Jordan-Hare Stadium fits close to 90,000 people in it, and I know they can’t all be football fans.
Four years at an SEC school has taught me to appreciate the atmosphere and the nuances of the game, not the coaches and players. I’m in the stands, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s not that the game doesn’t deserve my interest; it’s that I cannot and do not understand it.
I’ve reconciled myself to this character flaw by creating a different set of rules for football. In my mind, a game’s interest level can be gauged by judging two things: 1. The team colors. 2. The cuteness or ferocity of a team’s mascot. It may sound like the reasoning of a toddler, but it’s reasoning that looks favorably on Auburn.
1. Navy blue is undeniably collegiate.
It conjures up images of football powerhouses like Notre Dame and Auburn, but it also graces the uniforms of iconic schools like Yale and the Naval Academy. The latter teams may not have national championship-winning stats, but that doesn’t pertain to this form of evaluation anyway.
If J. Crew happens to use a school’s color scheme as a staple in its collection of men’s ties and women’s grosgrain ribbon belts, rest assured it’s a winning team.
Judging teams by this metric makes LSU, Clemson and the University of Wyoming the three worst football teams in the country.
2. A mascot should be either adorable or ferocious, and preferably both.
A tiger can eat a human being, but also makes for a pretty cute stuffed animal, so Auburn passes the test.
The Stanford Tree, Stanford’s unofficial mascot, fails miserably. A tree can’t charge at an opponent. A tree can’t move, and unless it’s a topiary or Grandmother Willow from “Pocahontas,” a tree certainly isn’t cute. Stanford is an exception, though, because the majority of mascots do fall into one or both of the categories.
A turkey may not be intimidating, but at least Virginia Tech has made its mascot endearing.
Alabama is in its own category. It has a team animal that’s both cute and scary, yet its mascot out on the football field looks like it swallowed a hula-hoop, and its trunk is flaccid and silly. No amount of national championships can hide something that hapless.
Do you like this story? The Plainsman doesn't accept money from tuition or student fees, and we don't charge a subscription fee. But you can donate to support The Plainsman.
