My roommate and I are on a losing streak.
Six games.
Six times we've faced our roommates Bill and Louis in a game of football.
And six times, we've lost.
It's not because we're not good athletes.
Jy Murphy, my roommate, rows crew and I swim.
So we're in shape. Better shape, I think, than the other two, the two guys who sleep in the first room of our six-person suite, the enemy.
Louis played on the freshman soccer team. But that was in the fall, and he hasn't put on cleats--except for these football games--since.
Bill was a fourth-line forward on Harvard's JV hockey team. His season ended in the middle of February.
He lifts weights occasionally. And once I caught him doing sit-ups. But besides that, he sits around the room and mocks us.
He's a hockey player and a Canadian and he's beating us--Americans, after all--in football.
He says he barely understands the rules.
And he's beating us.
Six games.
We usually play on Sundays.
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