Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Finally I Can Graduate

Here's the link to this article on the website, but the editors mangled it. The original version is posted below: http://media.www.dailycampus.com/media/storage/paper340/news/2007/10/30/Commentary/Finally.I.Can.Graduate.In.Peace-3065167.shtml

This column is self-serving and essentially egotistical. I’m not writing about an important political issue or a valid campus concern. I’m writing because I got to rush the field Saturday at the football game and now my college experience is complete. Until now, the approaching completion of my 120 credits hung like a court date circled on the calendar. I felt I had not “done it all.” Now I am content, and can move onto whatever comes next.

During my college search, I narrowed my options down to UVM and UConn. My aversion towards attending my state school (I’m from the New Haven area) mirrored the reasoning used by anyone who had attended a marginally big high school: because ‘everybody’ goes there and I wanted something different- that and I didn’t like the notion of my parents popping in weekly if I was so close to home. It’s also the reason I didn’t go to Yale. The reality? Your parents are fired up to get rid of you. (The Opinion Staff has started to phase out the usage of the word ‘you’ because it insinuates what the reader is thinking and can thus offend people who don’t hold that viewpoint. I’m not asserting that all your parent’s hate you.) Their mock anguish exists only to saddle you with the obligation to buy them nice things when you become successful. (I just said ‘you’ were going to be successful, ‘you’ can’t be pissed about that.)

I went on my college visit to UVM with the latent intention of making it my final choice. Anything I found attractive about the school, I would have overrated. Any deficiencies, I would have depreciated. “Oh it’s overrun by smelly hippies?” “I heard they were easy-going people.” We arrived at the school, gave the town a cursory glance and started in search of the football stadium; a staple of every assessment. Upon being notified by a confused undergraduate that the football stadium we were trying to find didn’t exist, my college decision was made. It’s one of those deal-breakers that wasn’t dismissible, like a girl telling you she’s really into Saw III or a guy canceling a first date an hour before he’s supposed to cook for a girl because he “just doesn’t feel like it.”

So Storrs it was and it proved to be a good time to jump on the Huskies’ bandwagon. The team moved up to Division I in 2000 and one of the swiftest rises to prominence in recent memory. They attracted the interest of a major conference by 2002, had joined that conference by 2004 and were given a bowl invitation in their first year of eligibility, an impressively fast growth spurt on anyone’s charts. Still, while they hovered on the edge of college football’s upper echelon, they still hadn’t made that prized kill; they weren’t yet “Made Men.” As Hunter S. Thompson once professed “The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”

The Huskies went over that edge when they toppled the No. 10 ranked team in the nation. I went over that edge when I vaulted ten feet over a three-hundred pound, steroid addled security guard who had a scared freshman in a full nelson. The energy in the stands was palpable. Strangers were high-fiving and cracking jokes and making sure their neighbor would give them a boost onto the goal posts. A heavy rain has a harmonious effect on a group and probably also accounts for part of the reason the squad pulled off these last two wins. In sports it’s said that weather is the great equalizer and it definitely did its part in minimizing the handicap caused by the team’s usually inferior speed. But the effect of the crowd also can’t be dismissed. These past two weeks were a statement. The Huskies, like true alpha-dogs, marked their territory. The Rent is officially a war zone, an unstable environment for opposing forces. (They also have a hunting store right on the property, which is convenient for those who wanted to go to a football game and then buy a fishing rod or thought tailgating with a rifle raised the level of excitement.)

The game ended in the fashion of all memorable upsets, with a conclusion that had fans delirious with anticipation and with a nervous, “what’s going to happen next?” feeling )similar to how Britney Spears’ supporters feel.) The crowd descended onto the field with a mob mentality. This was my moment. I started towards the front, shoving kids out of the way like a self-indulgent passenger of the Titanic trying to get to a life boat. The sight of the security guard opening a can of whoop-ass only reminded me to, in the words of Van Halen, “hit the ground running.”

Let’s face it: aside from capsizing the goal posts, the actual rushing of the field activity is just a glorified exercise in insanity. After about age six or seven it stops being socially acceptable to jump around screaming in joy. There’s only so many times you can slam a player on their shoulder pads or high five a 65 year-old before you realize you’re acting like you just traded a fourth round draft pick for Randy Moss.

But the sense of achievement doesn’t derive from the actual act but rather the significance of the occasion. The football team has finally stepped onto the national stage. They earned their first -ever ranking in the respected polls. (At least all that lobster those players are being fed at their fancy new facility now seems justified for the time being.) And I got to rush the field. Now I’m okay with wrapping up my stay on this farmland, although that’s probably only for the time being, as well- at least until I realize I’m going to need a job that pays more than ten dollars an article.

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