Off with their heads!
Where's that damn croquet mallet?
Blue Queen
Here's what we do in blue states...and a gremmie fight, besides. Oh to be a sophomore again. Go Bears, Beat Stanfurd
Sample Excerpt
Chapter 31
MEN OF TROY
The slaughter would soon begin, the chieftain thought.
His name was Tommy, claiming his proud lineage from the ancient Phrygian city of Troy, home of the Trojan warrior. Wearing a golden helmet topped with crimson plumage, a gold breastplate, and a white toga, the muscular, bearded warrior sat poised on his magnificent white stallion, Traveler, waiting for his battle-tested army to humble yet another hapless enemy.
Today, the foe would be the weak, fuzzy headed clan known as the Bear people.
A crowd of sixty thousand gathered to watch the spectacle in the large, oval stadium, located in a deep canyon of the eastern foothills, once filled with wild strawberries. Tommy anticipated the celebration of another Trojan triumph by galloping around the perimeter of the alien coliseum, brandishing his sword and shield at the roaring crowd.
An army of foot soldiers, dressed in blood colored tunics and golden helmets, trumpets blaring their victory song, "Tribute," signaled the arrival of the Men of Troy. On every side, winsome females twirled batons and waved golden standards. Twenty-thousand Trojan loyalists dressed in red and gold had journeyed from the Land of Eternal Sunshine to witness the carnage. As the Trojan phalanxes practiced maneuvers on the field of battle, the red and gold partisans thrust two fingers skyward in the sign of a V in rhythm to the music of their favorite song, "Tribute."
"Incredible," said Butch. "Those costumes are leftovers from an old Cecil B. De Mille movie!"
"Lots of kids from my high school go to SC," said Fart-ing."They think those outfits are classy."
"Lesson number one, frosh," interjected Ollie Punch, his wandering left eyeball spinning lazily, "is that flashy LA money has nothing to do with class. Cal and SC symbolize the cultural chasm between Northern and Southern California. To us, SC represents the worst of crass LA nouveau riche, the world of Hollywood and Disneyland. To Trojans, we're irrelevant, cultured snobs of the Golden Gate, in love with ourselves, clinging to dreams of the past."
Below, the SC band, in mass formation over the entire football field, played Elvis's "Money Honey."
Casey Lee chimed in. "The rivalry between Northern and Southern California spills over into college athletics. SC has great athletic teams, because they recruit dumb jocks, party animals who graduate without having to worry about grades. We field teams of intelligent, student athletes busting their academic asses along side campus eggheads. Frankly, I don't know how Mo and other Cal jocks compete in the classroom while spending so much time on the practice field."
"And not playing particularly well at that," Ollie Punch mumbled.
"Hey, fatso, cut the crap," said Butch. "Brilliant neo-Renaissance guys like me are the wave of the future. Have no fear, Butch is here!"
Casey Lee continued. "The Trojans beat us up on the playing field; but in our hearts, Cal fans know we are intellectually and morally superior."
"Our superior attitude drives Trojan fans nuts," said Ollie. "They come up here every other year, cheer their team to victory, blow a lot of dough celebrating in The City and get pissed off when we treat them as barbarians."
"But I thought Stanford is Cal's big rival," said Jonathan.
"It is, and it isn't," said Casey. "The Cal-Stanford rivalry is old but friendly and respectful. Stanford may be a snotty private school for rich kids, but both Cal and Stanford hate SC because Trojans are committed more to partying and sports than to education."
"Amen," said Ollie.
On the gridiron, the SC band now formed a large dollar sign as it played "I Found a Million Dollar Baby."
"But UCLA is in LA too," said Tubbins
"Yes," said Casey, "but UCLA is our public school cousin. A lot of their kids are like us, middle-class kids, trying to get a college degree."
"But why does UCLA have better football teams than Cal?"asked Fart-ing.
"It's as simple as black and white," said Casey. "UCLA recruits outstanding Negro student-athletes, like Jackie Robinson and Rafer Johnson. Cal hasn't done that in the past, but there may be changes soon."
The Trojan band scurried off the field as Cal rooters chanted, "Rubber Band! Rubber Band!"
The Dormies sat high up in the middle of the Cal all men's rooting section along the sunny side of Memorial Stadium. Twelve-thousand strong, the men's rooting section occupied the seats between the 40 yard line stripes, the bottom rows reserved for the 200 members of the all-male Cal Marching Band. Two all-female sections, a thousand each, flanked each side of the men's section.
"Freshmen, turn the blue side of your rooter's cap out," barked Royal French.
No student rooter, male or female, was admitted to the rooting sections without a white shirt, and more important, the omnipresent, reversible dark blue and gold baseball cap. The two-sided, blue and gold caps had an aesthetic, as well as practical function. The seats in the rooting section were painted dark blue with a gold block "C" around the perimeter. In the first half, student rooters sitting on the seats painted with the block C displayed the gold side of their caps, while rooters sitting on the blue seats exposed the blue side of the caps, the gold caps forming a C against a sea of the blue. In the second half, Cal rooters reversed their caps so that a blue block C was formed against a field of gold.
"Who are all the people on the hill," asked Jonathan, noticing hundreds sitting above Memorial Stadium.
"Tightwad Hill," said Ollie, "the best seats to watch a game."
Above the rim of Memorial Stadium, thrifty Cal football fans, especially young families, dotted the dense grove of eucalyptus trees, watching the game admission free. When a big name or traditional rival visited Memorial Stadium, the numbers on Tightwad Hill swelled. Today, several-hundred occupied the slope of Tightwad Hill to see the number one ranked, mighty University of Southern California Trojans.
Several rows below the Dormies sat the P U's, the two living groups observing a temporary truce during the football game. As Casey Lee explained, "While the P U's are chugging their pre-game beers, we get to the stadium early and stake out the high ground. Food fights break out when Cal gets too far behind, so we have the advantage of elevation when the garbage starts flying."
Royal French distributed paper cups of a frozen orange drink called Gremlins.
"Gosh, these Gremlins hit the spot," said Tubbins, slurping the melting juice.
"They're tastier when you add a little of this," said the Waz, pouring from a bottle hidden in a brown paper bag. The campus Meter Mel splashed a measure of clear liquid into the Gremlin cups of the freshmen around him. "A touch of vodka adds a little kick."
The freshmen gingerly sipped the concoction. "Gosh, never tried vodka before," said Tubbins, "doesn't seem to have much taste." He took a bigger sip.
"Don't worry about tasting vodka. You'll be feeling it!" The Waz gave a knowing wink to Casey Lee. "If SC really pounds our butts, you'll want more to make it to the end of the game."
"If we're losing badly, why would we stay?" asked Fart-ing.
"Being a loyal Cal rooter is NEVER leaving a game early, even in a blowout," said Ollie, slurping down another vodka Gremlin.
"It's part of another old Cal tradition," said Casey."Before a game, we bravely harbor false hopes that we can beat big name teams like SC, Michigan, and Notre Dame. But the truth is we rarely have a prayer."
The dorm President leaned forward, explaining,"What we're really doing is supporting the school, affirming our intellectual superiority by backing the team through all the endless losses. Look around the stadium. See all that blue and gold? That's part of the Cal tradition, too. It's called Showing the Colors. There are forty-thousand Old Blues, alums who turn out for football knowing full well Cal's going to lose. Being a loyal Cal fan means more than just winning games. It's celebrating a great campus, honoring its academic tradition, reaffirming a memorable student experience, renewing social ties with old friends. As strange as it sounds, winning the game is not the meat of this experience, it's the gravy."
"Gosh, but isn't winning better than losing?" said Tubbins.
"Of course," said Casey. "But long-suffering and overcoming adversity are a part of the Cal tradition. Of course, when we do win, Cal fans go absolutely bonkers. Losing so often, we savor victory more than any other University, except possibly . . . Northwestern or Rutgers."
With a drum roll and fanfare of trumpets, Tommy Trojan and Traveler began a lap around Memorial Stadium. Horse and rider circled a football stadium after each Trojan score, but a gratuitous pre-game insult was always justified when it came to the Cal Bears. Traveler pranced slowly past the cheering SC section, the red and yellow partisans still thrusting their fingers in a V for victory sign while the Trojan band continued to play endless repetitious choruses of Tribute.
"Get your Gremlins ready," Royal French ordered.
Choruses of boo's rained down on Tommy and Traveler as they trotted toward the Cal rooting section. Pausing, Tommy raised his sword haughtily at the Cal rooters. The boo's now deafening, the entire Cal rooting section rose to greet the hated symbols of Trojan athletic superiority.
"One, two, three, FIRE!" shouted Royal French.
One-hundred Dormies rained salvos of Gremlin cups, rotten fruit, and breakfast leftovers. The P U's launched several oranges with their slingshot Rubbers. Most of the debris fell harmlessly around the targets, but a few missiles hit their mark: a soft-boiled egg striking Tommy Trojan's sword, a full Gremlin cup scoring a direct hit on Tommy's breastplate, and a rotten banana splattering sticky goo on his golden shield.
Rising high on his hind legs, Traveler whinnied as Tommy Trojan flipped a defiant middle finger at the Cal rooting section. It was at that precise moment that a carefully aimed water balloon by Butch Tanenbloom struck Tommy squarely on the helmet, showering the horse's snow white coat with a patina of Cal blue dye.
Cheers, howls, applause erupted from the Cal rooting section, as Tommy and Traveler retreated to the safety of the Trojan side of the field amid chants of, "SC SUCKS! SC SUCKS! SC SUCKS!"
The P U's glanced up at the Dormies, nodding in begrudging approval.
A new chant emanated from somewhere near the all-male Cal Marching Band, gaining in intensity as the Cal rooting section discovered the provocation.
"Take off that RED shirt! Take off that RED shirt!"
An SC fan, dressed in a crimson hat and polo shirt and gold pants, had staggered in front of the Cal rooting section during the bombardment and was taunting Cal rooters with a SC pennant and swigging from a bottle in a brown bag, oblivious to the command of the Cal rooting section to "Take off that RED shirt."
"We don't allow any red in the rooting section," Royal shouted. "Red is a Stanford color."
Creeping up behind the drunk, Oski, the Cal bear mascot, ripped away the paper bag, inserted a straw into the bottle of booze, swiftly draining the contents through one of his eye holes. As the Trojan fan sought vainly to retrieve the bottle, Oski pushed him into the waiting arms of the Cal Band.
"ROLL HIM UP! ROLL HIM UP!" the rooting section shouted, rising to its feet.
"What's happening?" Jonathan shouted, standing on his seat
"This is great, Junior," Butch said. "They're passing that SC guy up the rooting section!"
Chants of "Roll him up! Roll him up!" accompanied a human form floating toward the Dormies, lifted upward by a sea of upraised hands. By the time the SC fan reached the P U's, the crimson cap was gone, remnants of red polo shirt clinging from his paunchy frame, his belt ripped from the gold pants, shoes missing. For a moment, the hapless Trojan fan disappeared among the P U's, who grabbing the victim by his wrists and ankles, heaved him high up into the air toward the Dormies.
"Oh, shit," yelled Butch. "Catch him!"
The flying body landed in a sea of outstretched arms, collapsing the Dormies into a pile, but saving the intruder from certain injury. Nearby, Jonathan caught a whiff of the drunk's putrid breath.
"Where's my booze?" the SC rooter shouted, flailing his hands wildly. "Give it back!"
Amid more choruses of "Roll him up," the partially clad SC fan was passed up hand-over-hand toward the top of the all male rooting section.
Below, at midfield, the trumpet section of the SC band began the national anthem. As the crimson and gold clad rooters sang,
"Oh, say can you see . . . ," the Cal rooting section hummed "America, The Beautiful."
When the SC fans sang the words, ". . .and the rockets'. . . ," the next word, "red"was drowned out by the Cal rooters shouting "BLUE!"
The Cal rooters finished humming America, The Beautiful, by adding a Cal phonetic twist to the last five words, singing, "FROM C TO SHINING C!"
Moments later, as the SC fans reached the last line of the Star Spangled Banner, . . . and the home of the . . .," the last word, "brave," could not be heard, as both the Cal men's and women's rooting sections yelled a deafening "BEARS!"
At the top of the rooting section, the SC fan disappeared over the rim of Memorial Stadium, landing gently like a rag doll amid jeering families clustered on the dusty slope of Tightwad Hill. Nearby, the Cal cannon mounted on a tall wooden platform discharged a white cloud of smoke, rousting the SC fan from his sotted stupor, signaling the arrival of the Bear and Trojan football teams.
Now the game could begin!
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