| | | Somewhere on the Stanford campus, a man explodes out of a giant pumpkin filled with haggis, the traditional Scottish dish of heart, liver and lungs. A tightrope walker tiptoes across the quad, teetering above the students below. Suspended high in the Northern California trees, someone reads from Dr. Seuss's The Lorax, who speaks for the trees "for the trees have no tongues."
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TREE UPDATE |
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Rumors were flying through the trees last weekend as ESPN aired footage of the St. Joseph's Hawk, portrayed by a woman, saying the guy in the Stanford Tree suit had asked for her phone number.
Page 2 wanted to know what was going on, so we called the Tree for confirmation. Turns out this year's Tree, a female, supported the women's team last weekend, and she sent last year's Tree to the men's tournament. He wore an old tree costume from four years ago, and, yes, he did ask for the Hawk's number.
As for this weekend, look for this year's Tree to rejoin the men at the West Regional semifinals in Anaheim. |
Is this what happens when the California sun melts your brain?
No, it's just the two-week period during which eager Stanford students stretch the boundaries of bizarre behavior to prove they are worthy of being the Tree, the school's sports mascot.
I won that honor for the 2000-2001 season, although there was no nudity or fruit involved in my stunts, common practice for prospective Trees. I beat out seven competitors by hang gliding from a campus tower and then leading 200 people in a choreographed "Thriller" dance, before staging a mock shooting of myself outside the band building.
You might be asking yourself why I would ever want this job, or better yet, why the mascot for our sports teams is a tree. After all, Stanford's sports teams are known as the Cardinal, with no mention of foliage.
Well, the Tree is a combination of a spoof on mascots and the fact that the Stanford logo has a tree in it. The logo, which has been around for years, alludes to the campus location in Palo Alto, Calif. It inspired the band, who in 1975 wanted to create a character that would make fun of other mascots by being as far removed from a mascot as you could get. The Tree fits the bill.
|  | | From the first time I saw Stanford's mascot dance, I knew I wanted to "be Tree." |
I fell in love with the Tree at my first volleyball game. I'm from England, and when I first arrived on campus, I didn't understand this country's focus on cheerleaders and mascots. But at that game, I saw the Tree jumping around, and near its trunk was this little kid in a mini-tree costume, dancing along and having the best time of his life. The Tree was having a whale of a time watching its tiny imitator, and I adored the mascot from then on.
I began my stint as the Tree last spring, testing out costumes from the last few years to help me decide what kind of tree I wanted to be. Each Tree makes his or her own outfit -- there aren't any permanent costumes. Actually, there really aren't any rules, even on what kind of tree the mascot is. The only rule is to "be Tree." Each person takes the meaning of how to be Tree differently, and the best thing about it is that the mascot is whoever is portraying it. It's the equivalent of personification.
Since I'm the first female Tree in 17 years, I tried to put a woman's touch on the costume. I created a feminine redwood. She's fluffy, made of several layers of tutu-like netting in various shades of green and topped with a band hat. Better yet, she only weighs 3-5 pounds. Last year's steel-framed palm tree weighed a ton.
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“ |
The
Washington Husky won't come anywhere near
me. It makes sense. He's been relieving himself
on trees for years, and suddenly this one has
come to life and is walking toward him. He thinks
I'm seeking revenge for all the trees he's ever
wronged. ” |
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— The Stanford Tree |
She's a happy Tree, always dancing and entertaining, even celebrating holidays. I dressed her for Mardi Gras this year, stringing on some beads and trinkets. Other Trees have wound Christmas lights around themselves or concocted Halloween outfits. One Tree even wrapped himself in white and orange sheets for Thanksgiving -- he was a giant piece of candy corn.
And "giant" is right -- from the ground up, my Tree is a shade above 10 feet. Because she just feels like an extension of my body, it's not too hard to keep balanced. If I do fall, however, it's extremely hard to get off the ground. Once I'm on my back, I'm like a turtle. I can't get up without rolling over on my front.
This makes it hard to defend myself if attacked. I'm used to attacks by now, but the first one was terrifying. We lost a football game at some school in Washington, and afterward someone accidentally directed me through a mob of opposing fans. I was cornered and yanked at and pulled down. I had absolutely no control. Luckily, my only injuries were bruises from landing on my back.
Since then, I've weathered pushes and shoves and punches, including an attack at a women's volleyball match, of all places. I'm well prepared for the next few weeks, though. Tucked inside my costume is a 3-Hertz gun, a device that creates "internal bowel motion" in whomever it's used on.
|  | | I tried to put a woman's touch on my fluffy costume, which is made of several layers of tutu-like netting in various shades of green and topped with a band hat. |
It's never the opposing mascots who attack. They're not mean -- just silly and a little strange. OK, the Tree might seem like a goofy mascot, but there are weirder characters out there. Take the St. Joseph's Hawk. That guy has to flap his arms for the entire game. I've seen him use just one arm, holding the other because it was sore from flapping. Or what about the Berkeley Bear? He's got such big feet that he can't even walk properly, and he paces around looking depressed for the entire game.
There is, however, one type of opposing mascot that actually fears me.
I scare dogs. Not people dressed in dog costumes, but real animals. This goes against all laws of nature, since dogs tend to use trees as their own personal toilets. It's true, though -- the Washington Husky won't come anywhere near me. It makes sense. He's been relieving himself on trees for years, and suddenly this one has come to life and is walking toward him. He thinks I'm seeking revenge for all the trees he's ever wronged.
He doesn't have to worry, though. I'm not out to seek payback for perennial plants everywhere.
I'm just here to be Tree.
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