15 September 2000
Automotive Lebensraum
JB vs. parking lot expansion.

22 September 2000
Football Returns to HC
JB vs. the Harvard Crimson.

29 September 2000
West of the Hudson
JB vs. people from 'flyover territory.'

6 October 2000
Americans Under Attack
JB vs. hurtful stereotypes.

27 October 2000
The Silverware Bandit
JB vs. law and order, Kimball-style.

3 November 2000
ITS Alive
JB vs. the college's Napster policy.

10 November 2000
Hail to the Chief
JB vs. Gore vs. Bush vs. Nader.

17 November 2000
Complaints, Complaints
JB vs. student government.

2 February 2001
The Semester Ahead
JB vs. anticipated 'senior nostalgia.'

16 February 2001
Unequal Equivalency
JB vs. Crossroads' capitalist pigs.

23 February 2001
Xcess of Xtreme
JB vs. the WWF's Vince McMahon.

2 March 2001
The Eve of Spring Break
JB vs. brainwashing cults.

30 March 2001
Losing the Lottery
JB vs. on-campus housing selection.

30 March 2001
The Greatest Rivalry Ever
JB vs. Major League Baseball.

6 April 2001
Door-to-Door Campaigning
JB vs. campus elections '01.

27 April 2001
Crunch Time
JB vs. the Soggies.

4 May 2001
Crusade for a Better Paper
MB vs. Brocklesby's evil plan.

No, no, they're not, but that's how it felt earlier this week to Holy Cross panic specialist Joey Brocklesby '03 when he was suddenly awakened by what sounded like a very urgent Civil Defense siren.

"So I'm sleeping, and I'm having this dream about the new meal plan-"

I should mention that Joey confuses himself with the SGA Co-Chairs sometimes. He even cut off the top of one of his Montréal Expos caps to emulate Kevin Long's trademark visor. It really didn't look good on him, but that never stopped Joey before.

"So anyway, I'm sleeping and not disturbing anyone, and all of a sudden -- whooooeeeeeooooo!" He made a sound that first made me cringe, and then made me duck under a nearby school desk.

"Exactly!" he shouted. "An air-raid siren, signaling adverse weather, winter parking restrictions, or attack by the Commies. So I made haste to the basement and hid out down there for awhile, like fifteen minutes or so, until I figured the nuclear holocaust must be over and it was safe to go outside."

I should also mention that Joey hasn't had a decent science class in three years. He was helping me study for a Bio test last week and I had to convince him that "yourosis" is not the correct term, even if you are looking at it from a different point of view.

"So I go outside, careful not to inhale the radioactive air too deeply, and imagine my disappointment when I find that everything's just as I had left it the night before. There was no World War III! No Russkie bombers dropping fiery death upon Worcester! What a rip-off!"

The Civil Defense siren that wasn't -- yet another charm of Holy Cross life in this cusp-of-the-Millennium school year, brought to you by Perini Construction and whatever machine of theirs it is that makes that wavering high-pitched sound.

Joey's not-siren punctured the Mt. St. James air just as we prepared to evacuate the school to celebrate the advent of European imperialism in our hemisphere, and Joey wondered if the native nations on our shores ran down to the basement and hid under a desk when Columbus arrived on an intercontinental nonballistic galleon some 508 years ago. Of course they didn't; they could hardly see what was down the road when Chris convinced them that they were Indians and got his buddy Ponce to start looking around for the Fountain of Youth in Florida, a search that continues to this day with the Marlins and Devil Rays baseball teams.

Speaking of baseball and Indians, the small but noticeable Cleveland fan base at this school -- responsible for the light sprinkling of Wahoo caps and Browns jackets -- is reeling in shock this week as the MLB playoffs continue, inexplicably, without so much as a nod to Jacobs Field. It's a true shame when a baseball dynasty collapses ... ah, who am I kidding, no it's not.

The Indians ruled the AL Central for five years and you won't find a soul in Kansas City or Detroit who believes in extending that dominance. The Yankees' pennant run is the next target for elimination: we have a crack squad of White Sox, Mariners, and Athletics working on that now. The last of the remaining 1990s dynasties is the Braves' stranglehold on the NL East, regrettably unlikely to end anytime soon.

Braves and Indians -- always the subjects of intense debate come October, not only for their power-hitting first basemen, but also for the controversial nicknames that they bear. In recent years so-called Native American advocacy groups have gotten a lot of free publicity for protesting the "racism" inherent in these names.

The Braves have improved their act in recent years, getting rid of the infamous cigar-store Indian "Chief Noc-A-Homa," their former bleacher-dwelling mascot, but the Indians have retained Chief Wahoo, with his beet-red hue, buck teeth, and ear-to-ear smile. The Indians (allegedly named after Penobscot Mainer, star ballplayer, and Holy Cross grad Louis Sockalexis) claim that Wahoo is simply a cartoon character, but we know better.

"Wahoo has certainly colored my perception of Native Americans," revealed Joey when I questioned him on this subject. "Racism caused by the Chief is clearly the biggest problem facing the Native American community today. How can they expect past economic injustices to be righted, or their educational standards to be raised, when everywhere you go in Cleveland there's a smiling cartoon Indian face looking at you?"

How, indeed. Joey continued: "And while I'm on the subject, have you ever seen the old New York Islanders logo? Now if that wasn't biased against coastal peoples, I don't know what was. And then there's the New England Patriots logo. Have you ever seen such blatant stereotyping against proud Americans, as if all of us "patriots" can be characterized as WASPs wearing silly colorful hats? I tell you, if it weren't for the Yankees' left fielder, I'd say there was no Justice in sports at all."

Now that he mentioned it, I was struck by the number of doors that remained closed in society to persons of Irish descent, no thanks to the drunken-Irishman logos of the Boston Celtics and Notre Dame Fighting Irish. As a student who is himself part Irish, your loyal correspondent was shocked that such hateful characterizations of his ancestry are allowed to be displayed on our caps, on our t-shirts, even in respectable newspapers such as this one.

Five centuries after Columbus opened this can of worms, the proper treatment of minorities continues to stymie us, and we can only hope for a day that sees the end of such racist icons as Chief Wahoo, the Patriots Patriot, the Fighting Irishman, the Gorton's Fisherman (you know who I mean), the Quaker Oats Quaker, Mr. Clean, Betty Crocker, Uncle Ben, Uncle Sam, McGruff the Crimefighting Dog, et al. These divisive characters have for too long perpetuated harmful stereotypes about Native Americans, African-Americans, Irish Americans, religious Americans, patriotic Americans, female Americans, American Americans, and other such persecuted groups.

When that day of understanding comes, we will have achieved happiness as a nation and perhaps our minorities will not feel as though they are under attack anymore. Which is not to say that some of them won't come up with newer, wackier ways of perceiving slights. Joey already feels like he's coming under attack again. There goes that air-raid siren again. ...

A slightly shorter version of this article ran in the 6 October 2000 edition of The Crusader, on page 12 (second page of Features section), along with an Atlanta tomahawk and a smilin' Chief Wahoo cartoon.