State of emergency?? Mike Dukakis didn't look too alarmed to me, all cozy and mellow in his turtleneck and sweater. For us local sports addicts, the problem lately hasn't been the snow, it's been a lack of action so severe that we've all been sent in search of a new fix.

I'm not talking about people who can chop wood like Carlton Fisk, the kind who've been mercilessly overrunning the streets, trampling the poor wasted troopers on their way to Harvard Pizza with their cross-country skis. I'm talking about the guys whose last game of anything was an emotional outburst of drunken nerf football between halves of the Super Bowl; whose last emergency was having to miss their scheduled beer runs during the second and third periods of Monday's Beanpot opener in order to watch John Hynes do his sprawling, miraculous Eddie Giacomin saves in the face of repeated Northeastern B-52 raids. I'm talking about the fans, not the players.

For the fans, the last week has been hell. Nature's droppings paralyzed Harvard right in the middle of the week, leaving us with no excuse to sleep all day. Worse yet, the tube, our hallowed shrine, has been useless. Empty. Boring. Not even Sports Challenge or Roller Derby. Even the most dedicated armchair beer guzzler can't call As The World Turns sports.

Alas, the snow has forced the fans into action. Off the sofa and into the heat of battle. At Harvard, at least, the blizzard has turned a bunch of seemingly-lobotomized color TV radiation victims into participatory sportsmen.

All week, one-time Crimson fans have been experiencing the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, in sports such as pinball, tray-sliding, herbicidal cloud creation, ski jumping, foosball, Tank, and last but not least, poker.

"The most exciting moment in sports is having a boat with kings up and losing to four of a kind--losing your shirt," enthused one frazzled athlete in the middle of this week's action. He echoed the sentiments of boatloads of nerve-wracked combatants driven to new physical (and mental) heights by the human drama of athletic competition.

Endless hours of repeated intense foot tapping beat any universal workout for strengthening thighs. Serious poker players lose more sweat through their palms in one marathon encounter with financial disaster than the whole Celtic team does during a practice, and much more during a game.

But there are other motivations. As one suave undergrad put it, "Hosting a poker game is the only time I can ever have seven people in the same room with me for more than an hour." And you can use the spare bucks you win to buy some Ban roll-on.

THOUGHTS WHILE SHOVELING: For those of you who are missing the Dartmouth Winter Carnival because of the storm, have no fear. In case you didn't read the front page, Burriss Young is sponsoring his own snow-sculpting contest right here in Cambridge. Admittedly the Widener steps don't quite match the Dartmouth Ski Bowl for facilities, but the jumping has been excellent.

...There were 20 tickets left as of yesterday at Out of Town for Monday night's Beanpot final with B.U. If none are left there or at 60 Boylston St., you can always check B.C. and Northeastern. The injury-prone Crimson must be plenty wary of the nasty Terriers, who forced three B.C. players to be carried off the ice during Monday's donnybrook.

...Those who can't even find a poker game have been trying pinball for their exercise. It may not require the sports savvy that cards does, but it surpasses even typing and cigarette rolling in its development of manual dexterity.