Behind every unseasonably cold, third Saturday in November is the age-old tradition of Harvard and Yale students pinning against one another for the chance to win one of college sports’ most illustrious rivalries. This year, “The Game,” the infamous football match played between the two schools each fall, marks 139 attempts from the Crimson to crush the opposition in the name of camaraderie and nostalgia. Colored by floods of crimson- and navy-clad students eager to demonstrate their school’s authority in every way possible, The Game is not only competitive and marked by a certain nervous game-day energy, but one of the few times during the year when Harvard students unite around a common enemy and, notably, fervently support athletics on campus.
The very first Game took place in the fall of 1875 after Harvard football player Nathaniel Curtis raised the idea of a contest played in the style of a rugby game to former Yale football captain William Arnold. Marked by a desire to dominate both academically and athletically, The Game of 1875 was characterized by a deep-rooted intellectual rivalry between the two institutions that made the pairing instinctive. Despite the newness of the matchup at the time, the respective academic prowess on both campuses made their engagement in football all the more compelling: if one school were truly to be on top, their football team surely would be too. The initial game proved to be a resounding success for the Crimson, though their 4-0 victory in ’75 remained unmatched until their second win against Yale in 1890.
Soon after the first Game, the Intercollegiate Football Association between Columbia, Princeton, Harvard, and Yale, was born. However, the association was put to rest in 1894 after nine Harvard and Yale players were taken out of the annual match due to violence on the field: an event nicknamed both the “Hampden Blood Bath” and the “Springfield Massacre.” In 1897, however, both teams were back on their feet, and the rivalry was stronger than ever. One year later, the colloquial name for the rivalry, “The Game,” was born.
Despite its roots in the spirited tradition of annual football clashes, the Harvard-Yale rivalry extends far beyond the realm of athletics, embodying a not-so-shocking competitive zeal from both campuses in tandem with themes of activism, alumni reunions, and the opportunity for students to come together behind their team instead of their schoolwork. “As a student-athlete, I know we love it when people come to our games, but even more so when it’s an Ivy League team, ” said lacrosse player Maddie Barkate ’24. “I’m sure it’s the same for the football team, but for us, there’s something different about playing Yale. I can’t wait to watch the game, especially since they have the chance to clinch the title outright this weekend!”
Indeed, since its inception, the Harvard-Yale rivalry has firmly anchored itself in the historical fabric of American collegiate sports and represents one of the greatest athletic rivalries in football to date. The pageantry, the halftime shows, and the sheer enthusiasm of the fans bind generations of students and alumni, creating lasting memories and a sense of pride in being part of the Harvard or Yale community.
Now known for the alumni who flock to their home campuses and the fantasy of playing the role of a school known for their prolific love for their sports teams, Harvard-Yale is what many supporters consider the “game of games.”
Celebrated for Harvard’s remarkable comeback of 16 points in the final 42 seconds of the game, resulting in a tie between both teams, the Game of 1968 is a poignant example of the sportsmanship and history that defines the Harvard-Yale matchup. As reported in The Harvard Crimson, “On the morning of November 24, 1968, the day after the annual Harvard-Yale football game, The Crimson distributed newspapers emblazoned with a headline that would later become nearly as iconic as the ritual itself: ‘HARVARD BEATS YALE 29-29.’” Considering Yale’s 16-game winning streak before playing Harvard at the end of that season, the tie was a monumental moment for Harvard’s program: the enthusiasm and pride following the game was a testament to their ability to rally around their team and step away victorious.
Situated in the thick of extreme political turbulence as the Vietnam War, Civil, and Women’s Rights Movements swept through the United States, 1968 was no small moment in history. NPR stated, “Football doesn’t happen in a vacuum,” and Harvard was no exception to this: the 1968 football roster held two ROTC students engaged in the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) group on campus. Before his senior year, Patrick Conway ’68 left Harvard midway through the year to serve in the Marines. The next year, he rejoined the Crimson’s team and played in The Game of 1968. As stated in the Daily Hampshire Gazette, Conway fought for Harvard football, “with reckless abandon, tackling opponents with airborne, helmet-first hits. He figured the risk of injury from such ‘spearing’ was nothing compared to having nearly been blown to pieces by artillery fire.”
The spirit of activism as it pertains to The Game is no small anecdote, and in 2019 over 150 Harvrd students disrupted The Game, hosted in the Yale Bowl, to protest the involvement of both Universities in climate injustice. The protest lasted for nearly an hour and signs adorned with slogans such as “Nobody wins. Yale and Harvard are complicit in climate injustice,” adorned the crowd, as reported in an article by NPR. Taken together, these moments shed light on the evolving nature of The Game and how its historical context had colored the event for decades: a confirmation of the withstanding civic engagement present on both campuses.
Despite the intensity that defines many of Harvard’s interactions with Yale academically, athletically, and even politically, the rivalry’s history is also colored by a series of pranks, celebrations, and a generalized free-spirited mindset that is often omitted from students’ day-to-day lives on campus.
Catalyzed by a group of MIT students self-identifying as the “Sudburry four” and keen to leave their mark on the annual Game, the prank that struck Harvard Stadium in ’82 was meticulously planned and, quite literally, out of left field. The concept was simple: bury an inflatable balloon under Harvard Stadium and inflate it mid-game. After months of careful planning and with seven minutes and 45 seconds left in the game’s second quarter, MIT took action, inflating the device right after a Harvard touchdown. Unbeknownst to spectators, coaches, and players alike, a weather balloon reaching eight feet in diameter ejected itself from the field with “MIT” etched on every surface possible. Eventually, the balloon popped. However, its legacy of comedy and absurdity lives on.
The absurdity of the 1982 Game is also channeled in the historic matchup of 1908 where the commonly uttered ‘Beat Yale’ proverb was taken to its limits–in theory. A football urban legend of sorts, Brian Cronin of the Los Angeles Times, stated, “As the story goes, Harvard’s football coach Percy Haughton strangled a Handsome Dan lookalike before The Game in 1908 to get his players riled up. If it’s true, the tactic worked, as Harvard went on to win the game 4-0.” The alleged strangling of Handsome Dan, Yale’s famous bulldog mascot, not only points to the extent of the lore surrounding the rivalry but also the spirited if not provocative way in which the teams continue to attempt to one-up each other.
Cronin continues saying “While I found nothing confirming the incident, I did come across a number of later accounts suggesting that Haughton had created a Bulldog doll (presumably out of Papier-mâché), and he had strangled THAT.” Despite the ambiguity surrounding such an urban legend, the story stands as a testament to the zeal and competition that make The Game what it is. Evidently, the scare tactic infused Harvard’s players with a certain sinister karma that was, in fact, effective.
In recent years, Harvard-Yale has been defined by the first cancellation of The Game since 1943 in 2020 due to pandemic restrictions on Harvard’s campus: a decision that was once again made when Harvard was due to host the following year in 2021. Daniela Garcia ’24, who took a gap year during the pandemic, stated that prior to Covid, “Harvard administration was even present at the tailgate and not imposing any restrictions.” “Post Covid,” Garcia stated, “I definitely didn’t feel as free and casual as in the past.” She recounted how the 2022 tailgate at Harvard would not allow alcohol at the official tailgate and how students formed their own on MAC Lawn. Though greatly changed by the impacts of the pandemic, Garcia is hopeful that the Crimson will return with more energy than ever.
The narrative surrounding Harvard-Yale is shaped not only by touchdowns and victories but by the intangible elements of tradition, community spirit, and the collective pride of two institutions linked by collegiate sportsmanship. The Game represents a rich history of school spirit that both institutions, for better or for worse, often don’t embrace. Marked by unpredictability, passion, and what George Howe Colt calls “a clash of civilizations that seemed no less than that of Athens and Sparta.” The Game is dynamic, enduring, and a chance for Harvard to once again mock Yale students in whatever way possible.
Clara Corcoran ’25 (claracorcoran@college.havrard.edu) wishes you a happy Harvard-Yale!