On a tepid and earnest May afternoon, the Advocate boldly went where no Advocate member has gone before: the Harvard stadium. Equipped with one student-athlete, one former varsity baseball player, and many people kicked off of their youth little league team, we embarked on the ultimate battle (that no one asked for): to beat the Hasty Pudding in Softball. We were the best dressed, drunkest, and least appropriate team the stadium has ever seen.
Figure 1: The Poetry Board, in the style of a ragtag group of unlikely friends, prepares to play the game.
Figure 2: Before the game, we did a cursory run through of the rules of softball.
With the rugged American charm of twenty or so achievement-junkies, the game began. In the coming minutes, we learned three things: a) we were playing Hasty Pudding, b) we were playing the Hasty Pudding band members, and c) they were a no nonsense team.
But we, too, were a group of dedicated, disciplined athletes. What they had in lung capacity, we had in Pabst Blue Ribbons, final papers to procrastinate, and an unyielding zest for life. So we put our hearts on the line and kept our dignities on the bench to play American softball.
Figure 3: We practiced.
Figure 4: The other team hesitantly approaches.
& though the Hasty Pudding band (which we must assume were tuba players, trumpeters, pianists, and the like) were mighty, the Advocate played harder.
Figure 5: The game was played.
We were up by ten points by the second inning, and the Hasty Pudding men began to get frustrated by our blazer and beer clad group. We celebrated our premature win by drinking more beer and wearing more blazers. The spectators, a group of Advocate members happily living in their jock fantasies, cheered.
Figure 6: Jubilantly & vainly spectating
& though we lost the game, we were forever proud of the fact that we never cared to begin with. Next year, we resolved to practice less and drink more, and forever be young and carefree at the Old Ball Game.
2025