Wally's World: Harvard Shall Be Cantabs No More

Two weeks before Winter Break, I covered the Harvard Men’s Basketball Team as they traveled into the depths of anonymity—New Britain, Connecticut—for a formidable non-conference tilt against the Central Connecticut State Blue Devils.

Never heard of the school? Neither had I. Never heard of New Britain? Join the club.

To enlighten those unfamiliar with this great city and worthy university, Central Connecticut State, or CCSU for short, is the oldest public university in Connecticut, was founded in 1849, enrolls almost 13,000 students, has a freakishly good running back in Justise Hairtson (participated in the Hula Bowl all-star game last month), and procures some of the most delicious four-cheese pizzas fresh in its cafeteria.

If you can believe it, there is a point to this diatribe. And it’s not about New Britain, it’s not about CCSU, and it may or may not be about delicious pizza.

It’s about that pesky Blue Devil.

Not the basketball team, which, by the way, is on a seven-game winning streak since the Crimson’s stunning 18-point comeback win over CCSU that fateful night. It’s about one guy dressed in a crazy suit.

As the first half was coming to a close, I first noticed “it”. This Blue Devil mascot had a pristinely clean uniform, befitted with a Blue Devil jersey that would make a Cameron Crazy proud. His skills were historic, and his enthusiasm, first pumps, and dance moves would bring the shyest of fans to his feet.

If you don’t believe me, challenge him to a dance-off over Mase’s “Breathe, Stretch, Shake” and see what happens. Challenge him!

I may be exaggerating, but whatever CCSU was doing worked. Fans filled out the arena (almost 300), there was halftime entertainment (150 local kids showing they can layup-drill with the best of them), and the crowd, overall, was actually a factor.

And, did I mention, this took place at Central Connecticut State?

I offer no offense to this worthy institution, founded in 1849 under the principle of delicious four-cheese pizza, only a rebuke of my own.

This relatively anonymous, state-funded university puts out the effort to inspire its fans, going the extra mile to fill its arena. I cannot say the same for Harvard.

Our arena, Lavietes Pavilion, is frequently half-filled. There are many excuses thrown out to explain this situation—busy student schedules, horrible acoustics, and a team that has never won an Ivy championship.

Let me offer the true reason for Harvard’s lagging spirit—no mascot.

It’s that simple. At the moment, going out to the basketball game on a Friday night has no pop, no pizzazz. But bring out a lovable mascot, who taunts the opposing coach, lead cheers, and effectively brings the house down with his overwhelming spirit? Now you’ve got something.

And this idea is not a new one. This very paper almost two years called for a mascot, following the Harvard/Yale game of 2005—the greatest playing of the Game ever.

So maybe my experience pales in comparison to the Greatest Game. So what? That Blue Devil was so cool.

We need something cool like that. But way, way cooler.

Let me be the first to start the debate. Let me be the founder of the great mascot rally of our time.

I will begin at the beginning—John Harvard. Did you know he is technically our mascot? But he would never work: not enough pizzazz, remember? I mean, he died of pneumonia. We need something invincible.

Then there rumor turned mascot—the Cantab. Many people claim this is the true Harvard mascot, being that the Cantab is a pilgrim, yet stronger than the mortal John Harvard.

That has potential. Think about it: Can Tab. Our mascot could be a lovable bottle of Coca-Cola (or Natie Light), representing the thirst quenching powers of our great institution.

We could also have great nicknames, like the Pop-Tops, or, even better, the “Screw-Offs.” That would show all those haters that Harvard doesn’t just study—look at our mascot, we’re just a bunch of kids up to no good.

But then I did some research, and, sadly, the Cantab is not our mascot; it is actually short for Cantabrigian, a graduate from the University of Cambridge.

But I did not give up, no way. I moved on and started thinking outside the box. I wanted something representative of how powerful we are but also something unique, different, that no one has ever thought of.

Plants. Yes, plants. No one has a plant mascot, except for the Stanford tree, but they’re actually the Cardinal, so they make no sense because a cardinal is a bird.

A plant would be unique, but only the Venus Flytrap could work to intimidate. And what about the kiddies? Kids hate Venus Flytraps, studies show.

Finally, I cleared my mind, thought of everything Harvard represents, and thought of what is powerful, unique, lovable, invincible, and also brought that pizzazz to the table.

I got it. John Fitzgerald Kennedy, himself. Oh, he’s not dead; he’s invincible, remember?

He’s got the pizazz, the kids love him, he didn’t back down to Castro (and wouldn’t to measly Brown), and he went to our great University.

My work here is done.

Now, all Harvard has to do is combine a mascot with a larger arena, more funding of athletics, a student pep organization, and effective outreach between student-athletes and the student body, and the entire problem of Harvard athletics is solved.

Let’s start with the mascot.

—Staff writer Walter E. Howell can be reached at wehowell@fas.harvard.edu.