I've spent the last four years covering sports for The Crimson.

I've enjoyed it very much, but I realized I was turning into a couch potato.

An armchair quarterback.

A--gasp--sideline critic.

Enough! I said.

So I turned to that bastion of Harvard athletics which provides an opportunity for folks like me to get out moment in the sun.

Intramurals!

My House, Leverett, has a fine tradition of intramural greatness, with strong finishes in the competition for the Strauss Cup.

So Thursday night, I was off to play volleyball against Lowell House.

Things weren't looking too good at the beginning--only six players showed up. But we gamely played on.

I started in the front, where I had many chances to launch my five-foot-seven frame in front of opposition spikes. And wouldn't you know it, on the very first couple of points, I had a chance to block a spike.

The ball was set high in front of the net by a player on the other team. An opponent was preparing to spike the ball past me.

Here was my chance.

I leaped.

I spread my arms wide to block the shot.

I landed.

And allbeforethe opponent hit the ball!

Oops. Gotta work on that timing thing.

On the next spike, I was up in the air again, but this time I touched the net, and that was a no-no.

I could hear the voice of John Tesh.

"It's too bad he touched that piece of apparatus."

Things got a little better in the later going, but my back-turned-to-the-opponents, Willie Mays-style over-the-back return seemed to always land on the other side only after bouncing off the wall of the MAC.

Oh well. Karch Kiraly I wasn't.

Then there was the gender rule.

You see, balls hit by more than one person on a side must be touched by a male and a female.

That explained the frequent cries of "SEX!" by members of each team.

Can you imagine if someone walked in and watched a bunch of the so-called "Best and Brightest" screaming "SEX!" at the top of their lungs?

Unfortunately, we didn't win our match, but we all seemed to have a good time.

So I vowed revenge, and my opportunity came yesterday afternoon, in IM soccer, as Leverett squared off against Kirkland.

Again, we were a little short-handed, but we had the Leverett spirit, which was key.

The game started at 4:30 p.m., and I was pretty tired. Didn't exactly feel like running around. So I volunteered to play goalie.

Unfortunately, we were facing the setting sun, and I couldn't see too well.

But no matter. We controlled the ball for the first few minutes, and I had a chance to work on a tan.

I could have gotten used to that.

But soon, I had to do that stopping shots thing, and that was OK too--until I stopped being able to stop some of the shots.

We lost that one, too, in a 3-2 nailbiter.

As I write this column, my 48 hours of intense intramural activity have ended.

In fact, just aboutallof my activity has ended, now that my muscles have stiffened up. I can almost feel them contracting.

Rigor Mortis?

How about "Rigor Vivis?"

But I'll recover, and I'll be back.

I've still gotta work on that timing thing.