From the 1898 Class Record, pp. 222-224.
'97 thought she knew how to conduct a bowl-fight. '97 suffered from a large number of hallucinations during the four years' martyrdom she inflicted on a poor, innocent, long-suffering college. By the time midyears were over we had learned exactly how little '97 was worth in any and all respects and so we were not particularly worried about what sort of a contest we were about to have. Bartol was small, plump, and didn't have any sharp corners to knock off against anything, and seemed a likely candidate for the position of bowlman. In order to test his endurance we laid him down on the ground and piled Calver and about five hundred pounds of other (lead weight on him. After fifteen minutes of this lie asked for a cigarette. So we concluded that lie would be exactly what we were after and lie was elected to the eminence lie desired.
'97 had expected that we couldn't find any one who would fit the place, but when the news was spread that our man was chosen they began to grow uneasy and to procrastinate. They wanted just a little more time--and was unwell and they had to have some immovable object to put in our way. Then the weather was damp, and they were afraid we might catch cold. Then the press of work that most of their men had to undergo in passing re-exams was very trying and they were afraid that they couldn't out-number us more than six or seven to one. We were courteous and willing to give them time to gather sufficient courage to allow Lis to say that we had been in at least a similitude of a fight. But when it came to their suggestion that the fight be postponed until July we gently but firmly drew the line. So they gathered around Mahoney like voting lambs around the shepherd and he talked them into enough strength so that the), put on football suits in a half-hearted sort of a way and went out to the Old Field and waited. We dressed at our case and were formulating plans for the annihilation of 97 forever when a messenger arrived post haste to tell us that their men were deserting rapidly and if we were five minutes' longer we shouldn't find any one to meet us. Lest such a catastrophe should occur Ave hurried over without fully completing our arrangements, and to this alone is it due that any '97 men were left alive.
Bartol was duty introduced to the bowl and we lined up on opposite sides of the field. After the whistle was blown Ave waited for awhile to see whether the Sophomores would do anything or not. As they didn't seem to be disposed to take any action, we held a consultation as to the best means of stirring them up, and as a result Bartol strolled leisurely out to the middle of the field and invited '97 to Put him in the bowl. A pause followed and then in sheer desperation he folded his arms and lay down. Finally Ave walked over toward the Sophomores, who broke and fled at, our aproach, and, run as Ave would, we couldn't catch any of them except Woodbury, and he wasn't worth the trouble. Bartol got up in a disgusted sort of a way and said that he had had enough of the mud and was going back to college to make a 3 o'clock hour and departed. So we decided to have a look at the bowl. Then we discovered that '97 had excavated part of the field and had buried the bowl in nine feet of mud. Wise and Vincent went over to the tool house and borrowed sonic shovels and we set to work to dig the thing out, but as the task was impossible in the fifteen minutes allowed to us we gave it up as too laborsome, and the fight was declared a "draw." Such is justice.
If '97 had been afraid of us there are no words in the English language capable of describing '99's trepidation. In the first place, they wanted to give the fight up entirely, on the ground that the Athletic Association wouldn't let us dig holes in Franklin Field, and the old field was so hard that somebody might get bruised. Then they demanded that the affair should be run on a strictly business basis and governed by the following code of rules:
In the third of these rules we finally acquiesced, but withstood the others. '99 also insisted that all spectators must keep off the field lest they injure the Freshmen by stepping on them. Also that all spectators be charged a quarter each to help defray hospital expenses. To this we did not object because we should get some recompense for our trouble--possibly the price of the bowl. (For information as to where our share of the receipts went inquire of Hutchinson.)
So finally, after many postponements the fight came off. '99, wishing to save Harrison's life, had a rope entanglement drawn across the field, through which we were unable to crawl in time to catch him before he climbed the fence. He can do the 440 ordinarily in about fifty seconds, but it is said that on this day he made it in a trifle under twenty-nine and four-fifths, breaking all known records. Then we lined up around the bowl and told '99 to come on or we would--. Animated with the desperation of despair they threw themselves on us, and made things quite entertaining for a little while. Jab Brinton, fired with a desire to display his manly figure, had gone into the fight clad in as little as possible--and his desire was certainly gratified, for he came out of it in nothing at all-in which costume he wandered back to college. Several other members of the class were also noteworthy for their eagerness in appearing in airy robes of sunshine and mud and, taking it all around, we had enough exercise to limber us up a little before we choked the last Freshman and took the bowl back to College Hall to dust it a little before having it framed.