The Hanover Scene

THE opening chorus of KissMe Kate closes with: "The overture is about to start, You cross your fingers and hold your heart, It's curtain time and away we go, Another op'ning of another show."

And that's our situation at the moment these lines are indited. Football is "a field game in which each of two contesting teams tries to kick or carry the ball to or through its opponent's goal or goal line." According to the Bureau of Internal Revenue, however, it is a public spectacle on the same tax basis as a production by Billy Rose. We have, therefore, to take some pains with stagecraft when we put the show on the road.

This is not as simple as it might appear at first blush (if any of our readers can achieve that performance). Initially we assume, of course, a variety of conditions. We assume, and have for years, a competent coaching staff. We assume, not always with complete justification, a capable squad of players culled from those who are academically acceptable to the College and intelligent enough to have been adamant to the blandishments of sister institutions. We assume, also, an adequate plant, with medical and training facilities, and a playing field that, nevertheless, requires a last-minute special grooming, covering, and marking. And we assume, finally, that we have, through years of negotiation and exploitation of the charm of our College, arranged a schedule of desirable (if not always beatable) opponents.

These basic requirements out of the way, we face the problems of advance publicity, posters, releases, stickers, photos, and other come-ons. We must induce our opponents to furnish pictures, optimistic prognostications, and itineraries and other non-pertinent information, not only for our program, but to enable us to lavish hospitality. Officials for the game have been appointed months in advance by a neutral agency that we have helped support for more than a quarter of a century. Tickets also have been pre-contracted and the alumni alerted to the possibility of purchase — as well as student coupon books, car cards, ushers' badges, concessions, sideline passes, press, photographers, and all the rest of the "junk" that upsets the placid flow of reserved seat ticket sales.

An advance sell-out is duck soup. A sell-out at the gate is hell on wheels, but this has happened locally in recent years only for our 1949 Cornell game. In such event, the management is apt to be as tearful as the disappointed clients, but little can be done about it on the spur of the moment. We can only go on with the regular routine of checking ushers, press wires, coaches' phones, clock and scoreboard, concessions, movies, radio, ticket booths, parking lot attendants, and ticket takers.

In the meantime, there are our visitors to be taken care of. The Green Key does a sterling and exemplary job at this, but many details of transportation, towels, and injuries devolve upon the home management. Brass has to be polished, pleasantly, in addition. For our own youth we must provide excuse blanks, rain pants, taping, shoestrings, stop-watches, movies, and play spotters.

Curiously enough, Saturday morning is a peaceful interlude, larded by chats with friends made the previous day or the previous forty years. One of the toughest tasks anyone can face is that of delegating authority, but we are happy to report that, after some years of experimentation, we have achieved a reasonable program of letting somebody else do the work, so that as we approach the whistle we may relax and simply listen to the buzzing of busy bees. All the work is done, or arranged for, and there settles over the office a peacefulness as unalarming as a rendition of Just a' Wearyin' for You on the theramin.

Comes game time and the excitement builds up. Any number of miniscule problems may arise, but our organization is geared to shrug them away. Hopefully we peer at the kick-off. We make our secret count of the stands to compare with that of our shrewder assistant, and finally wend our precarious way to the press box for the last half.

And after, there is a visiting coach to condole with (we hope) or congratulate. Visiting brass is entertained gladly, if still in town. And the show is over.

For the players and (very incidentally) the spectators, it's a field game in which each of two contesting teams, etc. For the College, it's a source of possible advantage or disadvantage in public relations and morale. For the management, it's a job. For us, speaking humbly and quietly, it's a swell game.