big game socio-something

Today is the Big Game: Cal v. Stanford. A match up of Bay Area rivals, the struggle for the Axe, a fight for superiority in moving a piece of pigskin up and down a patch of grass -- and sociologically fascinating. People get so worked up about the game out here at Cal it's amazing. The game takes on it's own (slightly-skewed) symbolism amongst the Cal undergraduates here - public vs. private interests, the common man vs. the elite -- the chance to stick it to the man. And just like Christmas, it may not be the event itself but the anticipation thereof that's the most fun. Weeks before the game, students walk around with "Fuck Stanfurd" proudly plastered across their chests, or imagery of a redwood tree performing fellatio on a Golden Bear's campanile-styled member. Oh, and don't forget over a hundred years of pranks.

Warranted or not, it is this undercurrent (along with large doses of inebriation) that contributes to the inevitable violence perpetuated by Cal fans everytime the game is held at Stanford. Though I've observed over the years that the tactics of the Palo Alto PD don't always promote peaceful resolutions, some level of disorder seems unavoidable -- it wouldn't be the big game without it. Water bottles and other associated items flying through the air, bouncing off of cops in riot gear, who are concurrently drenched in a verbal shower of epithets. Meanwhile, the more intoxicated (or just foolish) students, thinking perhaps their action will spark mass revolution, try to harass the po' up close, or worse, try to make it onto the field to topple the true symbol of Stanfordite 'oppression'--the tree, of all things--and then get dragged off and arrested. I learned early on in my undergraduate years that the Cal student body is the most intelligent group of thugs I've ever come to love (being brought up in the central valley wasteland of Stockton, CA I met my share of thugs... just not many intelligent ones). That is to say, without this now-ritualized display of disdain for all things associated with Leland, Jr., I must sadly admit that I'd feel that something was missing.

So fuck you Stanford, fuck you indeed... but maybe my brethren and I could redirect our angst into more socially constructive venues. Or perhaps we should just drink less. Or maybe ponder one simple question: why is it that, in contrast to Cal's obsession, most (but certainly not all) Stanfordites I know simply don't give a rat's ass?