HOGWARTS, WEST POINT & THE ARMY-NAVY GAME
Hogwarts of the first Harry Potter film was like still believing in Santa Claus. Sentient portraits, ghosts, moving staircases, and fanciful turrets all created a world of wonder and joy.
West Point too created its own world, but one more reminiscent of a prison film. Squat grey buildings of granite block loomed over the incoming West Point class of 1980 on July 7, 1976, as did immaculately clad upperclass cadets screaming at our every move.
Both institutions though share an overriding passion, an obsession that bonds the student body and extends long after they’ve graduated. Quidditch and football of course. I’m not sure about the next quidditch game, but Army-Navy is December 12th.
Quidditch is an Air Farce game, all zooming about and looking pretty. It’s cut-throat competitive, while maintaining a well-coiffed appearance despite the most desperate of dives and barrel rolls.
Sure, the odd faculty member occasionally tries to kill a quidditch player. But otherwise the most dangerous element is broom sitting while enveloped in a cloak capable of both momentary blindness and strangulation.
West Point coaches became aware of the quidditch-like drama of the air game decades ago, but remain deeply suspicious of brooms or other air support. They know that football is a battle of ground domination.
I fully anticipate their adherence to the informal West Point motto, “218 years untouched by progress” in the upcoming game. Army will run the same three plays it’s depended on since 1980: roll option right, roll option left, and high diddle diddle right up the middle.
As far as I’m aware, the football players aren’t targets of malicious spells. Not so the fans. Philadelphia’s old Veteran’s Stadium funneled the icy winds off the Delaware River into the stadium and kept them swirling unnaturally aloft all game.
Cadet uniforms — dress shoes, light polyester socks, thick wool grey uniforms topped with a seven pound grey wool overcoat — perversely surpassed the heat shedding capabilities of freezers. Two hours was an average defrost time to feel your feet after the game.
Then there were the proactive fans, risking life and limb to display their 12th man spirit sigils. With synchronized chanting and hand gestures, in 1978 cadets attempted a group spell to energize the flagging Army team. Alas, unsuccessfully.
In this year of Covid-19, Army grads will rise above our Muggle heritage to scry the game. While listening to Crawdad, our 1980 classmate, help announce Army-Navy, fans will cheer and groan in unison via IT magic.
Linked by Zoom, Hangouts, and Discord instead of large parties, the spirit of West Point will nonetheless pervade countless man caves and she sheds, Old Grads, New Grads and those dreaming of becoming Grads.
It will be harder this Dec 12th to uphold our tradition: “No matter who wins the game, Army wins the party.” I’ll lift a butterbeer, or other libation, to celebrate community in isolation — my Berkeley ROTC husband cares only about the Cal-Stanford game. To all who celebrate Army, may your memories grow fonder as the years grow longer.
