This Game was supposed to be one for the ages: a gridiron battle of Ivy unbeatens for the first time since 1968. But starting 68 seconds after the opening kickoff, Harvard turned it into a rout for the ages. Leaving the Yale Bowl, two things were undeniably evident: Yale sucks and Harvard reigns supreme.

On the field, Harvard put on a clinic that demonstrated our superiority in every element of the game. On defense, Harvard held Yale’s star running back Mike McLeod—who entered the game averaging 174 yards per outing—to 50 yards, stuffing all comparisons of McLeod to Clifton G. Dawson ’07. And Eli quarterback Matt Polhemus completed as many passes to Yale receivers as he did to Harvard defenders, allowing Steven K. Williams ’08 to set career and season marks for interceptions. Then there was the Harvard offense: Quarterback Christopher F. Pizzotti ’08 torched the Yale defense with 316 yards—almost triple what the entire Yale offense could muster—and four touchdowns. Even running back Cheng Ho ’10, one of three backs the Crimson featured, outran McLeod.

So many breaks went Harvard’s way that it would not be hard to imagine that divine powers were assisting our crimson and white-clad warriors in smiting Yale. When Pizzotti fumbled a snap, Harvard still got a first down. When Pizzotti made a rare error and threw the ball to a lucky Yalie, it was bobbled—straight into the open arms of a Harvard receiver. And when, with only a few minutes left, a Yale punt return took advantage of the lone Harvard lapse in the entire game, the Eli could not even muster an extra point.

If the first half score of 27-0 was not indication enough of Harvard’s superiority, halftime further demonstrated Yale’s incompetence. A Yalie who clumsily attempted to steal our flag was manhandled by a gang of Harvard cheerleaders. And while the Harvard halftime show involved beheading and dismembering a bulldog—perhaps not our best or most original idea, but an entertaining one nonetheless—Yale’s effort was downright quizzical. Amidst the nonsense, one thing was clear: Yale was portrayed as a lumbering and sluggish dragon that only felled menacing pterodactyl-like birds when they careened into it. Clearly, the Yale Band agrees that its school is stuck in the Stone Age.

And then there was frigid New Haven itself. Yalies may have a shorter route home and a few more days of Thanksgiving break, but they have to call that armpit of the nation “home.” We, on the other hand, gleefully escaped as quickly as possible, knowing we would not have to return for another two years.

In short, Yale was left dejected, demoralized, and dismantled. As ten thousand men of Harvard rushed the field, the few remaining Yalies stood clutching to their pathetic college flags, the only banners without a “Y”—and all that could give them pride.