DARTMOUTH 6, HOLY CROSS 6
The Holy Cross game was a minor epic of frustration. Just as one of the more whimsical and taxidermic-minded characters in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises once remarked that the road to Hell was paved with unbought stuffed dogs—so the green rectangle of Memorial Field was paved that afternoon with a succession of good intentions and wasted opportunities. The game ended in a 6-6 deadlock which, with the exception of a scoreless tie, is perhaps the most irritating score in football. Time and again the Green would go rampaging down the field for two plays and six or eight yards, only to bog down on the third down and be forced to punt on the fourth. Even more exasperating was the succession of golden opportunities which presented themselves in the form of recovered fumbles, blocked kicks, intercepted passes and similar breaks, on none of which were the men in white able to capitalize. Holy Cross was similarly treated to a seemingly endless series of bootless scoring chances, but these failures naturally did not evoke the same anguish in the followers of the Green as did Dartmouth's own lapses.
The chief items of encouragement in the performance of both teams was their mutual willingness to pass and their ability in retrieving same, with Dartmouth tossing the pigskin on 16 occasions (with 5 completions) and Holy Cross completing 6 out of 12 attempts. The only unsatisfactory aspect of this aerial circus was the ineptness of both teams in the matter of pass defense, with Dartmouth looking slightly the less skillful. Both touchdowns were made on passes, the Green scoring in the third period on a toss from substitute quarter- back Britt Lewis to end Gerry Peck, following a successful completion from Lewis to halfback Lenny Robinson. Holy Cross also scored in the third period after a series of five straight passes culminated in a successful pitch to the nether margin of the south end zone. After this brief flurry of scoring in the third period, time ran out on an inconclusive series of interceptions and fumbles by both sides, with neither team able to muster the necessary power to punch across another score.
In the hats-off department, running honors went to halfback Lenny Robinson, who ripped through the Holy Cross line time and again on quick-opening thrusts between end and tackle. The pleasure of unearthing a hitherto unsung hero was quickly dissipated, however, by the serious knee injury he suffered in the closing minutes of the game, which crippled him so badly that he did not even make the Penn trip the following week. The two tackles, 220-pound Bob Harvy and 205-pound Wid Washburn, played iron-man roles in the line and went the full sixty minutes to the satisfaction of everyone concerned. Gordy Grant at center did an excellent job of backing up the line. At right end, Gerry Peck performed creditably both on offense and defense, with a nice catch of the touchdown pass to highlight his afternoon's activities. Other members of the team showed considerable potential promise, which was nullified in some instances by subsequent injuries to several of the most talented men.
It is no reflection on this gallant band of youngsters, however, to say that they are individually and collectively a far cry from the galaxy of talented performers who trotted out on the field last fall to answer the opening whistle. In physique, skill, and above all in experience, these boys will never equal last year's colorful band of all-stars, nor will they be able to breeze past the opposition with the same gaudy abandon and high scoring nonchalance that marked the 1943 aggregation from the Penn game on down to the wire.
The afternoon was an aesthetic, if not an athletic, success. This reporter does not need to describe to the old and young Dartmouths scattered all over the world the balmy splendor Of the late September sun, the glory of Balch Hill coming into color, and the sheer pleasure of just sitting in Memorial Field and watching a Dartmouth football team in action again. Anyone should be willing to settle for that experience, win, lose, or draw, and that was precisely the spirit of those hardy alumni who were able to hitchhike their way up the Connecticut valley for that opening game. It was good just to be there and no one was so churlish as to complain of the youth and inexperience of the boys who, in spite of Earl Brown's expert tutelage, could not seem to get the intricate T formation to function effectively more than three times in any given sequence of plays. We had glory enough last year and other years. On this day, we were content to sit back and bask in the sun.
