SPORT STUFF

So much interest is being shown in the regular contributions to the Cornell AlumniWeekly by Romeyn Berry, Graduate Manager of Athletics at Cornell, that a selection has been made and published by the Cayuga Press of Ithaca where it may be obtained at a cost of $1.50. The editors of this MAGAZINE, wishing to acquaint its readers with Mr. Berry's genial philosophy have asked Professor E. J. Bartlett to review the book. His comments follow: This little book is made up a series of paragraphs first published in the CornellAlumni News, with the addition of suitable, edifying illustrations.

The author states that he is 168 years old, and this is confirmed by his accompanying portrait. He has therefore passed on to genial tolerance of the ruthless undergraduate and has even arrived at some sympathy for the tiresome and obdurate faculty man who so persistently withstands youthful selfdetermination with his factual studies and brutal strain upon the memory.

As is the case with all true humorists he discourses with much wisdom.

"What really jars us in the present generation is their incomprehensible candor. They are not bad, but they simply will not pull down the shades or pretend." "How to Watch Football,—mix soothing anodynes with the peanuts and opiates with the soda pop. Then when two-thirds of the spectators and all the cheer-leaders are slumbering peacefully through the second half the rest of us can settle down and really enjoy a football game."

His remarks on "The Passing of Little Homes on the Campus" appeal to us also, though we cannot "receive in passing olfactory assurance that the Dean was about to repair the wastage of a hard morning with generous portions of liver and bacon."

Suggested by a fine of $27.50 for shooting a hen pheasant, "It is pointed out that the professors are distinguished scholars, gentlemen of delicacy of feeling and bachelors withal, and that any statute which requires men of this type to make instantaneous determination of sex ... is too drastic."

Of football enthusiasm he says, " . . It's wise to call the debauch off and to get back to sanity by midnight of the same day." "An athletic organization at the end of November is in the same situation as the parents of the bride immediately after the wedding."

He comments on social life, "The tea dances are getting better . . . The girls who come are a more wholesome lot. They give evidences of having been spanked at the right time and with salutary results. They have some manners and not just customs." These are his words, not mine. At another time he calls them "peewees" which I understand to mean half-portions, or No. 2 A size, and adds, "If previous experience proves a true guide on this point the classes of 1948 and '49 will be extremely rich in coxswains but almost wholly devoid of tackles and shot-putters."

He has noticed "that in no reported case has the poor morbid boy been one who played games," and quotes the wisdom of good Dr. Sheehan, whoever he is, "Now if a student has anything busted, or is running a temperature, or has a pain that keeps on in the same place, you don't want to take no chances. See? You want to send him down to the medical office right off. But if he ain't got any of them things—just thinks himself and other little things is important—Hell! I just give him a scuttle of Epsom salts and a good swift kick. Then I send him on the field for a workout. He'll be all right in no time."

He is sure "It is a mistake for a woman to come back with her husband. The thing is just as unworkable the other way around." "After 186 ladies had looked over a good lad who went with his wife to Smith .... he went back to the Inn and got stewed with a man from Dayton, Ohio, in order to regain his self-respect."

The truth is that quoting the whole 94 pages of this amiable and cheerful booklet is necessary to do it justice.

One for the faculty.—"The teaching profession has not yet mastered the science of slipping the dirty-work to the stenographer, the shipping-clerk, the credit-man and the other experts who can do it better."

And one to remember:—"The chief end of sport is fun."

The only criticism I have to make is the use, just once, of the atrocious verbal counterfeit "frosh."