But tradition has not always been part of The Game, according to Vic Gatto '59, who caught a two-point conversion pass in the waning moments to help Harvard overcome a 29-13 deficit and tie Yale, 29-29 in 1968. The radicalism of the 1960s was not conducive to The Game's traditions, he recalls.

Many team members, he says, did not have the same kind of "old school feeling" that previous teams had felt.

"There was very much the feeling that we were doing it ourselves--that we were flying in the face of tradition." Gatto remembers, pointing out that the pre-game rally was boycotted by the team. "We got together and decided we would just do it for ourselves. Fortunately it worked out."

That's an understatement. The 1968 game--between two undefeated teams--with its down-to-the-wire ending is arguably the most famous ever, at least for the Harvard side. While the final outcome was a draw, everyone treated it as a Crimson victory.

Behind by 16 points, backup QB Frank Champi led the rally that tied the score in just 42 seconds, with two touchdowns and two two-point conversions. Remembering a touchdown pass reception. Gatto was at the time quoted in The Crimson saying. "When I saw it. I knew I just had to love it. Just take it in my arms and love it."

Looking back on the miracle ending to that game. Gatto recalls that the comeback was as much a shock to the team members as to the fans.

"I remember looking up in the stands in the fourth quarter and seeing all the Yalies waving their white handkerchiefs. Half the people in the stadium were leaving In another few minutes, the other half were on the field, celebrating. Looking back` on it you have the sense of the inevitable, the sense that the story couldn't have been written any differently that year," he says.

Harvard Associate Professor of History Bradford A. Lee wishes that game wasn't so memorable.

"I'm probably the only Yalie in the Harvard football hall of fame," jokes Lee, who played guard for Yale that year. Lee fumbled the onside kick between the late touchdowns which let Harvard tie the game and split the Ivy League title with Yale.

"Where's the ball?" he remembers thinking on that fateful Saturday 15 years ago. "I had planted my feet into the ground, because I knew as soon as I caught the ball all the Harvard players would converge on me. Then the ball just veered at the last moment."

But for Lee the trouble didn't stop there. A Boston Globe reporter called him the next day and asked how he was feeling. "I had the flu and I told him how dreadful I felt," recalls Lee. "He flippantly took that to mean that I was sick over the game."

The story depicted Lee being on the point of suicide. It was syndicated all over the country. "I got an enormous number of letters, some from senators and congressmen telling me to cheer up, that one game wasn't that important," he now remembers with amusement.

Harvard players have had their share of misery also, as Harvey Popell '54 can attest. "It's the kind of thing I can look back on now and chuckle, but it wasn't a laughing matter then," he says, of an infamous 1952 incident. "We were getting beaten very badly, and the Yale coach, unbeknownst to us, put the manager of the team in on an extra point. He caught the pass and scored an extra point," says Popell. "Nobody, not even the announcer knew who this guy was in the number 99 jersey. It was written up in Time magazine and the whole thing was very embarrassing."

For all the hissing, the white handkerchiefs and the "Impale Yale" buttons, former players agree that the rivalry has always involved a level of respect for the opponents.

Clasby remembers a pertinent 1952 incident. "I was running an end sweep and I cut sharply and tore the muscles in my back and cracked some ribs," he says. "I had lost all feeling in my legs and I just dropped down and lost the ball. The Yale captain put up his hands and kept all his team members away from me."