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The compilation of the 1908 QUAD has not differed in any important particular from that of other Stanford Quads. While the Board, like all its predecessors, entered on the work full of amateur fire, with a multitude of unspeakably clever possibilities looming up before them, each step toward the completion of the book has brought them closer to sea-level. That is to say, the first impulse of the Boardof all past and all coming boards—was to tear the established QUAD to pieces, from beginning to end, and set up something truly original. But the editors have learned a lesson in practical evolution; they have learned that the Stanford QUAD is not a creation, but a growth. They found that they had to sift down from their novel conceptions into the accustomed grooves, for these grooves-worked out long before them—were the best possible channels for the interpretation of Stanford life.
After coming to this conclusion it was with admiration, not criticism, that the editors followed the Quad traditions; for they realized that the book, as handed down to them, was a typical expression of the “Red-tiled Principality.” It could have arisen among no other surroundings; and, since, in many respects, the Stanford QU'AD differs from all other college annuals, it should be the effort of its editors to treasure and preserve its distinctiveness.
BOARD OF EDITORS.
A Plea for College Athletics
California is the end and aim of our athletic effort. To the accomplishment of this object we devote all of our spare time and most of our money. Is this right? Yes, for the men who are candidates for positions on the teams; no, for those who sit on the bleachers night after night.
Out of intercollegiate athletics men learn the lessons of obedience, unselfishness, and determination. What these three virtues have done for Stanford teams is a matter of history. But a very small proportion of the men ever get the opportunity to work for a season on a Varsity squad. The vast majority have neither the skill nor the intense, unselfish interest that marks the Varsity man. They are, therefore, barred from
taking part in the major sports, and are forced into indoor work in the gymnasium, or onto the bleachers. There is no place for the man of mediocre skill—the man who plays for the fun of the game.
Our great present need is a thorough organization of college athletics. The writer ventures to suggest a scheme for college baseball and football. Let each class elect a manager and provide funds necessary to buy balls. Uniforms for Rugby and baseball are so inexpensive that every player can easily furnish his own outfit. Let the managers arrange schedules of games to cover the entire season. A selection committee composed of the Varsity coaches and captains will certainly satisfy the candidates that merit alone determines the make-up of the teams. Every man ought to be given a fair chance to show his ability. When the teams are chosen for the final series, they will elect their captains.
To carry out any such scheme as this we must have enthusiasm and a place to play. Enthusiasm is evident. But during the last Rugby season the coaches were at their wits' end trying to keep a hundred men busy on one football field. Seventy-five men are now trying to play ball on one diamond.
What we need is a place to play. Wlien the trustees made a generous appropriation for laying out new athletic grounds, they took the first step in the solution of the college athletic problem at Stanford. But even with these new fields we will not have room enough for all. Besides the Varsity grounds, we need two baseball diamonds and two football fields.
Providing these fields is the one effectual remedy for overvaluation of intercollegiate athletics. The exaggerated importance attached to intercollegiate athletics is due primarily to the fact that we have no other athletics. Let us by all means continue in our endeavor to put the best team possible into the contests with California ; but let us also give ample opportunity to the man who plays outdoor games for the fun and exercise that he can get out of them.
JAMES LANAGAN, 1900.