31 Jan A Walking Hurricane

“How the hell are we supposed to create a walking hurricane?!”

The room falls silent. A conundrum the University of Miami had not foreseen when the football program adopted the nickname in 1926. Following a particularly nasty storm that struck South Florida that year, the moniker seemed more than appropriate. Violent winds, pounding rains, terrifying thunder and lethal lightning strikes. A fearsome image, indeed. But a mascot? No costume could adequately embody a tropical storm.

“We need something fierce. We’re up against alligators and Native American warriors after all.”

The room murmured in agreement.

“What about a frog?” someone said.

“A frog versus an alligator… Who wins?” another retorted with a sneer.

Laughter put the idea to bed.

“Let’s steer clear of amphibians. That’s a fight we can’t win.”

“What about an ibis?” posed a young man distributing coffee.

“An ibis?!” roared an elderly gentleman. “You mean one of those gangly birds on campus? You must be joking.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Hear me out,” the young man pressed on. “They are the last to leave before the storms hits and the first to return. These are brave birds gentlemen.”

A din of approval began to reverberate the room. Even the old man seemed impressed by this new revelation.

“That may be true, but the bird just looks so feeble,” the elderly gentleman challenged as he finished a long drag of his pipe. “We’d have to toughen him up.”

“How about a few scratches and bruises?” added the man seated to his right.

“A start,” said the old man.

The table fell silent once again in deep thought.

“I’ve got it!” shouted the young man. “We’ll give him a pipe.”

The elderly gentleman was no match for flattery.

“A pipe will do,” he said. “It is settled. We have our mascot.”

The room applauded in celebration.

“What is your name, young man?” asked the gentleman.

“Sebastian,” he replied.