Rowing

The Navy was favored to repeat its victory of last year, but oarsmen from Washington (average height 6 ft. 3 in.) are not to be denied too long.

At the three mile bridge at Poughkeepsie, 40,000 people observed that the Huskies were a scant length ahead; at three and three-quarter miles, Navy whistles screamed that the shells were even; then the oars of "Rusty" Callow's men pushed back the Hudson river sufficiently to heave one-quarter length of the Washington shell across the finish line first. After the Navy came Syracuse, Penn, Columbia, California, Wisconsin, Cornell, in glittering procession.

The annual Harvard-Yale crew race at New London is generally spoken of as a "classic," a word which journalists apply to any event which re-occurs for three or more years without noticeable alteration.

Once more the river blossomed with gay little boats and with sleek grey or white yachts from whose decks, between races, came sounds of mirth mingled with the tinkling of ice; once more gentlemen slept three in a bed at the Griswold Hotel; once more ladies waved little blue or crimson flags and asked, "Who won?" They should have known that if this race is to remain a classic, the classic result must not be changed. Yale won.*

For 150 yards, it is true, the result was in doubt. The Harvard eight, rowing gallantly, furiously, sprinted away at the start; then Yale put up the beat and in a moment open water appeared between the shells; at the end of the race this open space was as long as two and a half shells. Both the Yale and Harvard crews broke the upstream record for the course.

* As it did in 1921, 1922, 1923, 1924, 1925.