Harvard's Dave Boyum and his counterpart from William, Greg Zaff, were playing squash Tuesday at Hemenway.

Both are all-Americans, and both badly wanted to win the match. At a critical juncture in between points, Boyum suddenly leaped in the air, landed heavily on both feet, and said out loud, "God, this is fun!"

Why the comment? It produced a ripples of laughter from the 50-odd members of the crowd, glad for the chance of a momentary respite in the tension.

But Boyum's words were soon forgotten. Harvard's top seed went on to win the match in four games, the Crimson as a whole swept the Ephmen, 9-0, and the crowd went home content (presumably) with having seen a good match.

Deep Feelings

But the comment was more than just a causal reaction. Emersed in the heat of the battle, Boyum's innermost feelings came to the surface when he blurted them out. The sophomore didn't say how badly he wanted to beat Zaff, he didn't say how much he would have like to have made the shot he had just missed. He didn't even berate himself for paying lousy, as so many of us do in competition. Instead, he said how much fun it all was.

Not coincidentally, Boyum is a proven winner. He's top dog on the best collegiate squash team in the nation this year, and this weekend he'll be vying for the national amateur title in San Francisco. He may just win, too.

But the fun Boyum takes in playing-and winning-at squash applies to many Harvard athletes. In fact the attitude pervades our athletic system. Harvard students, probably more so than any others, place a high degree of importance on being the best.

Case in point: in a certain economic class two days ago Professor David Landes asked how many students in the room intended to be the best at what they did. Almost every hand was raised.

On the athletic field this quest for being the best becomes a matter of winning titles, championships, and trophies. In athletics, a full trophy case is the symbol of success. To get trophies, tennis players whack thousands of balls per week in practice sessions at Palmer Dixon, swimmers undergo punishing workouts twice daily from October to March and distance runners sometimes run until they wretch.

For what? To win.

The savants tell us that winning is a crucial part of our American culture. It's instilled in us as three-year-olds. In our dreams we hear Vince Lombardi telling us "Winning isn't everything-it's the only thing." We hear General MacArthur rallying his troops with the cry, "There is no substitute for victory." And we learn as toddlers that there's nothing worse than a tie. After all, they say, it's like kissing your sister.

The heavy stress on winning in our society is most clearly seen in sports. In the real world victory is often a muddled quantity, but in athletics it's simple to distinguish winners from losers. Winners are the ones who score the most points or goals or runs, who run the fastest, who jump the highest or farthest, or who take the most sets. And he losers are the ones who don't.

At Harvard we have a lot of driven people. We all want to be the best, and more importantly, most of us are willing to work at it. Very often the best athletes on campus are the one who work the hardest. And there is no shortage of people who would be more than willing to take their place given half the chance. At Harvard being the best is enough of a concrete incentive to motivate a lot of athletes. And for many once you can no longer be the best, then there's no longer a reason to bother trying.

Harvard boasts an extraordinary number of retired athletes. Pick a large rooming group at random and chances are good that someone excelled at a varsity sport in high school which they no longer play competitively. Many recruited athletes never wear the Crimson colors, choosing to pursue other interests. And a whole other group make a name for themselves on the Harvard playing fields and then quit.

How often do we hear that this year's soccer team has a new goalie, and that last year's hasn't graduated-he just isn't playing. Or that this year's tennis team has a new number one and that last year's is still here-she is just doing other things now.

The goal-some would say obsession-is winning. Sometimes we realize we can no longer be the best, so we hand it up. Other times being the best loses its challenge, or just isn't fun anymore. And so we hang it up. Either way it all boils down to winning, and the emphasis we place on it, especially at Harvard.

For this reporter the Harvard athlete's emphasis on victory first became clear about a year ago. A few weeks after an uncharacteristically poor performance by a talented Crimson athlete (who shall go nameless), the athlete was asked why she hadn't mentioned that she had had a very good reason for her poor play.

Her answer was simple and concise, "I play to win," she said, "not to read about my performance is next day's newspapers."