I have never been one for school spirit. In high school I didn’t care for our awful sports teams and wasn’t really all that concerned with repping our mascot, the Blobfish. However, when I decided on Florida State last Spring I was convinced, by both my mother and the fact that the Seminoles aren’t a winless team of midland Oklahomans, to take a little more pride in the Garnet and Gold than my high school’s fuschia and lime. I wore FSU t-shirts, tweeted #nowanole, perfected my Tomahawk Chop and watched the I’m Schmacked FSU video on loop for three days. Things were going well, that is, until move-in week.
Hindsight is 20/20 and I should have realized that a semi-prestigious university wouldn’t host an icky, icky sperm-based week of festivities to ring in the new school year. But alas, I was such a fool. All this talk of “Seminal Sensation Week” flooded my hormonal teenage male mind with such euphoria that I was blind to the obvious truth and numerous signs that literally spelled out my mistake in front of me. Some of the things I did in the name of school spirit and satisfying my most primal instincts are unspeakable, the rest aren’t much better so reader discretion is advised.
Have you ever seen those images online where student housing had to put up signs telling residents not to jack off in the shower because it blocks the drains? Well I feel awful for the guy who had to print out one of those and put it on the Westcott Fountain. The weird stares I was getting from everyone who passed by should have made it clear that something was wrong, but after being handed a literal palette of condoms by my orientation leader, RA and even Ms. Killings, I figured ‘these folks are pretty down with the spunk.’
I’m obviously extremely embarrassed and understand the University’s decision to expel me but I will not completely absolve them of blame for my situation. I think it’s finally time that we demand an end to the antiquated and shameful mascot of the Seminole. Maybe in 1947 it was okay, but that was 70 years ago and we should know better than to rally behind a name that sounds eerily similar to the adjectival form of nut juice. I ask for nothing more than clarity. We need to make sure that no student again has to “Fear the Smear.”