Syracuse University

PING.

"I swear..."

PING.

"...he's been spending more time..."

PING.

"...with that video game than with me."

PING.

The lean young woman finished up her round in the softball batting cage.  She dropped the bat and wiped her brow.  The behemoth brick student gym beside the batting cage blocked the setting sun, but the air was still warm.

"And I don't understand.  It's not like I don't put out."

She took a swig from her water bottle, letting a small splash disappear into her sports zip-top.

"Trevor, I appreciate you taking time out of your visit to drive me to the cage.  It's nice to finally see some courtesy."

Trevor van Ness, he of the wispy moustache and old polo shirt, and aspiring priest, began to get uncomfortable.  He had no problem being a sounding board for other people's issues, but when the subject became personal friends, he was unsure how to handle it.

"Salena, I'm sure Ish is not purposely ignoring you.  Has he invited you to participate with him?"

"Sure, tons of times.  But why do I want to be staring at a screen, cutting virtual fruit with The Fruity Ninja or whatever it's called."

"It can be a decent workout, good for reflexes and reaction time too.  And it's Citrus Samurai."

"Citrus Samurai, great.  I don't mind that he has an interest different from me - "
Trevor thought she did.

" - but only that it has no practical value.  That game is useless."

A voice spoke up from outside the cage.

"Useless?  I just won fifty dollars with my Citrus Samurai skills!"

Ish, he of the mini-fro and anime print shirt, and aspiring...aspirer, waved his reward in the air in triumph.

"Ish!  How did you get here?"  Salena zipped up her sport top an inch.

"Teammate dropped me off."

Trevor said, "Ish!  Fifty bucks?  Congratulations!"

Salena grabbed the prize.  "What's this, a gift card?"

"Yeah, to GameStop."

"GameStop?  Hoo-RAY."

Ish asked, "You two have fun?"

Trevor said, "Salena is a good hitter.  And she plays second base, just like I did!"

"You play second base?" asked Ish.

Trevor and Salena answered, "Yes."

"Oh I know Trevor did.  I though you were outfield."

"That was last season."  Salena punctuated her jab with a whip of her ponytail.

Trevor clapped his hands together.  "Okay!  How about some smoothies on me?  I've been staring at inflatable giant fruit in the window for a while."  He pointed up to Otto's Smoothie Cafe on the second floor of the student gym.

Ish said, "You're the giant fruit."

Salena ignored the immature remark.  "Sure, I'd like a smoothie.  But lots of times they run out of bananas, and I can't have anything else there.  Allergies."

Trevor said, "May I ask what is your allergy?"

"Citric Acid.  It's on citrus - "

"Citric Acid!  You've got to be kidding me!  You're the first person I've met that has the same allergy!"

"You have it too?"

Trevor said, "I've got it bad.  I can't even so much as touch a lemon or my face melts."

"Same here!  Maybe not the face-melting.  But hey, that's at least two things in common."

Ish interrupted.  "Smoothies it is, then!  Here Salena, let me get your bag."

Ish flung it out of the cage.

"Whoa, what's this brick doing here?  Dangerous."  Ish kicked the cinder block outside the gate.  The gate clicked shut.

"Oh."

"Ish, that door locks!"

"I see now.  Where's the key?"

"In my bag, which is now outside of the cage.  Thanks."

Trevor said, "Well, hold on.  I think we can reach the bag and drag it over.  Ish, toss me the bat."

Ish picked up the aluminum bat.

"Wow, this is lighter than I would have thought."

As Ish twirled the bat around, a crash came from above.  All three of them jumped.  Shards of glass tinked off the cage crossbars.

Salena and Trevor ducked down.

Salena shrieked, "Hey!  What is going on up there?"

A wooden crate lay on its side, halfway out the window.  A student worker in a black t-shirt and visor leaned out, grasping the crate.  He had an 'I'm fired, aren't I' look on his face.

A small lime dropped out of the crate.  It fell onto the batting cage netting.  Trevor, Ish, Salena, and the smoothie worker watched it slowly roll through a frayed hole in the netting and drop into the basket of the still-running pitching machine.  It rolled past the regulating latch, which was designed to time the softballs every few seconds.

Ish wrapped both hands around the bat handle.

He instinctively faced his shoulders to the machine, leaned low, arms and bat dangling loose between his knees.

The lime stopped.  It was stuck in the feeder basket, which was not made for lumpy fruit.

Trevor and Salena exhaled.

Salena said, "Let's turn off the pitching machine, please."

Ish turned back to agree, "Good idea."

Trevor yelped, "Ish, get out of the way!"

The vibration of the machine had freed the lime.  It dropped in between the two spinning wheels and shot out at an unfruitly high speed.

In one smooth motion, and with a wild HUUUU-AH!, Ish swung the bat to his right, up, then down, slamming the lime out of the air and into the dirt.

Ish sniffed at the cloud of red dust.

The smoothie worker up above gasped, losing his grip on the crate lid.  Ish saw the contents: dozens more limes, lemons, oranges.  Citrus fruit.

Trevor scrambled to his feet.  "I'm gonna click this thing off now."

Ish thundered, "STAY BACK."

Trevor froze.

Ish returned to his ready position.  His eyes narrowed.  His nostrils flared.

"Get back and cover up.  There will be pulp."

The fruits tumbled out of the crate, filling up the netting, sagging under the weight.  One by one, they crowded into the feeder basket.

With a thwip thwip thwip thwip thwip, fruits came at Ish at 50 mph.

Trevor and Salena covered up as best they could, shielding their faces.  They heard only squish after thud after squish after thud until it became a single squddd.

Ish was still in first-place form.  Ten fruits became twenty became thirty.  Each one met Ish's aluminum solidly and cleanly.  After each fruit missile, Ish inched toward the machine.  He had to increase his reaction speed to keep up as he got closer, but seemed to have no problem picking up the pace.

The crate finally emptied.  The smoothie worker pulled it back inside.

Ish kneeled down and pulled the plug on the machine.  It whined to a stop.

His shirt sprayed with pulp, he picked up a battered orange.  He squeezed it.  Juice ran down his arm.  He wiped his hand across his cheeks like edible warpaint.

Ish cleaned off the bat and flipped it back to Salena.

"Get your keys."

Ish yelled up to the second floor.

"You just couldn't have dropped a box full of bananas, could you?"

"Sorry, we're out of bananas."

Seton Hall University

16 Nov 2009.  Look at this pirate.  It is the most subdued pirate I have seen.  He's not grinning or scowling or yelling or keelhauling.  A logo more fitting for beachside condos or an investment firm.

Pirate Annuities.  Mutiny your financial fears.

"Uncle Dan?  What are you doing down here from New York?"

Uncle Dan looked around as he approached the cashier's desk.  He peered at the various prices on the shelves.  After handling a few bottles of vodka, he pointed toward the young man behind the desk.  Uncle Dan was now in salesmanship mode.  As usual.

"Rag, have I got an opportunity for you!"  Uncle Dan beamed through his doughy face and shook Rag's hand.

"What...what are you thinking about?"  Rag took back his hand and wiped it on his stringy blond hair.

"As you know, I have a line of top selling wines to my name."

"Yes, we do not stock much wine though."

"I know, but liquors are in the back of my head.  Tremendous upside.  But that's later.  I'm talking about now.  Or, two months from now."

Rag verbally calculated.  "Two months from now..."

"That's February, Rag.  My winery is doing our biggest promotion yet and I need your experience."

"My experience...here?  Stock boy and cashier?"

"And business student, all in Newark, the liquor store capital of the world!  I need a stock boy and cashier like yourself to help with the whole operation.  I can't pay you but I'll cover the flight and incidentals and some event tickets."

"A flight?  Ohhhh, you need me to show you around Norway!"

"Norway?  Norway?  You are still stuck in your Norwaygian wees, uh, your Norwegian ways, Rag.  Don't you ever watch the news?  Do you know what's happening in February?"

Rag shrugged.

"Only the biggest Canadian celebration since Terry Fox won the Stanley Cup!"

Uncle Dan pulled a blue-and-green-swirled folder out and slapped it down on the counter.  On it read the label:

VANCOUVER 2010

CORPORATE CHAMPION PACKET

AYKROYD, DANIEL

West Virginia University

23 Jun 2009. WVU had long been on my list. And after many cold walk ups ending at locked doors, I wised up and started gathering bookstores' phone numbers and business hours. Even with detailed directions from a nice homegrown front desk lady, I got lost. I visited the downtown campus and got lost trying to get there, stumbled into the bookstore's parking garage out of dumb luck, and got lost on the 45-degree streets trying to leave. Frustrated, I just put the car in neutral, folded my arms in pouting defiance and let it roll till it reached the interstate. Car insurance got expensive after that.

Jessica Hurst's mother had told her never to accept rides from strangers.
Jessica's mother, however, also told her to use mustard when mixing potato salad, and that was a matter of taste at best, a vile befoulance at worst.

But the issue at hand went beyond mere mayonnaise-based side dishes, it even went beyond the State of West Virginia. It went to Ohio. The football Mountaineers were playing their first away game at Cincinnati the next day. Jessica, the lady mountaineer, had lobbied hard to accompany the team on road trips. The administration agreed to foot the bill. Unfortunately she had overslept and the buses left her stuck in Morgantown. Being only the second young lady to don the buckskins, she was quite proud of the honor. But the scrutiny would be especially harsh after a no-show. Failing to live up to the responsibility would surely mean the stripping of her title.
Simultaneously mention the topics 'Jessica Hurst' and 'stripping' would make even the coolest man flush with flop sweat.
Nick Cassavetes, quite cool in his own right, was no exception.

"Headed to Cincinnati?"
"How did you know?"
"You guys have a game tomorrow night, right? Plus the outfit..." said Nick, motioning to her fringe.
"Okay, perceptive. Please tell me you're going there? I'll cover all your expenses for gas."
"Don't worry about gas, I was going that way anyway."
The power locks shot open. Nick stepped out of his hand-me-down station wagon.
"Let me get your bags."
Jessica watched Nick load her carryons in the trunk.
His chivalry, charming.
His Ohio license plate, corroborating.
Her hunting knife under her right pant leg, assuring.
Nick opened the door for her. "If you're hungry, there's some extra chicken wings and potato salad in the paper bag there."
"Potato salad?? Mustard- or mayonnaise-based?"
"Are you kidding? Mayonnaise, of course."
Jessica smiled and stuck out her hand. "Jessica Hurst, West Virginia University!"
"I know - you're on TV all the time! Nick Cassavetes, University of Dayton. All datin', no fu-"
Nick stopped himself short from finishing his automatic call-response. He self-edited. "Fun. All Dayton, No Fun."
"Don't worry, I've heard it. An oldie but a goodie."
The station wagon, and the flirting, continued through the Appalachians at 80 mph.

The ladies of WVU can even turn the heads of iron sculptures.

Villanova University

25 Oct 2008. Nice looking glass here. Villanova's classy V logo, classy script, classy glass with the craggy punt to keep it interesting. (Saw this same style with the Vancouver Olympic logo in a petrol station in Alberta, so not as unique as I had hoped.) If only they weren't the generic 'wildcats' their athletic identity would be top notch.

Persephone, DDS, MBA (born Persephone Evelyn Bumbaugh, but when Persephone is your first name, that's really all you need) was a forward thinking alum of Villanova University, a religious affiliated school - probably Jesuit - outside Philadelphia. She had a 'sunk cost' outlook on life, refusing to let any past mistakes or accomplishments hold her back from any future ones. Her blonde hair also held this view, the voluminous curls threatening to explode off her scalp at any moment.
Anyway, she found it quite easy to put aside her full time dentistry duties to take up a consulting position with Proctor & Gamble Medical Services. Her DDS degree had served her well, but she was eager to try out her newly acquired MBA skills.
She loved the brand management team she was assigned to. Such a great work ethic and instant camaraderie with the half dozen other brand managers. Although Persephone was the rookie, the team knew a good idea when they heard it. Once they received the blessing of the Collegiate Licensing Association, Persephone was elected to present their recommendations to the VP of Medical Services.
"What have you got for us, Persephone?"
"Villanovocaine."
It was the portmanteau that launched a $325.6 million revenue stream for Proctor & Gamble. It was a slam dunk on all accounts. Persephone promptly resigned from P&G, batting 1.000 (that is, 1 for 1) in the medical marketing arena.
Persephone's later dabblings included Milton Bradley (Hofstratego), Colgate (DePaulmolive), and H.J. Heinz (William & Marinara).

Photographic rendering, Loudmouth Midwestern Marketing Dentist

Georgetown University

12 Sep 2008. A walk through this religious-founded school - most likely Jesuit - yielded a rock gray tumbler. May be used to tumble rocks, if that's how you get your jollies. No demons were spotted anywhere. :(

Admiral George shouted through his mustache.
"Ahoy! Yates!"
"Ahoy! Healy!"
"Ahoy! Maguire!"
Now granted permission, the three young men in gray jerseys and short pants jogged onto the basketball court. The crowd yelled. They cheered. They jumped. They clapped.
They were getting desperate.
Georgetown was trailing Syracuse by twelve points halfway through the second half. If Georgetown was to advance through the playoffs, they had to cut the deficit now.
George McDonough, the PA announcer given the honorary title Admiral for his frequent kayaking trips on the Potomac and thus began introducing players with an 'ahoy', was sweating too. Fortunately the sound system was too rough to pick up any subtle vocal tremblings.
Every fan's nervousness came from one missing piece. Noticeably absent from the court was strong forward and debate team captain Carlton Sax. He had broken his hand several days prior with an emphatic slam of his fist on the podium. He was arguing for sturdier tariff laws to stall the introduction of the federal income tax, a cause he sincerely believed in.
His unavailability on the roster was the sole reason Georgetown was down by a dozen. He was also the reason the team had made it this far. Coach can make all the triple switch substitutions he wanted, but without Sax it was just hatching rocks.
Sax and Coach were not worried.
Sax and Coach had other plans.
They staged the whole shebang: the fist slam, Sax's hand in a cast, Sax reporting to the game in 'street clothes'. Only Sax and Coach were in on it. They clearly valued the element of surprise, not to mention theatricality.
And now it was time for the big reveal.
Coach nodded at Sax. Sax quietly slipped off the bench and into the locker room to change. He returned in his fresh gray uniform and took his seat. The arena turned its attention from the court to the sidelines. Animated, inebriated whispers reverberated through the bleachers. Admiral George was slackjawed. Why was Sax in uniform with a casted hand? Was he going to play with one hand behind his back?
The answer came when Sax walked to the substitution area in front of the announcer's table. He unwrapped his bandage and tossed it over his shoulder. The crowd - and Syracuse's coaches - were stunned in disbelief. Coach called in a 30-second timeout. As Sax walked onto the court giving the players slaps on the backside, Admiral George had to make the call official. He stumbled over his words:
"...HOYA! SAXA!"

******

Now some contend that the Georgetown Hoyas' battle cry is a pseudo-Latin translation of 'hey, check out these rocks' or 'today, the saxophone'. Decades pass, stories get warped, so the different theories are understandable. But how could you forget the legendary flub of Admiral George and the come-from-behind win sparked by the dribblin' debater, Carlton Sax?

You wouldn't know feasible tariff law if it slithered out of your derriere and voted for William Jennings Bryan!

University of Notre Dame

19 Oct 2007. The ultimate buyer's remorse here. Acquired a tumbler so bland, yet Notre Dame's bookstore puts so many to shame, in terms of store design, square footage, and merchandise selection. A classy dark green shotglass with 'Irish' in gold script, was the one that got away, my drinkware 'missed connection'.

Pope Urban Beatz LXIX landed flat on his back, disoriented. Only rarely did he fall from heights of greater than thirty feet. He slowly sat up on the front steps of Our Lady of the Immaculate Leprechaun. A thin man clad in off-white rags ran out the church's front doors.
"Pope Urban! Are you all right?"
Pope Urban dusted off his tall velvet hat.
"I'm all right, T.J. Just got the wind knocked out of me. But a little suspicious as to why a dragon is flying around South Bend, Indiana."
"I saw the dragon through the stained glass windows. He was in the back of the church thrashing around so I opened the back door a crack to get a better look. He wrestled a huge water tank from out of the ground with his claws!"
"The holy water tank? That is enough for over a thousand archdioceses!"
Pope Urban and T.J. looked to the sky. The scaly blue beast was now a hazy spot disappearing into the clouds.
"Do you think it has something to do with the cloud seeding report?" asked T.J.
"Listen to me, Touchdown Jesus. I think it has everything to do with the cloud seeding report."
******
The bigwigs of organized religion would not disagree with this point.
Biotheology Today had recently published a scientific juggernaut on the effects of high altitude cloud seeding with holy water. The results of the cloud seeding were incredible: lush rains encouraged crops, even those out of season; the airs and waters were remarkably free of particulate matter; long gone animal populations returned and those already present grew in record numbers. It seemed to be an earthly Eden on demand.
Both the religious and secular communities were jubilant. Finally a linking of science and God that could bring both philosophies together in making a terrestrial heaven a reality.
Pope Urban, however, felt he was the only one to see the potential downside. An egregious show of arrogance and hubris not unlike the Tower of Babel. The resolution, which would come sooner than later, would be pain, confusion, and bitter divisiveness.
While he told whom he could about the impending disaster, he went to personally patrol the location of the largest reservoir of holy water in the United States: the University of Notre Dame.
Guard duty did not go well.
******
"Where do you think the dragon is taking the holy water tank?"
"No idea. Also no idea who the dragon is working for. What I do know is this person still needs the proper rocketry to launch the tank, awfully cloudy weather, and plenty of brownstone for cloud seed grit to pull off what I think..." Gravity took hold of Pope Urban's jaw.
"To pull off what? What's going to happen?"
"Holy Toledo."

*TO BE CONTINUED*

The inspiration for Pope Urban and T.J.

University of Pittsburgh

18 Mar 2007. Petersen Events Center, you aren't fooling anyone. You're the Panthers' basketball arena who occasionally hosts graduations and visiting former stars of The Real World! Love and accept who you are! This was a spur-of-the-moment trip to Pitt to see a first round women's NCAA tournament game. Mmmmm, a thirty two ounce serving of Sprite-flavored beverage hit the spot. The day trip even included a visit to the Duquesne Incline and Primanti Bros. who give a big middle finger to lunchplate segregation and PUT THE FRENCH FRIES ON THE SANDWICH ITSELF!
Come again? Not familiar with the Duquesne Incline? Not surprising, Pittsburgh really should get the word out on this thing. Part street trolley, part ski lift, part steam engine, fully turn-of-the-century coaltown history. Back when machine parts were the size of thoroughbreds and needed the utmost durability to survive the elements. So it moves at 3 miles an hour, so what? Put yourself in a time where it was freakin' amazing that it even moved at all. At the same time when people imagined riding in a locomotive going 40 mph would crush your bones.

Ya ever seen your own insides, Jimmy?

DePaul University

3 Sept 2005. DePaul is right off an El train stop in upper Chicago. DePaul blends in nicely with the urban setting, not trying too hard to stand out, knowing that Chitown is a huge place without a long enough attention span to stop and observe. Small bookstore for a huge campus. Again, acknowledging that a bevy of locally owned campus supply shops would pop up no matter how much retail square footage was committed by Barnes & Noble. They were founded on religious principles, specifically Vincentian. I don't know what Vincentian means, so it's probably like Jesuit, meaning they are good at starting colleges but not so great at keeping members. When was the last time you met a Jesuit or a Vincentian?
If you are liking the logos here, go ahead and kill an hour at SportsLogos.net. The public comments on the logos crack me up. For example, they encourage Marvel comics to sue, claiming that DePaul stole the Nightcrawler character from X-Men. The collection at that site dwarfs anything that will be displayed on the CCP. Now if you don't mind, I have to tend to an 'unlawful verbiage' subpoena from the Dwarf Anti-defamation League.