I was one of these romantics. I had seats on the 15-yard line towards the open end of the field. It was the second Harvard touchdown that did it for me. Crying and hoarse I turned to the guy sitting next to me and babbled "We're going to do it. We're going to do it." Then Yale scored again and the skeptics relaxed. The score was 29-13 and Harvard couldn't possibly come back.

Forty-five seconds to go. Harvard down by 16. The Crimson on the Eli 38-yard line. A penalty. A run by tackle Fritz Reed, Bingo. A score from Champi. to Freeman who beat the Eli hands down to the end zone. We could tie. I could barely see.

The kickoff. Everyone knew it was going to be onsides. Everyone except the Yale coaches who had set their usual blocks of flesh up on the front line of the receiving team. Miracle. Bill Kelly came up with the ball. Impossible. A draw. No Frank it takes to much time. But it worked. Dowling watching from the bench. Carm Cozza stunned.

Three seconds to go. I was down near the field. "Hit the Big fella!" But it went to the little man instead. The bumbling Elis had Big Hole on their squad now. He was defining Gatto. Six points and delirium.

People were on the field. Not me. I remembered the Dartmouth game a year before where a penalty on an extra point try had cost us the ball game. But that was a different team. Nothing could be denied our darlings. And the daintiest, the sweetest of those darlings did the job. The Big Fella, 240-pound tight end Pete Varney. When Varney moves there's no denying him. He jumped high in the air after the catch with the ball held high. The Yalie had him in his arms, but there wasn't anything he could do.

I was on the field, drunk with joy. From the Yalies only silence. We carried tackle Steve Ranere off the field and as he passed the Yale bench he raised his hands. We had won, 29-29.

Harvard for me will never be the same again as it was on that day. There will never be another team for me like that team. I may never go see another football game.