The true meaning of The Game

Pie in Your Face
    By Sheela V. Pai

For almost a week after, my voice was hoarse, my legs ached from standing and jumping, and my rear was still recovering from the splintered wooden benches—but it was all worth it. From the unexpected Harvard lead at halftime to the heart-stopping interception to the last minute touchdown, The Game was much more than just a game—it was a drama full of twists and surprises. While students and alums packed the Yale Bowl with its largest crowd since 1989 in order to bask in the spirit of rivalry, for seniors like myself The Game came down to much more than "Harvard Sucks" and a championship. For us, the football drama didn't last for four quarters, but for four years.

It is the seniors, after all, who have witnessed the team's transformation as it went from digging its way out of last place in the Ivy rankings to being the final Ivy League (co-)champion of the millennium. Even football neophytes like myself couldn't help but be sucked in from the very beginning by the team as they struggled to make legendary coach Carm Cozza's last year of coaching a memorable one. We trekked to Cambridge to boo the Cantabs and crossed our fingers that the team would whip out tricks they'd saved up all season, but to no avail. We left heartbroken, but knew deep down that with new blood and a new coach, there was hope for a new beginning.

Memories of the 1-9 record and the horrific Yale Daily News front page headline— "The Worst Team Ever?"—still send chills down most seniors' spines by reminding them of the season during our sophomore year. But still, as I stood in the Bowl during The Game that year, as I grit my teeth and bare the soggy, freezing weather, I couldn't help but notice that something special was in the works. New names like Joe Walland, TD '00, and Jake Borden, JE '00, boasted raw talent and heart—enough nearly to pull off an upset and prove that the team shouldn't have been underestimated. It was a not-so-dismal end to a dismal season.

The second-place league finish and the team's triumph at Cambridge last year gave us a sense of redemption. After two years of flinching as a wave of Crimson overtook the field, it was our chance to churn up a blue storm. Fears that we would never witness Yale win The Game during our four years gave way to a greedy desire to see Yale defeat Harvard on our turf. That is why this year during The Game, though I went through the motions of chanting and screaming and jingling my keys, I didn't just want to see the Bulldogs dominate the Cantabs. I wanted to see the Bulldogs reach their pinnacle moment and achieve the storybook ending they had been striving for throughout their four-year saga. And I did.

I think I now know how the class of '98 must have felt about the men's hockey "Miracle on Ice." Spending four years watching a team rebuild and battle its way out of the basement to become the leader of the pack gives your class a story within a story. You could even say the team experienced its own case of "sophomore slump." But though my fellow seniors may have witnessed one of the lowest points in Yale football history, when we flock to the Bowl and to Cambridge to watch future episodes of The Game, we can say that it was during our year that one of the greatest Yale victories of all time took place. The Bulldogs' glorious season may not represent the peak of most seniors' experience at Yale, but we can't deny that it gives our class a special place. You could say it helps us leave Yale George Costanza-style—on a high note.

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