He had the advantage.

He was wearing armor suited to stopping vulcanized rubber traveling 100 miles per hour.

My usually-mighty fist would not do much better than a puck.

Bells rang.

The Harvard police jumped in and I can only see one face looking in on the melee.

It was President Bok's.

I was yelling so loud I could barely think. "Epps can censor the band, but you can't censor me! I'm an American!" I said as I waved my stars-and-stripes bandanna.

Then I suddenly realized what I was.

A hooligan.

I had gotten out of control at a hockey game and had broken a cardinal rule.

And all for a tennis ball.

My parents would not find the news funny, but then again, if Harvard was going to throw me out for throwing a tennis ball, I could always transfer to Cornell and make a million selling live chickens.

I was dragged away in handcuffs and my last thought was, "Well, at least I won't have to write a thesis."

Then I woke up. My ball, like the others from Section 11, wound up not hurting anyone. No penalty was called, and we won the second game.

I still don't have to write a thesis.