Louis Winthorpe III
Cambridge and Oxford … Oxford and Cambridge. Both are synonymous with the pinnacle of higher education. Both were founded in the thirteenth century: regattas and royalty and what have you. Wait a second - hold on a damn minute. We’re not talking about England, no sir. I got my university towns mixed up.
I’m coming to you from the other Cambridge, not the one flying beneath the Union Jack. I’m at Haaaaavard. You know, the one where Louis Winthorpe III went. Billy Ray Valentine stole his job and school tie. It’s also where Will Hunting took down a Michael Bolton-look-alike with six famous words, “How do you like them apples?!” That’s where I am.
I’m actually sitting beneath the spire at Memorial Church in Harvard Yard. No finer words have ever been carved in collegiate stone, “In grateful memory of the Harvard men who died in the World War we have built this Church.”
Across the Yard is Widener Library—a magnificent cathedral of the mind. If it isn’t obvious enough, I’m in the midst of a love affair. The leaves are changing, the weather is perfect … college life at its finest (less the excitement of a good old-fashioned SEC brawl).
I wasn’t planning on coming here when I woke up this morning. In fact, the objective was to cross the Charles River and visit the hallowed grounds of Harvard Stadium, where the forward pass was born out of necessity. You see, when football officials wanted to widen the field in 1906, Harvard’s concrete stadium stood in the way. So they legalized the forward pass instead, and modern football was born. But I didn’t get there.
So that leaves us with another college town with roots on the other side of the pond: Oxford. A place where our beloved Bulldogs will be in a bare-knuckle bout of fisticuffs this weekend.
The stakes are high, gentlemen. Bragging rights are at stake, as are invitations to the playoffs. Someone will be leaving Vaught-Hemingway with his tail tucked between his legs, en route to a non-New Years Bowl game. It’ll be a war, and I can’t wait!
I may be a thousand miles from Oxford, sitting here in Cambridge, but if you listen closely, you’ll hear me hollering louder than any damn Rebel.
Give ’em hell, Kirby!
*Composed in Harvard Yard, Edited and Published in Room No. 21 at the Union Club in Boston, MA
