he practices as hard and as long as anyone else. It's just that on Saturday afternoons he spends his time on the sideline.