O'er the stands of flaming Crimson Harvard banners fly

Cheer on cheer like volleyed thunder Echoes to the sky

See, the Crimson tide is turning Gaining more and more

Then fight, fight, fight for we win tonight

Oh, it's Harvard forevermore --Soldiers' Field

I went to the bank to get some money before taking the long walk to Harvard Stadium to watch my last home football game as an undergraduate.

The last cold-scented Saturday afternoon I would walk through the brick-and-iron gate with that copper "1" adorning it.

The last time I would see the red flag with a white "H" flapping in the often-substantial breeze atop the Stadium's colonade.

The last time I would sit in that U-shaped wind tunnel.

I brought extra money to the Pennsylvania game last Saturday because I hadn't bought any game souvenirs in my four years. But it wasn't because I hadn't had any other kinds of souvenirs--the kind which come out of the French translation of "souvenir"--remembrance.

There was the first game I ever saw against Cornell, where the real stars were the two marching bands chanting at each other across the field.

My first Yale game where we just couldn't stop the Elis' running attack and lost by three points in the final minutes.

That cold, wet day against William & Mary when Brian White threw a left-handed two-point conversion to put us in the game.

And in that same game, on fourth and 30, White fumbled the ball and it was picked up by an offensive lineman who, damn the torpedoes, lumbered full speed ahead. I had delusions of "The Longest Yard" and Dean Steinkuhler in mind, but we turned the ball over on downs.

I remember Rob Steinberg attempting a punt against a horrific Princeton rush; they had sent everybody. The punt would have been blocked--except Steinberg kicked the ball where nobody could get it, netting a 33-yd. punt which looked like an Astro-Turf single.