In his epic poem “The Aeneid,” Virgil tells the famous story of the Greeks’ 10-year siege against Troy. The invading army had tried everything to get in, but the city walls had stood firm for a decade, no doubt thanks to ADT Home Security. But finally the warrior Odysseus cooked up an ingenious idea. The Greeks built a huge wooden horse and put 30 soldiers inside. They parked it near Troy’s city gate, rang the doorbell and ran away giggling.
Ignoring the prophets who warned that Greeks bearing gifts cannot be trusted, the Trojans liked the towering Mr. Ed so much that they took the city gates off their hinges so they could bring him inside the city. Of course, the crafty equestrian spies waited until nightfall, climbed out of the horse and let the Greek army in the gates. Troy was taken by surprise, and the city fell.
Now what few people know, and what Virgil doesn’t dare admit, is that the wooden horse was not the first such attempt to breech a fortified domain. Two months earlier, the Greeks had sent a Trojan platypus to Ithaca, just to see what would happen.
Embarrassingly, it was ignored, and after eight days the warriors inside ran out of moussaka and had to yell for help.
What does this have to do with Harding?
The eight-foot-tall carved Bison that mysteriously appeared in the Benson lobby two weeks ago is admittedly a magnificent creature. It is imposing and majestic, as if the wooly beast had just wandered in from the plains of Utah. Its mane is splendid, and its horns powerful. As a symbol, it captures that spirit of rugged determination and gentle strength. But has anyone actually checked inside that thing? I’m just saying…
Centuries from now, when the epic poet Justhinius Claxticus records the history of this great university, what sad couplets will he write to describe what happened late one evening after the wooden visitor arrived?
All longboards stilled, all Chacos laid aside, Each empty swing devoid of groom and bride. And most who’d planned to study through the night Had shut their eyes and given up the fight. But as the students slept with summer dreams, Not everyone was dozing, so it seems. Within the chapel lobby all alone The Trojan Bison made a tiny groan. The hulking monster rattled from within, And something started making quite a din. Inside the wooden belly of the beast, An army made of thirty men at least Began to feel they’d waited long enough To hatch their clever plans and schemes and stuff. Their “gift” had been a brilliant battle ruse, And surely would appear as front-page news. For unsuspecting Harding had let in This eight-foot Bison with its cryptic grin. The Benson doors were taken off the hinge To get the statue in. Without a twinge Of fear or doubt or questioning we took This tall gift horse without a second look. But after he was safely brought inside, One night the wooden brute cracked open wide. From whence emerged a force of fear and awe — Three dozen Baptists, sent from Ouachita. They stretched and yawned, relieved to be set free To stoke the Tiger-Bison rivalry. Full armed with hefty crowbar, pick, and sack, To steal athletic secrets from the GAC. They swiped them all and took as souvenirs Our playbooks and our uniforms and gear. “Go Tigers!” they inscribed with purple chalk Along the red-bricked paths where students walk. And just to prove that they were out for blood, They draped a purple flag on Uncle Bud. Then back inside the Benson crept the spies With one more sneaky OBU surprise. To make their mischief finally complete: They placed a Baptist hymnal in each seat. Back home in triumph marching midst the cheers, The victors drank in praise from all their peers. Oh fiendish vandals. How they saw right through us, To use our love of Bisons to undo us. Our campus stained, our sporting teams in ruin — These tigers really knew what they were doin. And long I pondered how they hatched this plan That could not come from mind of mortal man. I guess they must have learned this stealth idea From oracles at Arkadelphia.
