Our eyes: wide shut

Our eyes: wide shut
November 6, 2001
By Peter Stair

Three seemingly unrelated events happened last week:

First, a study was released showing that the amount students are willing to pay (and that universities have the courage to charge) for a college certification continues to increase faster than inflation.

Second, another wealthy guy has made another outrageously large, record-setting, hundreds-of-millions-of-dollars donation to an already wealthy and expensive university. This time it was $600 million and the university was Cal Tech. Last time it was more than $400 million and the university was Stanford.

Third, last Tuesday, a number of homeless people and advocates stopped at Stanford on their march from San Jose to San Francisco. They told us how difficult it has been for them to get proper health care or education for their children and how impossible it has been for them to compete with Silicon Valley millionaires for housing. They asked for “compassion” from an uncharitable economic system.

This is a column not so much about these three events, but rather about the absurd world in which they would happen, and then be considered separately.

But, I must note that last week was also a truly phenomenal week in the world of sports. Especially in times like these, how can I avoid remarking on the Stanford football team?

Now I know many people have already written many fine sports columns, and these columnists are often both observant and lyrical. But it wouldn’t right for me to stay quiet.

Why? Because I learned something important over the weekend:

After an incident in the kitchen, I realized that I bleed. I bleed Red. A Red that looks suspiciously like Cardinal Red.

And, man oh man, was I bleeding after the Card’s exceedingly painful loss to Washington this week.

Truly, we were all suffering as we saw our Stanford team-mates writhing in agony and blood on the field last Saturday after the Huskies scorched us, 42-28.

It was a miserable sight.

It was the site of a Great Power falling, a bloody moment we will probably never forget. Before our eyes, we saw it happening, the Stanford Cardinal — a team that could have Won It All — falling from the ninth-and-two-thirds best team in the country to the 15th-and-one-third best team.

Our loss to Washington, to put it simply, was nothing less than totally devastating.

At times like these it’s important to have a little perspective. We can take walks and call relatives and remember that we will all die eventually. But, perhaps most importantly, we can remember the bottom line: Stanford football still has a bright future.

To put it in other words, if Stanford were a city-state, and our football team were our army, we could expect many years of bloody conquest and pillaging. And, when we are powerful again, we can remember this loss.

Just as Cato once said, “remember Carthage,” we can say, “remember the University of Washington.”

Speaking of remembering, though, will anyone forget how God dramatically turned against the Yankees this weekend?

How ironic! The Team of Destiny failed to win the Series That Everyone Will Talk About, Forever.

It all came down to the blood-filled ninth inning. Actually, it was not just the ninth inning, it was also the ninth inning of the seventh game. And not only did it come down to the ninth inning of the seventh game, but it also came down to the last two outs. The last two outs!

And, not only this, but the pitcher was Mariano Rivera, a pitcher whose blood-lust for pummeling batters with strikes had not wavered in the postseason for at least 2,129,760 minutes. The batter, meanwhile, was Tony Womack, who gets a hit less than 30.0 percent of the time. How improbable that he would hit a single at that moment!

And, not only this, but the Yankees were clearly the team with Destiny on their side. God had indicated His blessing to this team by allowing the players to make otherwise Impossible Comebacks as frequently as if they were popcorn.

But, bruised and bloody as they were, the Arizona Diamondbacks were not giving up. The Yankees did not win, and therefore were not able to avenge the Taliban for its hurtful actions on Sept. 11. New Yorkers will thus have to wait a few months longer before their lives can return to normal.

However, in the other city attacked on Sept. 11, Washington, D.C., God was actively seeking to revive the spirit of the people last week. After months of speculation and rumors, He’s donned a Washington Wizards uniform in His Second Coming-back. And, in the face of a groundswell of doubt, He’s led them to a 2-2 record.

Truly, there’s no one who can dribble and throw an inflated rubber sphere better than MJ. Ever. Period.

Hero — “one who shows great courage” — is too trite a word for Him. Every player in the NBA demonstrates their incredible fortitude every night they walk onto the court. “Legend” is still not enough, nor is “Incarnation.”

No, “Supreme Deity” is the only name for Him. He has carried and fulfilled too many huge hopes on His shoulders to be called otherwise.

And so, the shaken, anxious District of Columbia has turned its eyes to Him, praying that He can restore peace and order. We’re all wondering: Can He save the Washington Wizards? Can He save Washington? Can He save us?

We’d certainly like to hope so. He and others have already saved us from having to pay attention.

What else can we hope for?

Peter Stair is a junior majoring in human ecology. In defiance of natural law, he gave this column 110 percent. He couldn’t have done it without Michael Jordan. Please e-mail him if you enjoy bread and circus at pstair@stanford.edu.