you can only bleed....cardinal
Pondering the significance of a silly mascot
By Dan McCarthy
Columnist
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Let’s be honest with ourselves - our mascot is lame. Having abandoned our nickname of “Indians” in 1972, after careful consideration of the submissions from students (“Robber Barons,” “Griffins” and “Sequoias” were all suggested), the University settled on a color.
This accomplished a twofold purpose. First, it satisfied the requirement of being politically correct from every possible angle (we don’t want to offend the SPCA or any historical or ethnic group). It also forced (allowed?) its students to forever correct those who add an “s” to the end of “Cardinal.” Then, the administration decided to symbolically tie itself to the city of Palo Alto by adopting the Tree as its unofficial bandleader. The Tree itself is not even our mascot - it’s just another slightly more well-dressed and physically-attractive member of the Band. And so, at our sporting events, we’re led to cheer for a hue of red by a drunken (not that that’s bad) California pine.
The Tree, like the Band, is a great symbol of the University. It’s one of the most beloved collegiate icons in the country. It’s quirky and weird, and, as we love to inform prospective freshmen, we are nothing if not quirky. But at some point, you need to stop dancing around like a meth addict with withdrawal spasms and intimidate someone.
Sports are about power. They’re a barely-controlled stand-in for physical violence that often explodes into just that - physical violence. And when a 300-pound offensive lineman is illegally jamming his fingers up someone else’s facemask, you don’t want him channeling rage from an inanimate object or, worse, a color.
We could use a lesson from the best mascots, which fulfill two criteria: instilling fear and being regionally appropriate. The vanguard for this group is Notre Dame. Their Fighting Irish mascot could only be more fitting if he staggered around with a jug of moonshine, outlawing birth control and challenging larger ethnic stereotypes to fight him. Plus, nothing strikes terror into the hearts of men more than a drunken potato farmer in a bow tie.
I want a mascot that is capable of beating up the other team’s mascot if it so desires. I want an animal that will rip someone’s fingers off and spit them back at me in a mixture of blood and saliva. I want a slightly less homoerotic soldier than Tommy Trojan. I want a wolverine, or at the very least, a rabid, sabertoothed black squirrel.
Still, it could be worse - much worse. At least we’re not one of the hundreds of unoriginal schools that call themselves Wildcats, or Tigers or, lamest of all, Bears. Then, at the other extreme, is the school that wants to be unique and comes off just being an object of ridicule. The Vanderbilt Commodores, for instance, inspire images of a naval officer dressed in leggings and a Napoleon-style hat signing with Motown Records and singing “Brick House.” Nobody respects a Commodore, as indicated by Vandy’s DiMaggio-like streak of last-place football finishes in the SEC.
Look, we’re an academic and athletic powerhouse. Everyone knows we’re good at everything. So why resort to the type of Ivy-coated pretentiousness that lesser East Coast schools are built on? Not to name names, but this situation isn’t dismissing the continued accusations that we have an inferiority complex toward a certain school whose athletic teams go by “Crimson.” It’s almost as if we took a page from their leather-bound, gold-inlaid playbook, which is certainly inscribed with the phrase “We are better than you.”
I don’t know what to do about this situation. I wouldn’t advocate a change, because now we have a strong tradition based on “Cardinal,” and I feel like tradition is what makes or breaks a college sports program. I’m just saying that maybe the Stanford students of the early ’0s could have made a better decision.
All this bothered me up until Saturday morning, when Nick Robinson drained a 35-footer and convinced me that all was well with the world. The Tree was in the center of the mass of black and red shirts that exploded onto the floor, and it wouldn’t have been the same any other way. And you know that when you can put Tiger Woods, his incredibly hot fiancee and Bill Walsh in the same room in support of a color, that color is pretty damn powerful.
So, while it may be that we don’t have an intimidating mascot, we must be doing something right. You can always parade around a caged animal, and you can always scream in chorus at the sword thrusts of a warrior. But you can only bleed Cardinal.
Dan McCarthy is probably in his room right now watching video clips of Saturday’s game on ESPN.com instead of going to class. E-mail him at danmcc23@stanford.edu.
hell yeah, i LOVE this article.
we are the best. i heart stanford and worship cardinal.
By Dan McCarthy
Columnist
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Let’s be honest with ourselves - our mascot is lame. Having abandoned our nickname of “Indians” in 1972, after careful consideration of the submissions from students (“Robber Barons,” “Griffins” and “Sequoias” were all suggested), the University settled on a color.
This accomplished a twofold purpose. First, it satisfied the requirement of being politically correct from every possible angle (we don’t want to offend the SPCA or any historical or ethnic group). It also forced (allowed?) its students to forever correct those who add an “s” to the end of “Cardinal.” Then, the administration decided to symbolically tie itself to the city of Palo Alto by adopting the Tree as its unofficial bandleader. The Tree itself is not even our mascot - it’s just another slightly more well-dressed and physically-attractive member of the Band. And so, at our sporting events, we’re led to cheer for a hue of red by a drunken (not that that’s bad) California pine.
The Tree, like the Band, is a great symbol of the University. It’s one of the most beloved collegiate icons in the country. It’s quirky and weird, and, as we love to inform prospective freshmen, we are nothing if not quirky. But at some point, you need to stop dancing around like a meth addict with withdrawal spasms and intimidate someone.
Sports are about power. They’re a barely-controlled stand-in for physical violence that often explodes into just that - physical violence. And when a 300-pound offensive lineman is illegally jamming his fingers up someone else’s facemask, you don’t want him channeling rage from an inanimate object or, worse, a color.
We could use a lesson from the best mascots, which fulfill two criteria: instilling fear and being regionally appropriate. The vanguard for this group is Notre Dame. Their Fighting Irish mascot could only be more fitting if he staggered around with a jug of moonshine, outlawing birth control and challenging larger ethnic stereotypes to fight him. Plus, nothing strikes terror into the hearts of men more than a drunken potato farmer in a bow tie.
I want a mascot that is capable of beating up the other team’s mascot if it so desires. I want an animal that will rip someone’s fingers off and spit them back at me in a mixture of blood and saliva. I want a slightly less homoerotic soldier than Tommy Trojan. I want a wolverine, or at the very least, a rabid, sabertoothed black squirrel.
Still, it could be worse - much worse. At least we’re not one of the hundreds of unoriginal schools that call themselves Wildcats, or Tigers or, lamest of all, Bears. Then, at the other extreme, is the school that wants to be unique and comes off just being an object of ridicule. The Vanderbilt Commodores, for instance, inspire images of a naval officer dressed in leggings and a Napoleon-style hat signing with Motown Records and singing “Brick House.” Nobody respects a Commodore, as indicated by Vandy’s DiMaggio-like streak of last-place football finishes in the SEC.
Look, we’re an academic and athletic powerhouse. Everyone knows we’re good at everything. So why resort to the type of Ivy-coated pretentiousness that lesser East Coast schools are built on? Not to name names, but this situation isn’t dismissing the continued accusations that we have an inferiority complex toward a certain school whose athletic teams go by “Crimson.” It’s almost as if we took a page from their leather-bound, gold-inlaid playbook, which is certainly inscribed with the phrase “We are better than you.”
I don’t know what to do about this situation. I wouldn’t advocate a change, because now we have a strong tradition based on “Cardinal,” and I feel like tradition is what makes or breaks a college sports program. I’m just saying that maybe the Stanford students of the early ’0s could have made a better decision.
All this bothered me up until Saturday morning, when Nick Robinson drained a 35-footer and convinced me that all was well with the world. The Tree was in the center of the mass of black and red shirts that exploded onto the floor, and it wouldn’t have been the same any other way. And you know that when you can put Tiger Woods, his incredibly hot fiancee and Bill Walsh in the same room in support of a color, that color is pretty damn powerful.
So, while it may be that we don’t have an intimidating mascot, we must be doing something right. You can always parade around a caged animal, and you can always scream in chorus at the sword thrusts of a warrior. But you can only bleed Cardinal.
Dan McCarthy is probably in his room right now watching video clips of Saturday’s game on ESPN.com instead of going to class. E-mail him at danmcc23@stanford.edu.
hell yeah, i LOVE this article.
we are the best. i heart stanford and worship cardinal.