Yale: spreading idiocy, crime, and herpes since 1701...

"What do all Yale students and all Harvard students have in common? They all got into Yale!" I can't even guess how many times I told that joke over Harvard-Yale weekend last year. But despite Harvard students' tendency to dismiss this fine, fine Connecticut institution as crime-ridden, poverty-stricken, and—most of all—inferior, I tried to keep the bigger picture in mind; that any girl, child under the age of 13, and decent-looking dog must be wary at all times when at Yale. Walking the well-vandalized, bum-ridden streets of New Haven, I was able to get a better perspective on the daily life of an Eli.

Obviously, every Eli starts the day the same way: donning a bulletproof vest. Only then is it safe to roam the streets—but safety still begs one question: What if they shoot you in the face? This should certainly be a concern for Elis. Upon arriving at class (assuming that they make it to class—sniffing glue and drinking laundry detergent cause wicked hangovers, or so I hear), Elis are faced with the enormous task of standing in line, raising their hands before speaking, and deciding between hot or cold lunch. Luckily, most teachers provide their students with a list of school supplies including safety scissors, a 64-color box of Crayola crayons (with the little pencil sharpener built in—Elis, you know what I mean), and plenty of No. 2 pencils. It must be mentally stressful for the Elis, but everyone takes a nap right after recess and before homeroom.

After school ends, Yale students are faced with another dilemma: Power Rangers or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? The few that do choose to study quickly realize that studying is futile—a Harvard grad will hire you whether you finish school or not. And so the day proceeds toward night, a time when Elis rejoice because their hangovers have finally left and it is dark enough that gender is indeterminate. They crowd into Toadie's, or whatever that bar is, and look for that special girl/guy/drag queen, the one that makes you so weak in the knees that you'd do anything to get a hold of her/his/its drink so you can slip some of that sweet, sweet GHB into it.

Unfortunately for Elis, though, your hand is always willing and it can't report the many abuses it suffers. So they leave the bar, looking for something, anything substantive to do—after all, both your lawyer and your probation officer say you can't hang around the elementary school anymore. You think about going by the local adult movie store to rent your favorite sleazy video, but all six copies have been rented out—another plan foiled, alas! The only viable option other than joining another gang is returning to the projects to hook up with your sister.

But about once a year, life changes for Elis. (Note: this is not the same as the festivities that occur on the first of every month, when the welfare checks come in and everyone can afford to buy crack instead of stealing it or "trading favors" for it, as you guys say). The football thugs, otherwise known as Bulldogs, get to lose a game that's actually meaningful. This is a time for Elis to reflect; reflect on the opportunities lost their senior year in high school or, in most cases, somewhere during their second year on the streets after high school, when they realized that they had missed out on a good (read: Harvard) education and should probably enroll wherever they could get in. This occasion, they figure, is their chance to actually communicate with a Harvard student. But Elis get angry when smart kids (read: Harvard students) fail to recognize their complex system of grunts. Sorry, guys, Harvard students only deal in Latin.

The bestial nature of the Elis makes me worry about their upcoming visit to my town. I read a report last year that in towns that the Yale football team visits during the football season, instances of the clap and herpes increased by 200 percent and an amazing 600 percent in girls weighing over 250 lbs. Now I realize why they hand out full-body condoms in the dining halls before Yale weekend and urge local Cambridge residents to take special care of any pets and small children. It's really unfortunate that we're forced to keep our distance from the dirty Elis, for two reasons: 1) they would make a great case study for any of Harvard's renowned abnormal psychologists and 2) they'll be working in the basements of our offices someday, so why not meet them now? It almost brings a tear to my eye that our species cannot coexist, but that tear is quickly wiped away as I reach out to slap another Eli fan.

JK Costello is sports editor for the Harvard Independent.

Graphics by Sarah England.

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