Attack of the killer nuts?
I was watching the Ohio State Buckeyes game the other night (If you live in Columbus, Ohio, watching at least part of every important Buckeyes game is mandatory or you'll look silly at work the next day.), and was struck by how truly absurd the mascot for the university is. Look at so many of the other mascots in college football - Longhorns, Wildcats, Wolverines, Trojans, Hawks. These are all things that are deadly and menacing. However, the mascot for OSU is a non-edible nut. Granted, if you eat them raw, you will get a stomachache. However, a minor upset stomach doesn't seem to be in the same league as being mauled by a wild animal.
That's just my minor observation for the day. I look forward to when the Buckeyes face off against the deadly Georgia Pecans or the vicious California Almonds.
posted by Tim Mast at 9:15 AM
1 Comments:
I think you are missing the true genius of the buckeye as a mascot. I think we can agree that the purpose of a mascot is to build team spirit and intimidate the opponent. We must discount the person dressed in the foam mascot suit -- anyone who is intimidated by these guys is not a team to be worried about in the first place. So how does the mascot actually function?
Consider a team whose mascot is a wolverine. If I am the visiting team, I can clearly see that my opponents are people and not wolverines, so no problem there. Now, it is possible that the home team has a couple of wolverines hidden under their jersies or under my bench, ready to spring out and deliver a nasty bite to my forearm, possibly exposing me to rabies or some obscure as-yet-unknown diesase (Mad Wolverine Disease?) But there are 30 to 50 guys on a football squad, plus coaching staff. I think we can deal with a few animals the size of housecats. Longhorns are big but slow and easily dodged, not to mention difficult to conceal under a football jersey. And Hawks? The most intimidating animal your school could think of was a bird? I'd tell the scholar-athletes to keep working on that one.
And don't get me started on Trojans.
Now consider the buckeye. Small enough to be easily concealed, incredibly hard, light enough to be hurled at significant speed. And these things literally grow on trees in Columbus, so every fan in the stadium could be packing a knapsack full of them. One of these and a slingshot could put out your eye. And what would be the terminal velocity of a buckeye thrown from the top deck? Fifty miles an hour? So you're telling me that, at any moment, from any direction, I could be pelted by dozens of rock-hard missles, at any time before, during, or after the game? I'm nervously looking all around, jumping at the slightest sound, afraid for my life. I as likely to dive under the bench as I am to make a diving catch. In fact, the sensible move is probably to beat a hastly retreat to the team bus and get the heck out of this crazy, nut-throwing, maniac-filled town.
Food for thought. But not for eating.
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