ONE LAST LOOK

Despite what H. I. Phillips said in his New York Sun column Saturday, New Haven was just as chaotic and traditional this year as it was before the war. The drunks were there, so were the raccoon coats, and the Taft lobby was jammed solid. The open trolleys were out in flocks on Chapel Street, too, with their ex-acrobat conductors swinging along the sides picking up fares.

Somebody just murmured that we ought to bury the game, pretend it didn't really happen, but it's worth a few more paragraphs.

True, everything looked very blue down in the Bowl's mud Saturday, and stay-at-homes didn't miss much besides frozen feet. But there were a few flashes of excitement, and one of the greatest for this observer was seeing that big number 72 at the start: Chet Pierce wasn't supposed to be there according to the pre-game prognosticators, and one of the biased inhabitant of the press box was heard to say "ringer."

Henry Lamar had nicer things to say about Pierce at the Boston Sportswriters' Luncheon yesterday at the Kenmore Hotel. As everybody knows, Chet suffered a minor leg fracture in the Tufts game and missed every succeeding game until Dick Harlow sprang him at New Haven.

Lamar disclosed that the big negro tackle had gone into the Big Game after only three days' practice, having kept himself in shape during his convalescence with body exercises.

Low Manley, the Tufts' coach who's been scouting Yale's team all fall for Harlow, told the sportswriters: "It turned out as practically everybody anticipated it would." But Floyd Stahl said: "The game was well worth playing. We have a lot of ground to recover after being out three years, and we can't expect to get back to normal overnight. It was a bunch of little fellows being bounced around by big fellows. Two or three of our attempts to throttle Walker and Broderick looked like bees trying to get honey from a bear."

Tommy Tennant, quarterback and acting captain of the '45 eleven, got up to say that the only difference between formal and informal football is that in formal football you get a steak for a black eye.

This column shouldn't end without a dig at the slick 80-page program issued down at Yale. It made Yale football look like big business--a public relations man's dream--and it made President Seymour's signature on the eight-college Eastern football pact look a little out of place. Or perhaps football programs should have pictures of the football players as they looked in 1930