As I write, I am thinking about ice for my foot. This weekend, the Hollis Hall Hornets played another round of mud, sweat and tears soccer, finally being eliminated in a valiant effort in the Freshman Intramural (IM) soccer semi-final. The fields behind the Palmer Dixon courts were grey and the sidelines empty, but the shouts and celebrations after a well-placed goal could have punctuated a World Cup game or the Major Leauge Soccer championship in Foxboro last month. Yes, Sunday afternoon is a perfect time for IMs, because for some of us it's not a hobby or an extracurricular activity--it's a religious experience.

Unfortunately, only for some. Believe it or not, there are still people out there--in my entryway and yours--that do not participate in intramural sports. In my conversations with them, they cite their workload, or they say the sports don't interest them. Frankly, this is Harvard, and they are living proof that people don't come here to play sports--they come here to think.

I have to admit they have a point. I considered the incongruity of sports like football and Ultimate Frisbee in a Harvard student's life. Realistically, how many times does a class require you to count alligators? Do you have to dive for a frisbee while walking through the Yard? (On second thought, don't answer that.) Some might say Harvard intramurals should reflect the necessary competitive skills for Harvard life. We could easily have a library scavenger hunt, essay-draft basketball played in a suite with crumpled-up essay drafts, or my personal favorite, floppy disk fencing, where the last person whose disk retains its sliding disk guard in place wins. We definitely could--but we shouldn't.

Because I sit with my foot elevated on the desk and my keyboard cradled in my lap, I feel good. Granted, that is probably because my foot is numb, but I am happy to have played this weekend. My tendon is probably slightly sprained and I'll be able to play again in time for racquetball or maybe even our volleyball match tomorrow. Injuries last days; IM points and records count for the whole year.

In high school, I was never anxious about getting injured when I went to a soccer game. Barring any freak sideline collision, my metal folding chair was relatively safe from harm. I took my high school sports seriously; I posted the schedules for all the teams on my bulletin board and lugged around my padded chair, which turned any field into the perfect place for a spectator. I admired my schoolmates' resolve and their long hours of practice, how they fit in time to go to the gym or go running between chem lab write-ups and political-science review sheets. I have always enjoyed pickup games or getting together on a lazy afternoon and playing some Ultimate Frisbee, but I could have never put in the time that high school athletes did.

I have not spent years in Pop Warner, AYSO or even played Little League since I was 14. I try to make up in energy and enthusiasm what I lack in skills, and to "play smart," because this is Harvard, right? IMs provide the perfect does of sports for a weekend warrior like me. We count the good players on the other teams by who has cleats and shin guards, and we assign our own cleated players accordingly. Then I gingerly take my place along the line of scrimmage or behind the half mark and get ready to play.

IMs are part of what we are at Harvard for. They allow those of us who would be laughed off the soccer field or the basketball court anywhere else to have a chance to play, to get out of those sideline recliners and prove that basically anyone can kick the ball (though to kick it straight takes a little more concentration). IMs give us a chance to appreciate another side of that girl who sits in the same row as we do in "Justice" or the guy who quietly takes down notes in our math section. It is a chance to have fun and, of course, a chance to win.

I think that floppy-disk fencing would be quaintly challenging and that racing through the stacks of Widener would be a great chance to learn about the libraries. However, as the Crimson Key Society points out on its tour, that third book on the Harvard shield is turned down for a reason. I don't know why the athletic fields are across the river, but I do know why we have them. It is to remind us after a long week of inconclusive lab results and varying literary interpretations how great it feels to be right, how wonderful to win. To reverse the sentiments of some early Ivy League athletes (who thought the privilege was theirs, just in being able to attend such a prestigious school aided by their ability), it is my privilege just to have the chance to play, to be out on the field with people who have played seriously before, and to be able to hold my own. Just make sure the icepacks are ready.