It’s game day. The crowd roars as the mascot of Syracuse University comes rushing down the field. In that brief moment of fervor among the tightly-packed stadium’s young-eyed denizens, the thought arises: “Why is the college represented by an anthropomorphic orange?” Sure, this orange can do backflips, but why an orange? Thankfully, the distracting thought quickly escapes your mind as the Delta State University’s Fighting Okra appears. “What a stupid mascot,” you mutter, long having held fruits above lowly vegetables, and feeling plenty satisfied by the great orange blob of Syracuse.
Yet the question lingers still, albeit in a different form. Rather than “why” a backflipping orange—”why not?” is the only answer—we at the Grizzly were more curious as to “how?” What events occurred in order to create this timeline we find ourselves in, where oranges and okras can fight as if they were characters in a cutthroat VeggieTales knockoff?
Emerging in response to the growing popularity of college football, team mascots embodied the distinctive identity of their respective college. The word “mascot” arose from writing about Yale’s bulldog, Handsome Dan. Known for his fierce and oftentimes humorous reaction to the color crimson and to tigers, which symbolize Yale’s archrivals Harvard and Princeton, Handsome Dan inspired many universities to begin using live mascots of their own.
Early mascots played a large role in fueling the school rivalries that persist today. The live mascots were expected to roar, snarl, and even scare the opposing team, creating an atmosphere of fierce competition and often leading to tumultuous encounters. This tension coupled with fewer regulations about conduct led to crazy antics between rival schools. For example, in 1902, Clemson University students marched onto the University of South Carolina campus armed with swords after the South Carolina Gamecocks defeated the Clemson Tigers. Nowadays, South Carolina students burn a 30-foot tall tiger to rile up their Clemson rivals before the annual football game.
However, perhaps no live mascot’s history embodies the careless, chaotic early-20th century college spirit better than that of Touchdown, the dynasty of bears that served as Cornell’s mascot in the 1915, 1916, 1919, and 1939 seasons. Before the 1915 game with Harvard, Cornell brought Touchdown I to sleep in a cage in the lobby of a Boston hotel, traveling with the rest of the Cornell team. However, at 4 a.m., mere hours before the game was set to start, Harvard students posed as Touchdown I’s caretakers treating him to a morning walk. They then stole the bear and took him back to Harvard’s athletic facilities, where Cornell athletic managers found him after hearing screams echoing from the baseball cage. A Harvard janitor attempted to block the Cornell squad from retrieving Touchdown I; his keys were stolen and he was locked in an office. Cornell’s efforts did not go in vain, as they beat the Harvard Crimson that day and ended their thirty-game win streak.
The very next week, Touchdown I traveled to Atlantic City en route to meet the University of Pennsylvania Quakers for the Thanksgiving football game. He was again awoken early, this time by his own team for a quick photoshoot, but didn’t appreciate having his hibernation disturbed. Instead, Touchdown ran out the nearest door, wreaked havoc in a taffy shop (as might a bull in a china shop), and dived into the ocean. Unable to swim, Touchdown needed to be saved with a life raft by two football players. After getting to Philadelphia, Penn walked their live mascot—either a coyote or a husky, sources are unclear—over to Touchdown to say hello. Touchdown proceeded to smack it in the face, knocking it out instantly. The game produced a similar result, as Cornell won over Penn 24–9. However, Touchdown’s behavior made it untenable to keep him around, and so Cornell returned Touchdown to his original animal trainer that same year.
Touchdown II endured a more melancholic fate. Guarded closely off field for much of his football season to deter another kidnapping attempt, his moment of glory was stripped from him by the University of Pennsylvania’s new bear, Jack Victory. Indeed, Penn beat Cornell 23–0, and the Cornell team abandoned Touchdown II on the field after the bitter defeat.
After World War I ended, Cornell adopted a new bear to replace the earlier Touchdowns. Touchdown III was more popular, and he once led a student protest demanding higher pay for professors, though he was not an angel either. A week into the football season, Touchdown III broke out of his room to nap in a nearby meadow—the Cornell Daily Sun named the following article, “Touchdown III Loses at Game of Hide and Seek.” Unfortunately, in a game against Dartmouth College held in New York City, Touchdown III mysteriously disappeared at the Cornell Club building. While he is rumored to have gone to a zoo in Akron, Ohio, nobody knows Touchdown III’s true fate.
It took 20 years for Cornell to replace Touchdown again, as Cornell sports administrator Romeyn Berry in this interim period reportedly hated bears. However, in the 1934 game against the University of Pennsylvania, Cornell students drove to a Syracuse zoo to rent a bear to become Touchdown temporarily. This bear subsequently destroyed the trailer the Cornell students used, and so the Cornell team had to settle for Romeyn Berry in a fur coat to represent Touchdown.
After Berry retired in 1935, efforts to replace Touchdown eventually succeeded in 1939 with the purchase of a female black bear cub. Touchdown IV was later invited to Cleveland for the Cornell game against the undefeated Ohio State Buckeyes. While she was forbidden from appearing on the field, she made a scene in the post-game celebrations after Cornell upset the Buckeyes from behind. Let loose in a Cleveland nightclub, Touchdown IV was eventually recaptured by the Cleveland Animal Protection League, making hundreds of newspapers across the country. She was then released into the wild, after which the live mascot Touchdown dynasty concluded. It’s no wonder colleges don’t use real, ferocious animals anymore.
Nowadays, colleges use mascots to build their brand through both traditional and digital means. Many colleges create separate social media accounts for their mascots on Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. Colleges share photos and videos of their mascots in everyday situations, which make them seem relatable to most people.
Some universities even use their mascot in innovative ways outside of sporting events. At Butler University, the English bulldog Butler Blue IV participates in surprise admission letter deliveries to prospective students’ homes, schools, and even locker rooms. Ever since the start of the campaign six years ago, Butler’s mascot has delivered around 400 offers of admission.
So while many mascots are rather bizarre—take UC Santa Cruz’s Sammy the Banana Slug, as featured in Pulp Fiction, or the unofficial and satirical Keggy the Keg of Dartmouth College—it’s hard not to appreciate their rich history or their endearing presence in college sports and campus culture. However, if BASIS Independent Brooklyn ever decides to get a live bear mascot, then don’t say we didn’t warn you.
