To the Editors of The Crimson:

Hats off to the Department of Athletics! I regret that the twelve dollars they took for the Yale game is the last contribution they may look for from me.

Banished to Section 40 as a sophomore, I had consoled myself with Jack Daniels and divination: no doubt that, when a senior, I would gaze down like Caesar at the spectacle laid before me.

No such luck. I rather doubt anyone's claim to worse seats than ours at The Game on Saturday. Though it consisted of seniors only, our group was awarded seats in row "B", roughly eighteen inches above sea level. Moreover, these seats were at the 40 yard line: had they been hear the end zone, we might have been afforded at least a worm's eye view of some of the action. As it was, apart from an occasional glimpse of Joe Restic, we saw nothing but second string backsides.

Though someone suggested that we go find a radio and listen to the Harvard-Yale football game (apparently it was being played just then), we opted instead for Blutarsky's sage advice, and drank heavily. Every now and again a flash of red or white would elicit a cheer from one side or the other--moments later the scoreboard would satisfy any curiosity that remained, and we groundlings would join in the fun. A delayed reaction, to be sure, but spirited all the same. And yet how marvelous a thing it would have been to have watched Harvard play Yale in my senior year.

In the rows immediately behind ours were juniors. Can anyone at 60 Boylston Street explain to me how that figures? Sincerely,   Sabin Willett '79