Gradually, however, I caught on. I started to recognize the swimmers and their events. And then a strange thing happened: I discovered I really was getting into the meet.

When Tim Carver lined up for the 100-yd. backstroke, I found myself shouting words of encouragement like the rest of the vocal Crimson swim team.

Me, biased? Naahhh.

I was furiously scribbling notes on each race, to the last detail. Fortyeight hours before, I was wondering if I would even know what to write.

In my sudden delight, however, I noticed that but for myself, groups of parents, and few students, Blodgett's cold, concrete stands were empty.

It was a little disappointing, because Harvard was in the process of ringing up a big win over powerful Penn State.

Having covered a number of games up to that point, I was familiar with the sight of empty stands and missing crowds.

These teams train hard. The swimmers, I've since found out, trained four hours a day. Yet they're often performing before sparse crowds.

I know we're all busy, that we don't have time to get out, that we all have our own activities to stay on top of.

Sometimes, though, we need to take a break. It's healthy. It's therapeutic. And it's an opportunity to support teams that are working hard to put Harvard's name on the national athletic map.

I went to a fairly small high school (graduating class: 105 students), and I didn't really go for all of the "school spirit" stuff. Not that I didn't like school (I did). The rah-rah, be-true-to-your-school jazz just wasn't my cup of tea.

That's not what I mean. You don't need to be some loud, rowdy fan. You just need to be there, period.

I'm a freshman. This past month, from choosing a house in the lottery to choosing my concentration, I've