I have written this article at least twice. The first time, I wrote about how all my school mascots have been angry men — a Lancer, a Highlander, and a Cavalier. I described the University’s poster child, CavMan, as a “gym rat with facial hair and anger problems.” I attributed my lack of school spirit to the lack of normal mascots. I begged for “anything other than an angry man.”
It was a fine article, and I was ready to send it off to the printing press. However, I read it to someone who shall remain anonymous, and they could not get over their opinion that “CavMan isn’t angry.” They expressed their strong dislike for my article and offered some harsh words.
To get revenge on this person for their brutal honesty, I secretly embarked on a months-long journey to turn it into the best article I’ve ever written. It ended up changing my life.
After I received that ruthless feedback on the article, my roommate randomly stumbled upon a website announcing the annual CavMan interest meeting conveniently scheduled for the next day. “I’m going,” I announced. She laughed. She must have thought I was joking.
The next day, I put on my U.Va. shirt to show off my outstanding school spirit. We walked into the interest meeting and tried to be as professional as possible as we greeted the meeting leaders. I was cracking up because I felt so out of place. To keep myself from giggling, I distracted myself with excruciating pain by biting the side of my mouth.
In that hour, I learned more about CavMan than I thought anyone could possibly know.
As I listened to the leaders, my silly idea of attending this interest meeting transformed into a serious goal to become the next CavMan. I wanted it badly. If I could not beat CavMan, I needed to become CavMan.
I surveyed the room to assess my competitors. There was only one open CavMan slot, and each of us would do anything for it. Sure, we were smiling at each other then, but the moment we walked out of that meeting, it would be every CavMan for himself.
One of my competitors asked the leaders whether you can tell anyone if you are CavMan, and the answer was no — no parents, no friends, and certainly no employers. “There goes my career,” I thought to myself.
Another competitor asked whether there is a height requirement. The leaders stated that the range is between 5’9” and 6’2” to “maintain consistency” when different people take turns wearing the suit during a game. Do fans genuinely believe that CavMan is a real person? Would they be devastated if he shrank by a foot during a basketball game?
As someone who barely passes as 5’6”, I tried not to feel like my dreams were violently being ripped to shreds. Nevertheless, I was not about to let a dumb height requirement get in my way. “Three inches — I can do that,” I thought.
I discreetly looked around the room for three-inch items. A credit card. A debit card. Part of a ruler. Stack any of those on my head, and you are looking at the University’s next CavMan.
The leaders also emphasized the importance of dancing. “When you dance in the suit, your movements must be ten times bigger than you are used to,” they explained. “You need to dance big.”
I barely knew how to dance small. How was I supposed to dance big?
I scribbled a to-do list for myself during the interest meeting.
TO-DO:
- Grow 3-8 inches taller.
- Learn how to dance big.
I walked out of the interest meeting as a changed woman. I was working towards something bigger than myself — I physically needed to grow taller and dance bigger. In the weeks that followed, my life was kicked into high gear as I ruthlessly trained for glory.
In the weeks before the CavMan audition, I trained every day to dance with the biggest movements you have ever seen in your life. It is difficult to describe how it feels to dance like CavMan to someone who has never done it. I do not know if you have ever tried to dance in a pool, but it is kind of like that, without the water part. Every motion takes ten times the normal power. For example, when I clapped, my arms had to swing all the way out to my sides before I slammed my hands together.
As I trained, my goal of becoming CavMan inched closer and closer. I realized this could be a serious life change, so I listed the pros and cons of being CavMan.
PROS
- No eye contact needed.
- Cannot tell anyone — kind of like Spider-Man. Without the superpowers. But still.
CONS
- Would have to learn how sports work.
- Alternatively, would have to hire people to tell me when to cheer during games.
The pros and cons list did not help me make a decision.
A few nights before the audition, they let us try on the CavMan suit. I drove to an undisclosed location and walked inside, well aware that my life was about to change forever.
I was alarmed by CavMan’s many layers of clothing. First, I put on his long pants, which, to my surprise, had a pee hole. That is when I realized I had put the pants on backwards.
I made a mental note to shower as soon as possible.
Then, I put on the long shirt that vacuum seals CavMan’s biceps, six-pack, and whatever other muscles they made up.
Next, I put on another layer of pants that saran-wraps his calves. After that, I attached the cape to my back and stepped into the boots. The last step was to put on CavMan’s head.
Three CavMan heads were laid out on a mat, which was only a little horrifying. I picked the one that disturbed me the least and plopped it on my head.
Then, I heard one of the real CavMen telling me, “Uh oh, that’s the old head. Take that one off.” I yanked the disgusting old head off of myself and traded it for the newest head.
The moment I entered the new head, my nose died.
For weeks, I had pictured myself practicing my killer dance moves in this suit, showing off my insane skills before the big audition. I believed I was capable of glory. I was but a fool.
I could not handle the head smell for more than ten seconds. Against all logic, the new head smelled a hundred times worse than the old head. I quickly escaped from each part of the CavMan suit. The real CavMen asked how the suit had felt.
“It was different than I had imagined,” I said. I tried my best not to shed a tear.
Who knew that after all the obstacles I had overcome to reach this moment, I would throw away my dreams because “it was smelly in that head.”
Despite how rancid the head smelled, I don’t want to end this story on a negative note. In my first version of this article, I believed CavMan was angry. I was wrong.
CavMan is not angry. Inside of that suit, there is a real person who cares. There is a person who tolerates the head smell for the greater good — and that is a hero if I have ever heard of one. So, no, I am not an angry man. But neither is CavMan.
I may not have become CavMan, but I learned that he and I have more in common than I could have ever imagined. CavMan cannot establish eye contact. CavMan does not talk. CavMan has poor peripheral vision.
Besides, if I did become CavMan, I would not be able to tell you…
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