Raffio and Racing

RAFFIO AND RACING

Long-time commuters often develop a kinship of sorts with other commuters—fellow travelers who take the same routes to and from work each day. And so it is with runners, who inherently relate to other runners who compete in our region’s racing circuit, mostly 5K events that produce not just endorphins but also fellowship.

Over many years of road racing, I’ve come to recognize familiar faces at each event, regulars on the annual 5K tour. One such stalwart is Tom Raffio, the estimable CEO of Northeast Delta Dental, who among other things is also an author and a member of the state Board of Education.

A decade or so ago, Tom and I competed in the “Clydesdale” division—for male runners who weigh 190 pounds or more. I usually finished ahead of Tom, as I always took notice of how I measured up against other Clydesdales.

But then Raffio stopped qualifying as a Clydesdale, meaning his weight dropped below 190 pounds. Concurrently, his run times improved and he regularly finished ahead of me. The passing years saw my run times incrementally get worse—but there was never a chance I’d lose my Clydesdale status as Tom did.

I wasn’t happy about this turn of events, and had some private angst about the unfairness of having to carry over 200 pounds around a race course, competing against lithe runners who had much less to carry around.

“Runners who weigh only 150 pounds should have to carry a 50 pound weight, to make it fair,” I once suggested. That proposal went over like a “lead balloon,” so to speak.

Still, my competitive juices still flowed, like at the Angels 5K Road Race in Penacook in May. Coming down the home stretch I could see Tom ahead of me, and I went into a sprint and edged him out at the finish line. (Even Venus Williams occasionally wins a match against Serena!)

I hoped for a similar result at the NHTI 50^th Anniversary 5K on Oct. 3. I kept Raffio in my sights, trying to stay within 20 yards so I could kick it in at the end and steal another victory from the former Clydesdale. But as I kicked it in, Tom did likewise and I couldn’t catch him. I was going to congratulate him but he ran straight from the finish line to the parking lot, where he jumped in his car and sped off.

“He’s got another 5K to go to,” explained a fellow runner. “He’s off to do the Lions 5K in Hopkinton.”

“But he’s already run two races this morning,” said another. “He ran the Girls Inc. race before coming here for the NHTI race!”

Aye carumba! No wonder he wasn’t a Clydesdale anymore. Three 5K races in one morning! A friend of Raffio’s bet that Tom couldn’t do the three morning 5K’s in under 75 minutes, cumulatively. Raffio’s times in the three races were 20:56, 26:20, and 26:10 respectively, for a total of 73:26—which won the bet.

But there was more.

That evening Tom danced the night away at the NHTI 50^th Anniversary Gala and then got up the next morning and ran a 13-mile half marathon from Loudon to Concord. That was his 82^nd race of the year, as he closed in on a goal of 100 road races in 2015.

I saw Tom again at the Granite State Ten-Miler in Concord on Oct.17. I stayed ahead of the 55-year-old CEO for about a half mile but after he passed me I knew I wouldn’t catch him. He finished the race in 81:56. It took me 89:48 to get my 205 pound body to the finish line. But having just turned (gulp) 60, I figured I might finish near the top of the 60+ age category.

Not so. I was only 10^th out of 20 geezers. Raffio’s personal trainer, 68-year-old Tom Walton, finished with a time of 75:51. And as fast as Walton’s time was, it still trailed the 74:30 turned in by my 62-year-old NHTI colleague, Professor Perry Seagroves.

I guess I need to take up dancing.

WRITER RAFFIO

In addition to all the aforementioned, runner Raffio is also writer Raffio, having co-authored a book with Boston Celtic Hall-of-Famer Dave Cowens—THERE ARE NO DO-OVERS.

“Success in business is like success in sports,” said Raffio. “Leadership traits that work in athletics also work in business. I interviewed and researched many people while working on the book—from successful athletes to successful billionaires—and the overarching themes included outworking the competition and taking care of people. And by the way, Dave Cowens was wonderful to work with, a great athlete and a great human being.”

MORE ON COWENS

I once worked as a counselor at the Don Nelson/Tom Sanders Basketball School at N.H. College. Cowens concurrently had his own basketball camp at Regis College, and he challenged the Nelson/Sanders counselors to come down and take on his counselors on the basketball court. A fellow counselor from Concord named Mark Bergeron broke away for a slam dunk and hung briefly on the rim. Cowens grabbed the ball and flung it at Bergeron’s head and yelled “Quit hanging on my rim!” Cowens’ competitive juices were always flowing.

(For the record, our Nelson/Sanders team triumphed and Cowens had to buy beer for the winners. I still have a can of that PBR somewhere, one of my most prized trophies!)

 

 

BASKETBALL, GOLF, AND NANTUCKET

BASKETBALL, GOLF, AND NANTUCKET

 

Sports bring people together.

The Olympic Games unite countries. High school tournaments unite towns. And golf can reunite college alums, friends, and teammates―also affectionately known as “cronies.”

Such a reunion occurred for me during Columbus Day weekend. The common denominator was basketball and the common destination was Nantucket Island, where an old hoop teammate named Billy runs a successful business. The common mission included talking sports, watching sports, and playing golf.

Nantucket’s location in the North Atlantic necessitated a lengthy boat trip. So for me the first leg meant a Thursday trip to Cape Cod and a night with my friend John, another hoop “crony,” in keeping with the weekend theme of connecting with former basketball players.

A crowded Friday ferry trip brought me to the famous island―once a center for the whaling industry, but now a tourist destination for the bourgeoisie. Billy met me at the dock, along with Matt and Storm, who’d arrived earlier. These hoop “cronies” were inconveniently (for Billy) arriving at six different times, so Billy had to remain on call in downtown Nantucket village, where he gave subsequent arrivals tours of his favorite social establishments, where he seemed to know every waitress and bartender―confirming the notion that he was indeed a successful Nantucket businessman.

Eventually we were joined by Darryll, Neil, Richie, and Jeff. Billy then brought us to a wonderful establishment with a friendly, non-pretentious clientele, as well as good food, great libations, and multiple large flat screen televisions to watch the baseball playoffs. One might assume that we all were Red Sox fans, but Jeff was a Yankee fan, Darryl an Orioles fan, and Matt was a free agent. But we all agreed that we wanted the Cubs to beat the Cardinals!

Golf Adventures

Saturday was golf day. In preparation I’d moved my important golf clubs from my big golf bag to my smaller “travel” golf bag. But in so-doing, I‘d forgotten my pitching wedge. Rats!

We adopted a “scramble” format―foursome against foursome. I was with Jeff, Neil, and Richie. I didn’t contribute much to our team effort, perhaps because I was tired from sleeping on a couch at Billy’s house. Also, I didn’t have my wedge.

Finally, in desperation I borrowed Jeff’s wedge and hit an almost perfect approach shot.

“How much do you want for the wedge?” I asked Jeff.

“Not for sale,” he replied.

The golf carts at Nantucket’s pricey Miacomet Golf Course were nothing like I was used to in New Hampshire. They were computerized and had screens that described each hole in detail, how far it was to the pin, regardless of where you were on the course. Unbelievable!

They also warned against driving carts in the rough.

In New Hampshire, I always drive my cart into the rough, because that’s where most of my balls go. But on Nantucket, if you strayed from the approved golf cart areas, your golf cart would automatically stop. It’s true.

I drove my cart into the rough to find my ball and the cart stopped. The computer screen told me I could only go in reverse until I returned to approved golf cart territory. Talk about Big Brother/GPS watching you! We all eventually gave in to the Golf Cart Gods. We had no choice.

MAGIC WEDGE

Miacomet had no water hazards, unlike my home course in Loudon, but there was sand everywhere. I borrowed Jeff’s wedge to get out of a trap and put the ball six feet from the pin. Then on the next hole, a short par 3, I used Jeff’s magic wedge for a tee-shot and hit my shot onto the green, for an eight foot birdie putt.

“How much do you want for the wedge?” I asked Jeff.

“Not for sale,” he replied.

COWBOYS AND PATRIOTS

On Sunday, Billy took us to a downtown sports bar to watch NFL football―four games simultaneously on big flat screens. As he walked into the establishment, a Miller Lite was immediately placed into his hand―Billy being a well-known, successful Nantucket businessman.

New England was playing at Dallas, and the Patriots were obviously the local favorite. But of course, our group had a Cowboys fan. As with Yankee fans, there’s always one in every crowd. Matt rolled up his sleeve to display a Cowboy tattoo, and then he shared that he had a son named Troy (as in Troy Aikman). He predicted a Cowboy win.

But the history was soon written―New England 30, Dallas 6.

BACK TO N.H.

The ferry boat ride back to Hyannis was not as crowded as it was on the trip over. Maybe some folks just decided to stay in Nantucket. (There are worse places to be!)

The long drive from the Cape back to Loudon was uneventful, and as much as I enjoyed the frenzied sports weekend on Nantucket, I was happy to be back in the more familiar Granite State. It was late when I got home and I just fell into bed.

I unpacked the next morning, and as I returned my golf clubs from my travel bag to my regular bag, I saw that I had the magic wedge! I must have inadvertently put it into my bag instead of Jeff’s on the 18^th hole.

It was an honest mistake!

“Crony honor!”

TOM FOR TRUMP... MIKE FOR MARCO

TOM FOR TRUMP ... MIKE FOR MARCO

(Politics and Sports)

NEWS ITEM: New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady supports Donald Trump for President.

Loving both sports and politics, I noted Brady’s endorsement with fascination. Many who don’t care for Trump groaned at the news, but Brady’s tough. He can take it. And good for him—taking a public stand. Politics shape our world and if you care about the world, you should care about politics. Who goes to the White House is almost as important as who goes to the Super Bowl!

I care about what we used to call civics. It’s distressing that some can name every Red Sox player but can’t name their senators. So if Brady stepping into the political realm results in more people thinking about the N.H. Primary, then that’s a good thing.

A former Harvard gridster named Teddy Roosevelt called the presidency a “bully pulpit,” a platform from which one can shape opinions or “call plays.” And quarterbacks are play-callers. Consider former signal-caller Doug Flutie, who won the Heisman Trophy at Boston College in 1984. He later played in the NFL for the Bears, Patriots, and Bills

Beloved in Buffalo, Flutie used his gridiron celebrity to stump for Democrat Hillary Clinton in upstate New York and helped her win a U.S. senate seat in 2000. But fast-forward to 2010, when Republican Scott Brown was running for U.S. senate in Massachusetts—where the GOP claims around 15% of registered voters. Flutie created some special sports energy for Brown, who won a stunning upset. Brown’s cause was helped when his Democrat opponent, Martha Coakley, derided Red Sox World Series hero and Brown supporter Curt Schilling. Coakley claimed Schilling was in the Yankee camp, which sealed her fate as a serious candidate in Massachusetts.

(Note to Senator Kelly Ayotte: Ask Scott Brown for Flutie’s cell phone number.)

Sports and politics inevitably mix. Both involve reality television, competition, and drama. Wilt Chamberlain helped Richard Nixon win a close election in 1968. LeBron James and Michael Vick helped re-elect Barack Obama in 2012 as Celtic icon Danny Ainge’s support wasn’t enough to get Mitt Romney to Washington.

I met another former Harvard gridster—Ted Kennedy—in 1980 when he was campaigning in the North Country before the N.H. primary. He gave a little speech where he tried to associate his campaign with the “Miracle” U.S. Olympic ice hockey Gold Medal triumph at Lake Placid. President Jimmy Carter had similarly tried to attach his star to the hockey heroes. (Olympians Mike Eruzione, Jim Craig and other teammates were invited to appear with the candidates, but declined.) I asked Kennedy what he thought about the International Olympic Committee not recognizing the Republic of China, as international politics kept the athletes from Taiwan from participating in those Olympics.

“I frankly don’t care whether Taiwan participates or not,” was Kennedy’s response, which still troubles me.

Almost every elected official has some sports connection. One of my dad’s fondest sports memories is hitting a home run in Littleton 65 years ago off of future N.H. Governor Hugh Gallen. The name recognition that sports provides can catapult people to political prominence.

Ronald Reagan claimed that football kept him going to classes at Eureka College.

“I needed that C average for football eligibility,” recalled Reagan. “I sometimes wonder what I might have amounted to if I’d taken my studies more seriously.”

Reagan’s nickname, The Gipper, stems from his movie portrayal of Notre Dame legend George Gipp in KNUTE ROCKNE, ALL AMERICAN.

There are countless examples of athletes going into politics. Like Bill Bradley, who went from the N.Y. Knicks to being a U.S. Senator from New Jersey. He later ran for president, until Al Gore took him out hard in the 2000 N.H. Primary. (And Bradley thought the Celtics played dirty?)

Jim Bunning won 224 Major League Games, including a no-hitter for the Tigers in 1958 and a perfect game for the Phillies in 1964. Would he have ever been elected as U.S. Senator from Kentucky if he’d never been a baseball player?

Congressional Democrats and Republicans have an annual baseball game. The Dems lead the series 39-38, but the Republicans won 11 straight from 1964-74, helped in large part by “Vinnegar Bend” Mizell, a rep from North Carolina. Mizell pitched in the National League for nine years before going to Congress. The Dems had a majority in the House at the time, and some of them tried to pass a law prohibiting Mizell from participating in the annual baseball contest. Talk about power politics!

Another former Bills quarterback, Jack Kemp, represented Buffalo in Congress before running for president. Maybe Brady could do likewise! He obviously cares about issues and showed guts by endorsing Trump. If he wanted to, he could probably get elected as the only Republican congressman from Massachusetts.

So, inspired by Brady, I too will advocate for my own candidate, who I think would be a great president for many reasons, which will become ever-clearer to voters as the weeks go by. But as this is a sports column, for now I’ll just say that I’m for the only candidate who married a former NFL cheerleader!

 

 

           Weirs Times columnist Mike Moffett and Florida Senator Marco Rubio.

Uniforms

UNIFORMS

A recent feature on “csnmidatlantic.com” rated the uniforms of National Football League teams. At the bottom of the list was Tampa Bay. The New England Patriots were rated #13, right behind my personal favorite, the New York Giants at #12.

The subjective rankings got me thinking about uniforms. Who invented uniforms, anyway? Maybe they were a product of ancient military actions, designed to keep soldiers from striking comrades by mistake.

The first professional sports team—the Cincinnati Red Stockings—eventually developed a uniform of sorts, to go along with their red stockings. Other teams “followed suit” with suits of their own.

Interestingly, it wasn’t until the 1920s that players wore numbers. Ty Cobb never had a number in Detroit. The New York Yankees started the practice when they assigned numbers that matched the players’ places in the batting order. Ergo, the number three hitter, Babe Ruth, wore #3. The number four hitter, Lou Gehrig, wore #4. And the Yankees wore those famous pinstripes on perhaps the most recognizable sports uniforms ever.

Baseball uniforms have evolved since those days and it’s interesting to look at how players dressed in old team photos. Did Ted Williams ever wear anything other than baggy flannels?

There have been some notoriously ugly team uniforms, particularly in the 1970s, when the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the San Diego Padres had uniforms that were so gross that these teams were doomed to failure until they redesigned their looks. Then they finally went to the Super Bowl and the World Series, respectively.

Some inspired sports marketer thought of “throw-back” uniforms to honor team histories. The throw-backs were nostalgic hits and created a new lucrative sports apparel demand for most franchises. Even I have a Carl Yastrzemski #8 BoSox jersey.

An L.A. Laker sports marketer once suggested that the team wear white home jerseys instead of the traditional gold for a nationally-televised Christmas Day NBA game. The new look was a hit and the Lakers made millions of extra dollars selling white jerseys.

And of course, there was that inspired sports marketer who once thought of selling “pink” uniforms, presumably for the ladies. I can imagine old-timers muttering “There’s no pink in baseball,” but pink jerseys and caps are now sprinkled amongst every Fenway Park crowd.

The right uniform look is important to branding. Perhaps thinking of the disastrous Buccaneer and Padre experiences, the NHL’s San Jose Sharks did extensive polling and market research before they decided on their appealing black and teal color scheme. The Sharks made millions of dollars selling these jerseys before they ever played a hockey game.

So who were the top picks in the NFL rankings?  Oakland, Buffalo, and New Orleans finished 1-2-3. I strongly disagree, but the list was a subjective rating designed to get attention—kind of like those white Laker jerseys. And it worked, as demonstrated by the column you’re reading.

But most of us already know what the world’s best looking uniforms really are—the dress blue outfits worn by United State Marines!

All-Star Games

ALL-STAR GAMES

New Hampshire defeated Vermont 27-12 in this year’s Shrine Maple Sugar Bowl All-Star Football Game before a big crowd at Castleton State College. It was N.H.’s 15^th straight triumph in the one-sided series and it got me thinking about All-Star games—to include the good, the bad, and the ugly

The first baseball All-Star game took place in 1933—the brainchild of Chicago sportswriter Arch Ward. It pitted the best of the American League against their National League counterparts. It was a resounding success and the Midsummer Classic became part of our annual sports cycle.

Ted Williams always claimed his favorite baseball memory was hitting that three-run ninth inning home run in the 1941 All-Star Game in Detroit to lead the A.L. to a 7-5 win.

Fan balloting determined the starters for the All-Star game until 1957, when Cincinnati Reds fans stuffed the ballot boxes and almost succeeded in fielding seven Reds. Major League Baseball subsequently let the players select the starters until the fans were given a second chance in 1969.

Earlier this year it looked like Kansas City Royal fans might succeed in selecting eight Royal starters but eventually common sense prevailed. Still, the game had record low television ratings, prompting concerns about the Midsummer Classic’s future.

Part of the reason for the demise of the All-Star Game has been inter-league play. A.L. vs. N.L. is just not as special anymore. So in an attempt to make the game more meaningful, MLB decreed that World Series home field advantage would be at stake during the Midsummer Classic. This was a cool idea and a step in the right direction, but more needs to be done to save the game.

Fan ballot stuffing remains a problem, threatening the integrity of the game. So here’s a solution. Create a voting formula where the players vote for their peers, with those results counting for 50%, the same percentage that fan voting would account for. That way everyone is invested.

Further, fans should pay $5 for the privilege of casting one electronic ballot per e-mail address, with the proceeds going to some worthy cause or causes. If ten million fans participated, then that would mean $50 million for a charity. If a fan had two e-mail addresses and wanted to pay ten dollars to vote twice, that’s fine. More money for charity.

Next, the size of the All-Star squads should be cut back to eighteen, which was the size of the 1933 teams. In 2009 MLB expanded the rosters to 33. That’s farcical. This may mean that some years no Red Sox players will make the team. So be it.

Stipends for participating should depend upon winning or losing. Let the winners receive stipends twice the size of the losers’ shares.

Some of these “reforms” could also be applied to the NBA and NHL.

The NBA deserves credit for creating an All-Star Weekend basketball festival, which includes not just the game, but a slam dunk competition, shooting contests, and more. But the Eastern Conference vs. Western Conference format has grown stale. The NBA should emulate an earlier NHL approach and pick a 12 player All-Star “Dream Team” to play a team of international stars—the NBA vs. the World. Then maybe we’ll see some defense. This year’s NBA All-Star Game saw the East defeating the West 163-158, a typical score for this game. And let the players wear their team uniforms, the way the baseball players do it.

The NHL All-Star format has changed over the years. At one time, the Stanley Cup champs took on the best of the rest. Then it was conference vs. conference. I liked the “NHL vs. the World” concept that was tried in 2001 when the North American All-Stars defeated the World All-Stars 14-12, which is a score typical of NHL All-Star games. A different format saw Team Chara defeat Team Alfredsson 12-9 in 2012.

The NHL does not have an All-Star Game during Winter Olympic Years, which is good. The true All-Stars wear their countries’ uniforms—and presumably play hard defense.

The NFL’s “Pro Bowl” All-Star contest is a complete joke—a farce that should be done away with. The players hate the game and don’t try hard. Roger Goodell should drive a stake through the heart of this monstrosity.

As for the Maple Sugar Bowl Game, it’s time to acknowledge that Vermont just can’t compete. The Green Mountain Boys last won in 2000, which means they have even less luck against N.H. than the N.L. has against the A.L.

So, to make things fairer, take a field position from N.H. and give it to Vermont, and let Vermont play 12 against ten. I’m sure socialist Vermont Senator and presidential candidate Bernie Sanders would approve of punishing Granite State success in this fashion.

“Live free or die!”

Dave Long and Mickey Mantle

Dave and The Mick

I recently played a round of golf at Loudon Country Club with fellow Plymouth State alum Dave Long, a noted raconteur and fellow sportswriter. His weekly HIPPO column is just about as good as this one.

We enjoyed a couple libations afterwards on the country club’s deck, and naturally the conversation turned to sports. Long shared how he’d played a role in the establishment of the Ted Williams Museum and Hitters Hall of Fame in Hernando, Fla., twenty years ago. New Hampshire developer Sam Tamposi had built a major residential complex called Citrus Hills and wanted to honor his friend Ted with a shrine of sorts that would draw tourists and baseball fans.

Long worked in public relations at the time, and as his baseball acumen was well-known, he was pulled into the project. The grand opening was in February, 1995.

“The major television networks and national media were all there,” recalled Long. “And of course, plenty of baseball Hall-of-Famers, politicians, and even Muhammed Ali.”

The irascible Williams was cool to the project at first, but on opening day he reveled in the camaraderie of all the Stan Musials and Bob Fellers who showed up—the glory of their times.

“I’ve never been around a presence like Ted’s,” said Long. “He filled up a room all by himself. The scene was breathtaking to a sports guy like me.”

A Long Island native and a long-time Yankee fan, Long was thrilled by the presence of Joe DiMaggio, who somehow got locked in a men’s room. Long volunteered to rescue the Yankee Clipper and climbed through a window and into the restroom to unjam the door. True to form, DiMaggio was distant and aloof, barely acknowledging his rescuer—in contrast to the gregarious Williams whose booming voice, backslapping, and story-telling captivated everyone.

“All the baseball greats clearly RESPECTED DiMaggio,” said Long. “But the ones who were there really LOVED Ted.”

During a pre-dinner social, Long was making his was across the room when someone grabbed his tie, jerking him to a stop. He looked up and recognized Mickey Mantle, a Hall-of-Fame Yankee and Dave’s boyhood idol.

“I like your tie,” said Mantle, as he loosened his grasp.

“Do you want it?” replied Long.

“No, I have mine,” said Mantle, who laughed and pointed to his own, identical, sports-themed cravat.

Long was taken aback by Mantle’s appearance. Years of hard-living had destroyed the Mick’s health, necessitating a liver transplant. But the two conversed about Casey Stengel’s Yankees and Mantle said he was impressed by David’s baseball knowledge.

“Well, as it was you who stopped me, I’ll tell you that I know more about you than you do,” said Long. “You were born on Oct. 27, 1931. Your father’s name was Mutt. He named you after Mickey Cochrane, the catcher. Your middle name is Charles, after your grandfather. You grew up in Commerce, Oklahoma with your twin brothers Ray and Roy. You played shortstop in the minors in Joplin, Missouri, and won the batting title there in 1950 with a .383 average. But you had 56 errors that year and the Yankees switched you to right field when moved you up in 1951, as it was DiMaggio’s last year in center field.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” asked Mantle.

“Well, you taught me to read.”

“Huh?”

“When I was in grade school, they thought I had a reading disability. I didn’t like to read. I didn’t want to read. But the teachers and my parents knew I loved sports, and they gave me a book about you. It was the first book I ever read, and I’ve been reading and writing ever since.”

Before Mantle could respond they heard a “Say hey!” and Mickey was grabbed by Willie Mays, another Hall-of-Fame center fielder. Dave continued on his way as the baseball legends chatted each other up.

Mantle died soon after that 1995 encounter, but it had to gratify the Mick to know he was Long’s inspiration. Not only did Dave learn to read but he eventually became a sportswriter with a regular column.

One that’s just about as good as this one!

COLLEGE SPORTS NICKNAMES

COLLEGE SPORTS NICKNAMES

An earlier column examined New Hampshire high school sports nicknames and identified Franklin’s Golden Tornadoes as the top nickname in the state.

Now we turn our attention to colleges.

New Hampshire colleges have unremarkable nicknames like Wildcats (UNH), Panthers, (Plymouth State), Owls (Keene State), and Hawks (St. Anselm). And worst of all, the lamentable and nebulous Big Green of Dartmouth College. “Indians” was much better.

I have nothing against Lions, Falcons, Bears, Cardinals, Cougars, Bobcats or Tigers—other than they are blasé and say nothing about the institution. For example, MIT’s teams are the Engineers. That makes sense. Ditto for Purdue University’s Boilermakers.

There are some interesting nicknames. Muhlenberg College has the Mules. Maine’s Colby College has the White Mules. But how about the “Golden Mules?”

Earlham College featutes the Hustlin' Quakers. I like that almost as much as I like Wilmington College’s Fighting Quakers, which is a bit oxymoronic, given that Quakers are ostensibly pacifists.

Campbell University has the Fighting Camels. Alliteration has its place, as with Canisius College’s Golden Griffins.

Coastal Carolina University has the Chanticleers. As I doubt that many readers know what a Chanticleer is, I’ll share that it’s a proud and fierce rooster who dominates the barnyard.

(I think I’d rather be a Chanticleer than a Mule.)

Eastern Arizona College players are Gila Monsters. Nice. But you have to love Evergreen State College’s Geoducks. These are not birds, but rather the world’s largest clams, weighing three pounds on average, and often unable to fit within their own shells.

Idaho has the Vandals, apparently honoring of the Germanic tribes that sacked Rome.

Larry Bird’s alma mater, Indiana State University has the Sycamores. But who wants to be a tree?  (This is almost as bad as Big Green.)

Athletes at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne are Mastodons. (At the risk of being sexist, I wonder if the female athletes at IPFW want to be Mastodons.)

Lincoln Memorial University has the Railsplitters. Cool. As is Marshall University’s Thundering Herd. (But what do you call a single Marshall player?)

Duke’s Blue Devils may be NCAA men’s hoop champs, but North Carolina’s Tar Heels are cooler.

Ohio Northern University has the Polar Bears. Huh?  Must be extremely northern Ohio. Ohio State University’s Buckeyes are named after a flowery shrub, that Ohioans claim is really a tree, which still makes the nickname almost as bad as Sycamores.

Sports squads at Rhode Island School of Design are known as the Nads. Go Nads! Saint Peter's College in New Jersey has the Peacocks and Peahens—obviously genderized. And if Notre Dame can have the Fighting Irish, then Yeshiva University can have the Maccabees, aka the Fighting Jews! And speaking of fighting, consider Ohio Valley University’s Fighting Scots or Ohio Wesleyan University Battlin' Bishops.

Oklahoma has the Sooners—named after cheats who claimed land in Oklahoma before they were supposed to. OU players may as well claim to be the Oklahoma Cheaters.

Apparently “Golden is Good,” as in Golden Bulls (Johnson C. Smith University), Golden Tornadoes (Geneva College), Golden Gusties (Gustavus Adolphus College), Golden Eagles (John Brown University), Golden Flashes (Kent State University),Golden Hurricane (Tulsa), or the Golden Tigers (Tuskegee University).

Finalists …

After extensive review and considerable thought, the finalists in the nickname competition included the Green Terror (McDaniel College), the Prairie Wolves (Nebraska Wesleyan University), the Pygmies (New Mexico Mining & Technology), the Hardrockers (South Dakota School of Mines and Technology), the Mad Hatters (Stetson University), the Hokies (Virginia Tech), and the Horned Frogs (Texas Christian University).

But ultimately, the clear winner had to be the Flaming Smelts of Shimer College. What could possibly top a Flaming Smelt?