The official attendance Saturday was listed at 1250. That was probably a generous estimate: the brave soaked crowd at the cavernous Stadium was best described as miniscule.

It was, however, certainly the brightest-colored crowd in recent memory. Aside from the solid red and crimson blocks of the two bands, specks of yellow, blue, maroon and green raincoats, umbrellas and coverings dotted the stands.

A number of spectators watched the game from their cars in the parking lot, peering around the scoreboard to catch glimpses of the action and following along on the radio.

Among the unlucky souls without shelter were the Harvard cheerleaders, who nonetheless managed to remain peppy. At halftime, two of the male Crimson cheerleaders got the bright idea of creating a slidding pit out of the sidelines.

With running starts, the two took turns hurling themselves through the muck. They would emerge, caked with dirt and grass but grinning wildly, and dive through the mud again.

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from the heaven upon the place beneath."--Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice.

Crimson Captain Collins was a sight for sore eyes after the game. His face was covered by mud and pieces of grass, and his uniform was completely soaked through. He had played his second consecutive out-standing game, 20 times bringing down an enemy ballcarrier. Right now, though, he looked extremely uncomfortable.

"The rain didn't have a huge effect on the field until the fourth quarter," he was saying. "By that time the field was just a swamp."

The game analyzed, Harvard's captain turned and started trudging to the lockerroom, saying softly as he went: "Right now, I'm just miserable."