So tomorrow is Stanford’s Big Game against Cal
State. Longtime readers of my blog and those who know me can be assured that I will not attend the game. Nevermind that we’ve all been nagged to the point of thinking that Big Game = LIFE – and that’s not the cereal I’m talking about. I know this may sound absolutely insane to most every Stanford student reading this right now, but I’m just not interested in football. Yeah, yeah, it’s not just about football, it’s about school spirit, comraderie, etc. etc.
I don’t care. Sorry.
At the top of every hour, someone in White Plaza (at the center of campus) blows a monstrous horn that sounds like a train whistle. Well, I think it’s monstrous – I wouldn’t dare get close to it to find out, because it’s so loud. My dorm room is a five minute bikeride away, and it’s starting to sound like home again. (I lived within earshot of the traintracks in Loveland.)
My freshman year in high school, my father and a good neighbor of ours dragged me out to the St. X – Moeller game. As football is king in Cincinnati, it and the Elder game were both pretty much equivalent in importance to Big Game, except that we didn’t need a ginormous train whistle: an annoyingly slow train went across North Bend Rd. down the hill from our school.
Anyways, I found myself bored stiff by the end of the first half. Only the marching band could keep me awake. We left before the game ended, once it was evident enough that St. X would win. Yep, that was my first and only football game. And I intend to keep it that way, despite the ridiculous antics that Axe-Comm organized all week.
Much like St. X’s stunningly creative cheers, such as “Beat Moe!”, Stanford also has a cheer that arouses feelings of motivation and comraderie in the hearts of students campuswide: “Beat Cal.” Oh boy. What’s next: “Win”?
One final note: if you thought St. X was arrogant, you’d be horrified by some of the stuff Stanford students say about Cal students.
I”d better not say too much more; my roommate is a big fan of these things. So there ya go: my general and ever-so-slightly bitter apathy towards school sports megaevents.
Andy, my roommate, corrected me on the school’s name. All I know is that we weren’t playing a Stanford team.