Saturday night football with Madame President

"Get him! Get hiiiiiiiiiim!"

The game was out of reach with only about 50 seconds left in the game, but President Tilghman still wanted that sack.

So I went to the football game with the Prez on Saturday night. Despite acting cool up until I headed to the stadium, once I got there I admit I was getting a little nervous. By the time she missed the band's world-famous "Double-rotating P" my hands were starting to freeze, and I had spent far too much time contemplating my fumbling first words. (We had spoken on the phone once before for an article on some genetics prize for a professor, but I was sure she wouldn't remember me, and I didn't really want to bring it up.)

Once the introduction got out the way (and after she blew me off to talk to some guy named Harold and his wife Vivian), we got to talking football.

First and foremost, she wanted to know when linemen started getting fat. No one on Lafayette's offensive line was smaller than 275 pounds. The man sitting on the other side of her decided on the '80s, and I agreed.

With pictures of Leon Lett's jiggling belly still dancing in my head, Tilghman jumped out of her seat and grabbed my shoulder as Greg Fields scored on a 16-yard end-around play.

That theme followed for all of Princeton's TDs. She jumped up, yelled "Whew!" and grabbed my shoulder as I weakly feigned impartiality with a pro-Princeton grin on my face.

She wasn't just a fan who knew nothing about the game except for when a touchdown is scored.

On a key Lafayette third-and-short, she hushed the other nine people in the President's box in the stands and said,"We have to pay attention now." After Lafayette botched an extra point a few minutes later, she knowingly said, "That could be the game." With about seven minutes to go, she warned, "We can't rest on our laurels."

Tilghman has been going to football games for years, thanks to her dad. He had held season tickets for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers while she was a child, and she couldn't get out of going to the games even in weather far below zero. I'm impressed.

As far as Princeton games go, she had taken her kids to Palmer Stadium as afternoon distractions.

Tilghman is fond of Princeton Stadium, too. In fact, she called the view out of its northeast corner the best view of fall on the campus. I am only slightly embarrassed to admit that I have preferred that view to many a losing effort on the field over the last three-plus years.

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Tilghman also attended the women's lacrosse national championship game there. The Princeton loss in that game was "terrible."

This story was interrupted by a crazed alumnus (not in the box) who shouted out the "oldest cheer in college football." Soon after, Clint Wu tore his ACL, to which Tilghman immediately responded, "Oh my God." She definitely had a motherly affection toward the players.

Of all the advice that she had received from President Shapiro during her transition to power (which she maintains has all been excellent), she has most stubbornly heeded one admonition: "Don't go in the football locker room." Tilghman came to an understanding that, in the locker room, Princeton men don't act quite the way Princeton men normally act. I've been in there many a time, and I'll back up Harold.

President Shapiro was one of the younger men surrounding us during the game. Other than the man and his wife who knew about fat linemen, there seemed to be no one there who had graduated after the Korean War.

I escorted Tilghman up the stadium steps to Class of 1956 Lounge for halftime, which had tea, coffee, soda, juice, lots of white hair, and, most importantly, warmth. I thought maybe there would be some drinks up there for the dignitaries, but they held fast to the Ivy League rule against alcohol at games.

Once the second half had begun, we headed back to the box via elevator with a couple of alumni who could have accounted their days with the original Woody Woo if prompted.

For the second time this year, I was escorting a group of venerable old folks down steps just waiting for the crash of a broken hip or anything else that could be blamed on my poor leadership. (I took Jim Lehrer and some of his producers through the New York subway system to avoid protesters on 7th Ave. during the Republican National Convention.)

We made it to the box for the rest of the second half without any catastrophes, and I said a prayer of thanks.

Tilghman was just as concerned about injuries as I was (especially for the Lafayette player who was taken out in an ambulance), but that didn't keep her from shouting for Princeton players to crush the opposition.

The injuries did influence her cheering a little, though. When quarterback Matt Verbit was scrambling for a first down late in the game, her whole box was shouting, "Go! Go! Go!" she unabashedly screamed, "Don't get hurt!"