I had no part in bladderball’s return to campus. And I had my reasons for staying out of it.
It was Parents’ Weekend, and my parents and my young brother were visiting. They were, I have to admit, a little disappointed not to have witnessed such a spirited and storied tradition. But let’s be realistic. With hordes of students pouring through the streets, shoving and clambering in single-minded pursuit of the ball, it would have been all too easy for someone to get hurt.
That’s why I really have to agree with the joint statement issued by the masters and deans last week (“Why bladderball was (and still is) banned,” Oct. 14). They were absolutely right to remark that “the essence of bladderball is its lack of organization, the absence of rules and structure, and both the freedom and risk of being taken up with the crowd in pursuit of the ball,” and must be banned for those very reasons. Risk and freedom and the absence of rules and structure can be very appealing, but let’s be reasonable: they don’t belong at Yale.
We should be proud of our University for taking a courageous stand against such things. Yale is fighting the good fight against some formidable adversaries. Consider Vergil: “Fortune favors the bold,” or Chaucer: “he that nought n’assayeth, nought n’acheveth.” And against these siren songs that threaten to lure us into bladderball or other such reckless activities, Yale has wisdom enough to raise the sobering slogan: “Safety First.”
It’s a slogan I was proud to adopt for myself when I kept me and mine away from the threat of bladderball. But, as the University understands, playing it safe means much more than avoiding riotous ball games. There are so many dangers in life, so many potentially explosive forces — and it takes a lot of hard work to keep them under control.
But, historically, the University has proved itself equal to the task. Most of us can still remember “Sex Signals,” a show that first drove home for me the University’s admirable concern with safety. I can’t imagine a better way to introduce freshly-arrived new students to the University’s ethos. We were shown a little play about romance and seduction, and the action could be halted at any time, if enough people held up the little stop signs that had been passed around.
What profundity! In high school I had acquired an idea that romantic love was a matter of unquenchable passion, of intrigue, of heartbreak and regret, tied up with guilty feelings. So you can imagine how relieved I was to learn that sex was a matter rather like directing traffic. We may never completely get rid of the temptation toward road rage, but with a good system of regulations and signals, everyone can get around as much as they want.
And the University doesn’t object to us having fun. I don’t doubt that bladderball would be allowed, if it could be tamed, and it would be grossly unfair to take the University administrators for spoilsports, when they’re only looking out for our best interests. When they can, they make considerations of safety as unintrusive as possible. They’ve given us Purell in every dining hall and prophylactics in every entryway. It’s as inspiring as something from the Bible: “The poor shall eat, and the needy lie down — in safety.” One can live very pleasantly without letting the passions get out of hand: it’s not like we never enjoyed ourselves before bladderball.
But nothing to excess. At a place like Yale, the passions are, and ought always to be, only the slaves of reason. We’ve got classes to go to, careers to plan, relationships to form and maintain; we’ve got too much going for us to risk life and limb in the frenzy of bladderball. Of course we need to blow off steam now and then, and there’s nothing wrong with kindling a little excitement. But let’s stop short of anything too incendiary. We should work hard, and play hard; but who wants to play when the stakes are real?
To be sure, human nature resists being tamed, and there will probably always be people getting themselves worked up over one thing or another. But that spirit in which people climbed walls and leapt into ditches in pursuit of the bladderball, forcing their way through the crowd for nothing but the thrill of the moment and the glory of their college, that spirit of uncalculating adventure, that spirit that led a friend of mine to proclaim that bladderball was one of the greatest events of his life — that was an example of the unbridled Dionysian spirit that has no place on a civilized campus such as our own.
Even in such a safety-conscious atmosphere, everyone makes mistakes, now and then — it’s inevitable that we men and women of Yale will sometimes end up paying a little too much homage to the god of wine. But as those little cards handed out before the Game last year reminded us, the University has the good sense and compassion to regard drinking not as a disciplinary issue but as an issue of health. Now there’s an enlightened policy.
Because we deserve our little pleasure for the day and our little pleasure for the night — but always with a regard for health.
Kevin Gallagher is a junior in Pierson College.