As an 18-year-old freshman at LSU in 1968, I gleefully smuggled liquor into Tiger Stadium with my new dormmates, got drunk with them and was thrilled when cheerleaders pounded on Mike the Tiger’s cage to force frightened roars from him. I was an unthinking, barely controlled adolescent. I skipped classes and participated in panty raids and cafeteria food fights. It was fun!
Despite my ignorance and immaturity, I managed to eke out a few college degrees, had a career, had children and grandchildren and cared for and mourned the passing of family cats and dogs.
Education, life experience and gradual maturation have totally erased the joy of seeing an uncomprehending, terrified, ecologically threatened wild animal subjected to a stadium filled with screaming humans for their momentary amusement. It’s a tradition, we’re told, but so were cockfighting and dogfighting and public hangings, and we have, as a society, supposedly grown beyond those things. Something that seemed like just a minute of fun to an unthinking, drunk teenager all those years ago feels clearly wrong now. Why would we choose to terrorize a beautiful, captive animal that’s been chosen to represent our university just because we can?
There are fewer than 6,000 wild tigers left in the entire world; Tiger Stadium alone holds more than 100,000 humans. One solitary, helpless, cowed tiger was thrust into that huge, threatening crowd. Is that bit of theater, that “tradition,” worth it and something to celebrate?
JIM BOUTTE
Baton Rouge