Every Saturday they get the best seats in the Stadium, with plenty of free Cokes and oranges. They are allowed to step within a few yards of the playing field--so close they can dig their cleats into the turf.

All of them wish they were closer.

They are Harvard's little-heralded subs, the so-called "demo squad" or "scout team." The demos are the low men on the depth chart, the third-and fourth-stringers who practice every afternoon with hardly a prayer that they'll play at week's end.

So they spend each weekday imitating an upcoming opponent so that Harvard's first- and second-string players can sharpen their skills against that team's "look."

The demo squad is like a team full of Rich Littles, impersonating other teams' formations and individual stars. It toils in pseudonymity, taking on the persona of a rival squad.

And to a large extent, Harvard's success each Saturday can be attributed to the scout team's powers of mimicry.

"The way the defense plays in the first half is a good reflection of how the demos played in practice during the week," says halfback Baltasar Cruz, a legendary demo.

Almost every Harvard football player pays his dues as a demo at some time in his career. Cruz is one of a handful of senior demos, kids who are playing their last year of organized football with little hope of varsity glory.

Yet they take to the practice field each day, convincing themselves that there must be a reason to put themselves through the frustration.

And it can be awfully frustrating.

A lot of the demos, especially the seniors, sometimes feel like they're wasting their time. Most are trapped in a Catch-22 situation: they don't get much of a chance to run Harvard's plays, so it's tough for them to improve--and even if they do improve, their positional coaches are on another part of the field, watching the first- and second-stringers practice against different demos.

While it can be exhilarating to play well against Harvard's best players, it can also be painful. "It can be frustrating when you really get creamed," said one scout-teamer.

Most are proud. They work as hard as anybody--harder, maybe--without much of the recognition and any of the glory.

Even when a demo makes a great play in practice, his feat is mitigated--because every time a demo sacks the quarterback or runs for a touchdown, that means one of Harvard's first- or second-stringers screwed up.

Coaches are more likely to yell than to applaud when the scout team achieves its minor triumphs.

But the demos relish those little triumphs, and work their butts off, because they never know when they'll get the chance to play with the varsity.

Almost all saw their first--and, most likely, their last--action of the season during Harvard's 34-0 massacre of Columbia.

Here's hoping for another massacre.