And here's how you go from rookie to redshirt to reserves:

1. Preliminary Analysis Appointment. You are not paid for this initial sample.

2. Qualifying Process, 2 months. 85 to 90 percent of prospective donors make the first cut and are "partially paid" for their samples over two months.

3. 9 months to 1 year--pay dirt (or seed). If you make this stage, you will be compensated in full for your 2 months of qualifying samples. Only 7 to 10 percent of the original field make it to the final stage. The prime criterion for inclusion? YOUR SEMEN MUST FREEZE WELL. If it doesn't, don't worry--you're "not abnormal." But no one knows what makes your sperm better in the solid phase than the next guy's.

Questions four and six leads us to believe that the Cambridge-California Sperm Bank, a privately owned organization, makes much of the fact that its donors attend prestigious colleges.

All of which makes the male members among us a little crestfallen. Sure, we go to Harvard and will probably lead happy successful lives. But do we freeze well?

Last week, Harvard officials announced a major new initiative to expand the women's athletic program. Officials said the effort featured a $250,000 annual pricetag--comprised of gifts from alumni and friends, earmarked specifically for women's athletics.

But the officials were unusually tight-lipped about revealing who the generous donors were. In an interview, all that Harvard Athletic Director Bill Cleary would say was, "You won't get the names if you ask me till the cows come home. You won't get the names."

Cleary did, however, indicate that the money had been solicited, adding that he himself had played a central role in the process, undertaking some innovative--and, he asserted, highly successful--methods of attracting contributions.

"Oh-ho! There are many ways to skin a cat," Cleary said. "These are tough times fiscally for everyone, not just us. You got to be a little creative, that's the way you can do things. You just gotta do whatever you can do to get it."

Asked to specify what he meant by being "creative," Cleary responded: "It takes effort. You got to beat the bushes, you gotta try to be creative in ways that can interest people, there are a lot of things to do, and that's my job. That's my job. But you know what, the bottom line is what counts. I never worried about how I looked when I scored goals as long as it went in the net."

Intrigued by the seemingly cloak-and-dagger methods Cleary hinted at, The Crimson decided to probe this further, taking the matter up with Harvard's most recognizable fund raiser: President Neil L. Rudenstine.

But even Rudenstine was puzzled by the question of what Cleary's "creative" fundraising approach might include.

"I really don't know that, no," the president said. "Fax instead of phone?"

Alas, the eleventh Undergraduate Council has reached its end--and with it, many of our favorite council-related institutions. Gone will be the days of "chairing" the council; from now on, council presidents will preside at meetings, and pad their resumes with more distinguished-sounding titles. Gone is the leadership of Michael P. Beys '94, who proved that to head a campus organization, one needs neither ethics, judgment, nor a good haircut. And gone from the council itself is Randall A. Fine '96, who generated more scandals in a single year than most four-year council vets can envision in their wildest dreams.