McGinn 'n Tonic: Quincy Makes Dodgeball Magic

There was once a time when the Olympics meant something. A time before the Games were befouled by the egos of professional athletes and the greed of corporate sponsors. A time before steroids, BALCO, “the clear,” and widespread accusations of rampant cheating. A time when amateurs competed for nothing more than their personal pride and national honor.

Sadly, we will never again recapture that bygone age of innocence. But, as anyone in attendance at the Harvard intramural dodgeball tournament at the Malkin Athletic Center (MAC) one week ago can attest, we can come pretty damn close.

In fact, one might even go so far as to claim that dodgeball—in its purest form, of course—comes closer to encapsulating the spirit of the Olympics first handed down by Herakles, then taken up once again in 1896, than those events brought to you every two years or so by NBC.

Remember, Puerto Rico defeated the United States in men’s basketball less than a year ago. Would five Quincy House-affiliated apartments in DeWolfe ever upstage the Quincy House herself in head-to-head competition? I don’t think so.

Of course, that in itself proves nothing. But think back past the games themselves to the months leading up to the opening ceremonies in Athens, and focus for just a moment on the political wrangling by the U.S. Olympic Committee to field a halfway decent men’s basketball team or to ensure that any other high-profile athletes would compete for their country. Don’t forget that Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, and Kevin Garnett all ultimately declined to play for the red, white, and blue.

Did anyone have to beg Andy “Yellow Dart” Brunner or Jack “No. 1 Stunner” Marsh to suit up for the People’s House? Do you think Paul “White Lightning” Soper or Regina “Gina” Schwartz needed to be asked twice whether they’d pay homage to Josiah by pelting Dunsterites with foam balls? They’d have killed to do so, though thankfully they were required only to sport matching jumpsuits and faux-hawks.

Fine, you say. But how can Harvard dodgeball one up that trademark Olympic moment when a gold medalist stands upon the podium as his or her national anthem is played? Well, clearly you’ve never heard “The Final Countdown,” at once both the Quincy anthem and the turning point in last week’s tournament. Imagine watching the 1980 United States men’s hockey team falling behind the Soviets early in the first period, only to hear the Star Spangled Banner blaring over the sound system at Lake Placid, then scoring 17 goals and ending the Cold War, a la Rocky IV.

Yep. That’s dodgeball.

Hearing that they “were leaving Venus, and still [they] stood tall,” Quincy rallied from being several dodgeballers down against Lowell—Kirshner’s Kidz only had two hurlers left at one point—in the semifinals, then crushed the freshmen from Elm Yard in the championship, then listened to “The Final Countdown.” Again.

Take that, Olympics.

Now, I won’t pretend that a children’s karate trophy with a foam ball taped to it compares to a gold medal. It doesn’t. Not even before Brunner broke it into three pieces.

But don’t tell me that Marsh isn’t a hero. Don’t act as though Soper’s sacrifices were for nothing. And don’t pretend that you wouldn’t trade places with Schwartz in a heartbeat.

They’re champions, as great as any who’ve walked this Earth. And don’t you forget it.

—Staff writer Timothy J. McGinn can be reached at mcginn@fas.harvard.edu. His column appears on alternate Fridays.