Most people in higher ed this week will at least be partially focused on their “Big Game,” the football rivalry in their respective area that tends to turn most highly educated men and women into rabid, unrecognizable fans.
For the good of the school, right?
Since I went to Harvard, I admit to a mild interest in the Harvard/Yale game. But only mild.
I call the Ivies, America’s TWCUs, or the “tragically white colleges and universities.” I’m prouder to have been part of a generation that helped introduce the idea that “diversity” should be a bit more than just a word that rhymes with “university.”
When Harvard plays Yale, I think of how an influx of qualified minority students helped change a broader “score” and how the student body now looks a little bit more like America.
But my enduring memory of “The Game,” as it’s called, has nothing to do with football. During a road trip to Yale, with no real interest in the game, I recall the enormous power I wielded over a much older Yale alumnus so desperate to pay a high price for my ticket and the privilege of sitting in the Harvard student section.
I have a little school loyalty.
