Frostburg State University

23 Jun 2009. In a perfect world, June at Frostburg would be filled with players, staff, and media for the Washington Redskins training camp. But a hometown feel is not a good fit (that is: not optimally profitable) for big business, which is what the NFL has become. So don't blame owner Dan Snyder - if it wasn't him, it would have been someone else.
Anyway, FSU is sparsely inhabited by janitorial and construction crews, taking their time, relaxing, absorbing the sunlight. Bobcats' fans know how to enjoy a summer day, Redskins or not, thank you very much.

"Yo where's Portis?"
"Who knows. How you gonna sign up for a radio appearance and then not show up?"
"Don't worry, he told us." A slim brunette walks into the studio and starts adjusting levels on the sound board.
"Clinton is out at Frostburg. He'll be on the air tomorrow."
The young lady hands a pair of headphones to the two Redskins players.
"Frostburg? What's he doin' in Frostburg?"
"You hogs ready for showtime? Pa-ZAM! Pa-ZAM!" The mid-heavy host walks in to give the football players a couple of faux stomach punches. Not wanting to be badmouthed as jerks later, the players pocket their fists and smile weakly.

"Dumbledore was a Quidditch beater but still managed to catch the golden snitch thirteen times."
"Excellent point. Everyone, you could follow Clinton's example. Now for next time, we'll tackle chapter 7 on the creatures of Hogwarts."
#26 quickly finishes up his notes for his appearance and packs up. He is the first one out of the classroom. He checks his cellphone and dials the first of his seven missed calls.
"Sup Cooley?"
"Yo man I hear you up in Frostburg today?"
"I'm leaving right now."
"What are you doing way out there?"
"Our team played up here for decades man. You just got no sense of history."
"I guess not. But I don't share your sense of style, Miss Nancy, and you're not watchin' that Tyra Banks 'So You Want To Be A Model' show."
"Whatever dicknose. See you at practice."
Running back Clinton Portis had been keeping his attendance at FSU a secret for obvious reasons. It's one thing to wear a pink feather boa to a press conference as a joke. It's another to enroll in a college course called The Science of Harry Potter.
Though his teammates had started to become suspicious of his Tuesday night absences, he would be outed by a completely different source.

Portis walks into the radio studio for his make-up interview on The Sports Rotunda with Robert Rotunda. He pulls out his notes on his talking points, special thanks, and charities. The interview goes well but he leaves his notes behind. Normally that is not a problem. But his notes tonight were scribbled on the back of a classroom seating chart. After the show, the female producer plucks it out of the recycle bin.
"Robert, check this out."
The fat man takes the sheet. He reads it silently. His smile and eyes grow wide.
"Is this for real? This is great! Pa-ZAM! Ratings! Maybe even a mention on the ESPN ticker." He one-two punches the air.
It was not revealed the way he would have liked, but Clinton Portis became the first pro football player to openly admit being in love with a boy wizard.

Not pictured: tailbacks, tight ends, Jim Zorn

University of North Carolina, Asheville

10 Apr 2009. The Berkeley of the East. So that nickname turns a lot of people off, fine. How about Lovely Country Home of Antiqueing and Cracker Barrel Bingo Tournaments? Better now? Give hippies a chance. And don't pass up a chance to visit the Biltmore. But I'm no architecture fan...I'm a dip fan. The Biltmore produces the tastiest bacon dip you will ever spill on your cravat.

"You filthy son of a whore!"
Hatchback dodged a lanyard of keys.
"Listen, Moonbeam, I don't know how this happened!"
"Like Hell you don't! It's that stick figure at your pizza shop. I bet she's loaded with all sorts of diseases."
"Suzette? I would never do anything with her. She has bacne."
"Oh really? Bacne? And how would you know that?"
"Uhhhh...."

Moonbeam was angry. Double angry. She recently learned she had contracted hepatitis, but what really ticked her off was her boyfriend Hatchback cheating on her. She found out of her new malady from UNCA's student blood drive. When she and Hatchback started dating, they both had their blood tests to make sure they were clean. An quick and dirty way to build third-party-administered trust, like a pre-nup for people who are just messin' around. Now all of a sudden they both tested positive. Moonbeam had plenty of conspiracy theories and they all included a blonde cashier at The Baked Bambino named Suzette.

"I never should have let you start working there!"

Neither Suzette nor Hatchback were to blame though. They were simply coworkers where Suzette's bacne was a running gag. Moonbeam's was a classic case of jealousy. No, the culprit was The Baked Bambino.
Bambino's kitchen had long housed many culinary viruses. The most potent was the hepatitis swimming in the marinara. Endless relationships had come crashing down thanks to pizza hepatitis.
Moonbeam got over Hatchback quickly. She found her rebound in the student chapter of Amnesty International. But her tool of revenge, Jason Minks, was no saint either. He joined Amnesty and adopted the name Waffles to get to the loose hippie chicks. Moonbeam and Waffles deserved each other.
As the cycle continued, condom manufacturers shed a tear all the way to the bank.

This round baking sheet-shaped plaque on UNCA's quad raises awareness for pizza hepatitis.

American University

21 Feb 2009. AU was a baffling ordeal to get to. At least compared to the schools where you pull off the interstate and BOOM there it is. Drive to the metro then shuttle then walk. Their quad reminded me of UIC's and construction had me walking in circles and cutting through brunches to find their bookstore. Nothing with the new slick AU logo on it, sad.

"And that is why dolphins regularly eat their young. Thank you, and good night."
Jacques Cousteau exited the Bender Arena stage with the full applause behind him.
Minutes later, he emerged from his dressing room in a sleeveless shirt, a towel around his neck and a red tuque on his head. The ragged old Frenchman answered the media's questions in between tips of a navy-issue canteen.
The throng died down. One college student remained. As Cousteau confirmed evening plans with his assistant, the young man tentatively approached the oceanographer.
"Mr. Cousteau, can I get your autograph?" He handed over a program that read Jacques Cousteau Tellin' It Like It Is.
"Sure, let's make it quick. What's your name?"
"Trevor van Ness, sir. I love watching your shows. I think I'd like to be an oceanographer too," he said, fishing for career advice.
"Oh, yes? Good for you," said Cousteau, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"Yes, I want to swim with the dolphins like you."

Trevor just hooked a lunker.

Cousteau stopped writing, which was good as he already forgot Trevor's name.
"Like me? You know how many times I have swam with the dolphins? One, at a show at Sea World in Orlando, Florida." He spit the last two words out with disdain. "It appears you do not have a basic grasp of the vigorous scientific background required for professional ocean studies. It is thankless, dreary, gut wrenching work! So many times I have awoke paralyzed, unable to see how I can continue into the deep, yet equally unable to resist the pull of the sea. The only reason I have achieved my popular glory is by God's chance. Why me, is something too dangerous to ponder."
Cousteau handed the program back to Trevor, searching the boy's eyes to see if his message sank in.
"Oh. Okay. Um, thank you for the autograph."
Cousteau headed toward the exit with his assistant. He stopped short of the door. He motioned to his assistant to continue without him. Cousteau turned back to Trevor.
"Boy, if you want to talk some more, we're going to party at Spread Eagles." He tossed a handbill to Trevor and walked out.
Trevor looked at the flyer and admitted that the lady on it was quite alluring. He was never so glad to have a fake ID.
A stray newspaperman heard the entire exchange.

And that is why American University adopted the Spread Eagles as their mascot (later shortened to Eagles). Thank you, and good night.

University of the District of Columbia

18 Nov 2008. Quietly integrated and hidden within the city lies the home of the UDC Firebirds, near the headquarters of charitable playground builders KaBoom!, do-it-yourself pottery shop All Fired Up, and salsariffic Uptown Tavern. They like to make buildings out of concrete on this campus.

Trevor and Ish, UDC students and interns at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park, had heroism in their hearts and wildlife in their convertible. An okapi and a giraffe, specifically.

For its 75th anniversary, the National Zoo was unveiling a new habitat for its "Hoofin' it to the Serengeti" exhibit. The guest of honor for the day was to be Michael Babatunde, prime minister of the okapi capital of the world, Zambia. A week before the unveiling, the zoo's ungulates up and died. Did they contract some rare horse flu or eat rat poison? Who knows. The zoo director was horrified at the prospect of showing nothing but an empty, though slick looking, faux watering hole.
Trevor felt bad for the zoo director and saw this as an opportunity. He decided to help. He called his friend at the Frederick Animal Park in Maryland. Then he enlisted Ish.

"Ungulates?"
"Hoofed mammals."
"I work in the aviary, Trevor. There's not many hoofed mammals in with the birds."
"No, I can get the animals. I just need to borrow one of your parents' cars. They're still in Hawaii, right?"
"Virgin Islands. Which car do you want? My mom's minivan or my dad's Firebird?"
"Ish, we need to get an okapi and a giraffe to show to the prime minister of Zambia, so obviously, we need to arrive in style. Let's take the Firebird."
Trevor's contact at the Frederick Animal Park came through. He had two tranquilized juveniles ready to go on the Saturday morning. He made them promise to have them back the next day for their weekly checkups.
The okapi went in the trunk. With the backseats folded down and the cargo net up, Trevor and Ish could keep an eye on it while restrained. The giraffe was a litle trickier. It was laid across the folded down seats, buckled in.
Ish drove, windows down, headed southeast on I-270. Ish's afro and Trevor's shaggy moustache flapped in the wind.
Trevor said, "We're gonna be local celebrities. What're you gonna do with all that prestige? I'd like to do some time with the Peace Corps or the foreign service."
"Um, travel around? Haven't really thought about that kind of thing, but west Africa sounds kickin'. I'd like to go there."
The cars in front of them slowed.
"Whoa, slow down, Ish."
"Where's this traffic coming from?"
"Skins game?"
"Football is on Sundays. And it's the offseason."
"Well, I don't know."
"It's only ten AM. We got two hours."
"I know, but still."
Forty minutes of normal traffic and an hour of construction detours later, they crossed into District territory on Connecticut Avenue NW.
"We're FINALLY moving! Suck, that was RIDICULOUS."
"Just get us there, Ish. I think the giraffe is moving."
"Moving? Already?"
"We were planning on being at the zoo an hour ago."
"I don't want it in here when it wakes up. A bee in the car is bad enough. Can you tie its legs? Look for some string or something."
"That's what I'm doing. All...I...see...under the seat...I have jumper cables and bungee cords."
The giraffe squealed weakly.
"Get the freaking bungees on it! Is the okapi moving too?"
"Calm down! One thing at a time! Don't worry about the okapi, it's stuck in the trunk."
Trevor wrapped the bungee cords around the giraffe's front and back ankles. The giraffe stuck its head between the driver and passenger seats. It started tonguing the gearshift.
Ish pressed his body left. Trevor pressed his body right. They both froze.
They pulled away from a traffic light. The Firebird reached 15 mph before groaning for second gear.
"Ish, hurry up!" said Trevor through gritted teeth, still giving the giraffe space.
"That thing is gonna bite my hand."
Trevor pulled the lever on his right to flop his seat forward. The giraffe moved its head back. It started chewing on road maps sticking out of the passenger seatback. Ish shifted the slimy gearshift into 2nd, 3rd, and 4th in three seconds. They pulled into the employee parking lot. The lot was full so Ish parked along the curb. He reached for the emergency flashers but in his shaken state he accidentally released the trunk door. The okapi fell out and galloped into the park. Tourists shrieked.
Trevor jumped out. "Get a wrangler for the giraffe! I'll get the okapi!"
"With what?"
Trevor didn't answer. He didn't know.
Shoot me, thought Trevor, running through the crowd in his olive shorts and khaki shirt. There goes my spot in the Peace Corps. I don't even know how to wrangle an okapi.

But Prime Minister Babatunde did.

The Zambian entourage fled from the animal's path. Babatunde stood fast. He whipped the scarf from his neck and around the okapi's. With a flick of his wrist, a knot appeared in the scarf. He held the scarf in one hand and placed the other on the okapi's withers. He ran alongside it. As he slowed his pace, so did the okapi's.
Trevor caught up. He saw Babatunde's colorful garb and rightly assumed he was the big guy.
"I am so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to put you in danger."
"Danger? Do not be silly. It is just a baby. Where did it come from? I heard many animals died from a disease."
"Me and my friend brought it from another zoo for this event. I wanted to surprise my boss but everything went to hell."
"Not at all, young man. Please, sit with me."
Babatunde sat down cross legged on the concrete. Somehow he induced the okapi to lay down as well. Trevor joined him. The Zambian groupies came around too.
"What is your name?"
"Trevor van Ness."
"Let me ask you, Trevor van Ness. Did anyone else bring extra okapi? Did anyone else even consider the idea of extra okapi?"
Ish and a few other zoo employees came to stand behind Trevor.
"Is this your friend here?" Babatunde pointed to Ish and his fro.
"Yes, that's Ish."
Babatunde spoke something foreign to his aides.
"You will be honored at the ceremony that you just saved. I will see you in a few minutes."
He stood up with the help of his aides. He handed the okapi over to a zookeeper and walked off.
"Trevor, is Zambia in west Africa?"
"South Central."
"Eh, won't be picky."
A newspaperman picking up the story wanted to give the audacious youngsters flashier names than 'students' or 'zookeepers'. Since he couldn't be sure of the spelling of okapi or giraffe, he went with their makeshift animal transporter. Looking at the hood, the name Firebird was clear even to the illiterati.