The 2007 Swine Bowl (LIV) will be remembered as the game that marked the passing of Peter Greeman, who stood for so many years not only as our collective elder brother and guardian spirit, but as our model of decency, good humor, thoughtfulness, and all those other qualities he would not wish us to embarrass him (were he still alive) by listing in detail. It would be a gross understatement to say that we will miss him. No one embodied the essence of Swine Bowl more completely than Peter Greeman. For over fifty years he was the heart and soul of the game, and only because he stamped it so indelibly with his spirit can we even think of continuing to play it without him.

Of course this year's game, though tinged with melancholy, managed like its 53 predecessors to sustain a proper level of buffoonery. This should not be a surprise to anyone familiar with Swine Bowl. It is, however, fair to say that the melancholy note was not only tangible, but something none of us quite knew how to deal with. There was confusion, and even a bit of wrangling, over how to best honor Peter, and a few moments of panic when a rumor of a possible NBC TV crew appearance at the game spread like wildfire through the ranks of the Swine, alarming the Greeman family considerably. As it turned out, everything was fine, the media circus found other amusements to dally with, and the game went on as usual, all questions of ceremony being resolved in the usual bumbling, indecisive, grouchy-but-more-or-less-amicable style that has been the hallmark of Swine gatherings for over half a century.

This was also the year the New York Times saw fit to acknowledge the nation's longest-running annual sporting event featuring unbroken continuity of personnel (as the Guinness Book would probably describe it, if they were interested in anything so esoteric.) The acknowledgment is not unconnected with Peter's passing. A few months ago your correspondent, moved by intimations of mortality, decided it was time the game was finally commemorated to posterity by the nation's chief publication of record. Under the guidance of our in-house journalist M. Lance Parrot, he brought the event to the attention of Times columnist Clyde Haberman, who produced a column about it in the paper. The deftly written piece (especially deft for having been written before the game) was well-received, even by some of the more curmudgeonly Swine, who have established a somewhat (in this writer's view) puzzling tradition of disparaging the perfectly charming New Yorker article of nineteen years ago. The curmudgeons have apparently mellowed. In any case, it was unanimously agreed that Mr. Haberman's column succeeded brilliantly in capturing the perverse but effervescent spirit of the game. It should be noted that the columnist himself sociably appeared the next day at the field (a convenient block-and-a-half from his house), presumably for fun or out of curiosity, but possibly also to verify that the event he had described so graphically in the paper was actually real.

This year's Friday night gathering was noteworthy for a) restoration of the ancient ritual of dining at the Hunan Balcony followed by combined pedestrian / vehicular migration to the Hungarian Pastry Shop; b) a relatively massive attendance, owing mostly to ample representation by the Greeman, Hill, and Breslaw/Tharinger clans. Large quantities of food, drink, and other substances were consumed with gusto, and the general rowdiness and amiability against an unspoken background of sadness put more than one attendee in mind of an Irish wake. Peter would certainly have enjoyed it. (The purpose of a wake, plainly, is to honor the deceased by having a party he or she would have wanted to be at.)

The game itself was more or less as usual, yet with some differences. The first thing unusual was that just about everyone showed up on time. This, safe to say, has never happened. It's probably because whatever ceremony there was going to be in Peter's honor, no one wanted to miss it. We all approached the field with some measure of apprehension; right away, however, the absence of TV sound trucks seemed to exert a calming influence on the Swine, making way for the observance of a number of time-honored rituals. First among these was the annual battle with the Park Patrol, one of whose ranks appeared within nanoseconds of the tying around a tree of the Swine Banner (they must have electronic devices rigged up to detect us). Just in time, too, because it was obvious the tree was about to topple over asphyxiated by the rope's pressure. The two blondes from the Hunan Balcony held the banner while the team picture was taken by a confusing and constantly changing sequence of photographers (picture taking seems to take longer each year). After that, we witnessed the classic mano a mano battle to the death to determine kickoff between Captains Boom and Hertz. It seems that there is some confusion as to whether the Hertz family is now represented in this combat by Uncle Meatball, as in days of yore, or by Jenny, who has taken over for him in recent years with undiminished success; that question was settled, in true Hertzian fashion, by having both Greemans battle Boom at the same time. In any event, the Hertzian faction recorded its 53d consecutive victory as Boom was once again driven to the turf, slaughtered, and eviscerated. A ghastly sight, but one the Swine have grown accustomed to.

Next (it may have actually come before, but your correspondent's memory is poor and he can't recall which), was the ceremony to honor Peter. After a half hour or so of fumbling and milling around, we managed to gather ourselves into a vaguely circle-like formation for a moment of silence. This, as planned, shortly gave way to a moment of noise, intended to represent both the joie de vivre and the contrarian spirit of Swine Bowl. (We are actually indebted for this suggestion to Mr. Haberman of the Times°©many thanks, Clyde.) The noise consisted of a kind of shriek, or wail, that seemed to mingle the sound of a pep rally with the keening of widows in a Greek tragedy. It was on the whole an ebullient sound, yet, if this correspondent is not mistaken, not without a touch of hysteria. Or perhaps of defiance, flung against the assaults of Time.

Finally, the game itself. Present on the field, according to current reckoning (sorry if anyone left out; additions and corrections welcome): Tammy G., Uncle Meatball, Jenny G., Julie G., David G., Tim G, Jonathan G., Danny G., Tony Hill, Sheila, Simon, Elliot, Polly, Nicky Landess, Josh Landess, Cousin Charles, Cousin Peter Hill, daughters Melia and Dani, stepsister Laura Katz, Larry the Mayor of Leonia, Boom, Mitchel C., Andrew C., Mark T., Anya T., Dustin T., Michael Waltuch, Yours Truly, Jude Tharinger, Cassie Tharinger, Allie Breslaw, Sam Breslaw, Emma Zumberge, Jody Breslaw, Sheila Breslaw, Aaron Breslaw, Yumi, Holly and Bill (friends of Jenny G.), two young women from the Hungarian Pastry Shop Friday night, and other assorted persons as yet unidentified. Oh yes, and Clyde Haberman, who however chose not to play, thus disappointing those who recall the visit of Brendan Dealy of the New Yorker, who not only put away his notepad and joined the game but managed at one point to snare a touchdown pass. Of course Brendan was somewhat younger than Clyde is now, but on the other hand, Clyde is junior to more than a few of the Swine. Maybe next year, if he stays in training.)

For game highlights, your correspondent will have to depend mostly on the reports of his stringers, as the distractions of the day, along with his abysmal memory, have reduced the game to a blur in his mind. First of all, it should be noted that this year marked the playing debut of Julie Greeman, who after a lifetime of faithful attendance on the sidelines has only just come to the realization that the most interesting, sociable, and indeed safest place to be during a Swine Bowl game is in the middle of the field. (Some of us have known this for decades.) Julie reports that she spent her playing time running around aimlessly, yelling, and trying to stay out of the way of the ball, all of which is normal and even exemplary behavior for participants. Another notable Swine debut was that of Aaron's girlfriend Yumi, who got too cold to sit on the sidelines and was hustled onto the field to chants of "Yu-mi, Yu-mi". Her total ignorance of the game of football allowed her to blend in superbly with the rest of the players, at least till Sheila arrived to take her off for hot cocoa.

Other highlights: Charlie Chicken, a.k.a. Mark Taylor, took his customary sequence of snaps, getting at least one pass off (intercepted, if memory serves), and by his own report spent the rest of the game on the sidelines drinking calvados from the hallowed Peter Greeman flask. (However David G. reports the discovery of three such flasks among the equipment). The brilliant Dustin Taylor, filling in for his dad, scored two touchdowns, one of them, according to Dan G., by running behind the food, clothing, and onlookers to emerge triumphant in the end zone. Michael Waltuch, the "arriviste" of Clyde's column, played his customary brilliant game at quarterback, at one point completing seven passes in a row, most of them to his own team. Jody's punts this year achieved altitudes of 136, 129, and 151 feet, for an average of 138.7 feet, only slightly below his lifetime average of 143.2, a mark that will surely endure any future challenge. Boom won most improved player award for the 37th year in a row, narrowly beating out Jon Greeman, who many felt deserved the award, but was apparently robbed by the judges, whom Boom had paid off, and who speciously maintained that Jon had played so spectacularly last year that his performance could not have been improved on. Jon also wore the hallowed "79" football jersey, the emblem of Swine ascendancy worn for a half century by his grandfather Peter, which appears to be still in pretty good condition. Cousin Emma Zumberge showed promise snagging a first quarter pass, but then rookie jitters apparently took over, causing her to muff the next six. She will have work to do in the off-season. Larry the Mayor proved remarkably effective in short yardage situations due to sure hands and the visibility of his black pea jacket. Nicky Landess and David Greeman threw countless touchdown passes to a large horde of Larchmont receivers (in Swine Bowl, if it's touchdowns you're looking for, it's crucial to have a slightly larger number of players who can catch the ball than the other team has) and both intercepted a few. However Sam Breslaw of New Rochelle continued his assault on the all-time career interception record, furnishing his team with its main offensive weapon. At one point Tim Greeman was sacked by someone rushing in from the sidelines, but took it amicably. Allie Breslaw again reigned supreme in the category of spectacular dives for uncatchable passes, although the lack of any mud on the field made his achievements seem perhaps a trifle less heroic than in other, damper years. Dan Greeman this year stepped into the job of Director of Zany Plays for the Larchmont team, and performed with inspiration. Both teams employed the moving phalanx play (child-with-ball-surrounded-by-impenetrable-wall-of-forward-moving-adults) to good effect, although oddly, one does not recall any instances this time of either ball-hidden-under-sweatshirt play or second-football-furtively-introduced-from-sidelines play, both normally staples of the game. Jude and Cassie Tharinger turned in their usual hard-charging but jovial game as mother-daughter linebacker team. The level of creative cheating was a bit down this year (only 273 yards and 36 downs gained by cheating, as opposed to 292 and 41 last year). However, several touchdowns were scored while the defense stood around asking what down it was, which doesn't really fall under the category of cheating (at least by Swine rules) but rather the slightly less prestigious one of chaotic bumbling.

Play of the Game award was split between a number of candidates:

**Nicky Landess, under pressure of a pass rush, cunningly laterals behind him to Boom, who turns out to be on the other team and takes off for the end zone.

**A play orchestrated by Dan Greeman in which the Larchmont team, on defense, is supposed to lie on the ground, or writhe around like worms, or something. It's not clear if this is actually executed as designed, or even happens at all, being perhaps some sort of clever Greeman-induced hallucination.

**An attempt by Simon and Elliot Hill (ultimately unsuccessful but brilliant enough in concept to qualify for the award nonetheless) to snare one of Nicky's hi-flung passes into the end zone by mounting one brother on the shoulders of another. Had this worked, of course, the play would have gone into the annals of all-time Swine greatness, along with father Tony's sensational return of a punt by punting the ball back on the fly over the startled heads of the onrushing team (see video clip on YouTube).

Toward the end of the game there seemed a slight tendency for things to degenerate into (horrors) a normal Saturday-afternoon game of touch football, especially when Clyde Haberman appeared and a number of senior swine who had been sources for his column drifted to the sidelines to chat with him. In the meantime some of the women had already departed for warmer surroundings. This removed some of the creative botchery from the game, leaving it in the hands of second generation players still actually able to run up and down the field and to throw and catch long passes. Cassie Tharinger, finding this trend disturbing, came to the sidelines to protest; but by that time, though the sun was still high, weariness had begun to take over, and the New Rochelle team, somewhat behind, was obliged to rally quickly to achieve the requisite tie. With that the game disbanded, the players slowly packing up and wending their way over to Boom and Kay's for the celebratory (and in this case funereal) repast. (Cassie need not worry, however: her concerns have been conveyed to the Rules Committee, and steps are being taken to assure that the game's standards of buffoonery will be upheld more rigorously in the future.)

Boom and Kay's got off to a slightly rocky start when everyone arrived about an hour before all the food and drink. The screwup, one finally realized, was that people had actually come to the game on time, causing it to end an hour or so early. (Next year we'll return to our more reliable habit of straggling in casually.) The party quickly settled down under a genial, slightly alcoholic (or cannabic as the case may be) haze. One could not help but notice the mingling of generations in the room, a rare social phenomenon in these times. There were many wistful thoughts of Peter during the afternoon, but plans for a circle of remembrance were shelved due to the unwieldy size of the gathering; a few family and friends convened in corners to reminisce. More than once we reflected on how fortunate we all were to know this wonderful man, Peter Greeman, Pierre, PeeGree, stout warrior, kind friend, husband, father, grandfather, big brother to us all. May his memory live on.

Notable absences this year: Ed Greenblat (absurdly pleading family and work commitments), Nicky Taylor (busy coaching his daughter and former Swine Co-MVP Courtney's soccer team--his presence might have evened things out a bit for the slightly underrepresented New Rochellians), and Sir Robert Grobe, a rare no-show, whose squire rode many miles through perilous country to deliver the following apology and pledge:

Swine!!! I stand before all of you, stripped naked, bereft of all marks of honor and authority, to receive unflinchingly your shafts, your thunder bolts, your gourds of offal, to confess my culpability in failing to comply with this, the most sacred of obligations - attendance with my comrades at the Swine Day ceremonies. Come, disgrace this ancient grey head, who has lost those few fragments of sense which once he had, so decrepit that he cannot remember the oaths he swore at Lincoln Field these many years ago. But I make this oath to you: At peril of pein et dure, I will with all my men well horsed ride cap a pie to join the tournament next year, or else to wear the cap of Godzilla for all of the day in tht town square. So spoken, this is my oath, Robert the Strong, Earl of Grobe, Marshal of the Swine Horse, Earl of Zippo.

Of course the good Sir Robert has forgotten not only his oaths but the fact that they were sworn that day upon the fair fields of Roosevelt, not those despised ones of Lincoln. Nonetheless, we expect him to ride forth to our demesne in a year's turning. Ed, Nicky T--you too. No excuses this time. Tell the soccer lords they can't schedule games on Swine Day. They'll understand. (We can't spare Courtney another year.)

That's about it for S.B. LIV. Thanks to the many Swine who contributed to this report, which will appear soon, along with photos, press clippings, etc., on the Swine Web Site, www.swinebowl.org. Any additions, corrections, comments, protests, rebuttals, or denunciations should be conveyed immediately to the undersigned (feel free to use the "reply all" button).

To conclude, a few business matters:

DIGITAL PHOTOS: Please send any you have to Julie for web site: jgreeman@snet.net. Seriously, folks, do this: it may seem like a pain, but you'll be glad in future years that you did.

WEBSITE FUNDING: Time once again to take up a collection so we can reimburse Julie for outlays. Consider this a bill! Stick a $10 bill (or a check) in an envelope and send it to Julie Greeman, 143 Meeting House Hill Road, Durham, CT 06422. Please guys--don't make Uncle Meatball have to come to your house and set it on fire. We haven't hit anyone up for a number of years, and if we all chip in now we won't have to again for a while. Additional donations welcome (any surplus means we can put off raising money that much longer), but everybody needs to kick in at least ten bucks. Many thanks for diligence and promptness: we know we can count on you.

MEMORIAL PAGE: Julie has offered to pull together a memorial page for Peter on the web site. Some of us have already posted remembrances on a site you could at one point access through the Times. That doesn't seem to be working anymore, or at least I can't find it. If we ever do (does anyone know how?) we can transfer entries over to our own site.

TIP FOR NEXT YEAR: It seems Boom and Kay, our gracious annual post-game hosts, could have used a bit more help preparing for the festivities. Let's remember to consult with them prior to next year's game to see if we can chip in with food, help, errands, cleanup, etc. It would be the minutest token of our appreciation.

Finally, to all Swine, thanks again for your wonderful spirit. You are an amazing family. Peter would have been proud of you.

Filed this 17th day of December, 2007 by

Your correspondent, D. Dogge.

(This is the longest Swine Report ever. I wonder what that means?)