As journalists-in-training, we have to be honest about what we are doing and honest about what we are striving for. That means being critical. No one should expect any less from us.

NCAA athletes should accept the same responsibility we do. We make mistakes and write bad stories, because we're students and we're learning. So when we screw up (which certainly isn't rare) we take the requisite, justified complaints and abuse from readers, coaches and athletes.

Athletes and administrators shouldn't expect any less from us when they similarly err.

Because I care so passionately about journalism, I worried about these issues of responsibility throughout my tenure here. But they also troubled me for personal reasons as well.

While writing about athletes, I also lived with and socialized with athletes as well. My roommates played varsity lacrosse, and a solid percentage of my Mather housemates and friends played varsity sports.

So I had to live two lives: my life as a journalist and reporter, and my life as a friend and fellow student. My roommates and friends still think Crimson sports coverage is poor, even though they know I killed myself working here. But they accepted the fine line that exists between my lives: they respected my discipline, work ethic and writing ability, while not agreeing with everything I wrote.

Others, perhaps with good reason, were not so accepting. I had to put up with the insults and the threats from those who didn't understand that being "Jay K. Varma" (the job) is different from being Jay (the person).

Men's Lacrosse Coach Scott Anderson once told my current roommate, "That Jay's a nice guy, but some of the stuff he writes..." And he proceeded to tear into a recent piece I'd written in the paper.

I'm still not sure how I feel about that remark. I think it's good to know someone still believes I'm a solid individual, despite my critical sportswriting. But, in the end, I'd rather they said. "That Jay's a real jerk, and I don't agree with anything he says. But some of the stuff he writes...I respect that he speaks his mind and says his opinions well."

Respect for hard work, not popularity, is, in the end, the only reward a student journalist wants. We do try hard to walk the line between student and reporter, between fairness to our friends and honesty to our trade. We just want others to know--and appreciate--how hard we try.

I could have written this column several ways.

I could have reminisced about The Moments I Will Always Remember: sitting alone and awe-struck in Detroit's famous Joe Louis Arena watching the zamboni prepare the ice, or almost falling over the dangerously designed Boston Garden Press Box as I sweated out in glee Harvard's upset of Boston University in the 1993 Beanpot final.

I could have offered my personal analysis of college sports, why I love Ivy League athletics and why I believe the NCAA should took to the Ancient Eight as a model of reform.

I could have talked about how I became a sportswriter, how I abandoned the vulture-like newsroom for the more relaxed, more exciting, more creative sports beat.

I could have said my goodbye to the Harvard athletic administration. Thank Yous to Joe Restic, Ronn Tomassoni, Scott Anderson, Bill Cleary, John Veneziano and all the others for putting up with my sarcasm, cynicism and badgering. Your Welcomes to all the same for enduring your cliches and unfailing evasiveness.

I could have been mushy about the bonding spirit of being a Crimson sports writer, of working yourself senseless and coming back for more. My fellow sports editors through the years--Peter, Gary, Dan, Ted, John and Tarek--shared the same perverse masochism and the same hope that we could be respected for all we gave (our hearts, our minds, our GPAs) to The Crimson and, we trust, to Harvard.

However many ways there are to write such a column though, there's only one way to end. Yes, I leave both jaded and content, but I have one last message.

To those who've given the time to read to the bottom of this column, I thank you and wish you all the best. You gave me the notoriety and the infamy.

But most of all, whether Jack O'Leary realizes it or not, you gave me the most incredible educational experience I have ever had.