Having a Ball

Every single time I walk through the campus at Stevens, I can’t help but giggle at this statue.  No matter how pumped or pooped I might be, I always stop and gander at this bronze behemoth.  I particularly enjoy the view of the statue from the Howe Center at the top of the hill (approximately the same as in the photo).

Not to totally revert to my previous pubescent state (and no, I still haven’t returned Twilight to Netflix) but look at this statue closely.  See the guy crumpled on the ground, being lifted by the dude on the horse?  Exactly what is he leaning on?  To my eye, it’s the single biggest set of cojones I’ve ever seen.

Over the past six years, I’ve been conducting an informal poll of the inhabitants of Hoboken.  All agree with me.  Huge balls.  Unmistakable.  And then there is much giggling.  To be fair, the bulk of my interviews have taken place at bars.  Perhaps my questions are also somewhat leading as in “Dude, so do the rocks in that statue on campus totally look like a mountainous nutsack or what?!?”  Scientific – kinda.  Fun for me – definitely.

What kills me is this school is allegedly populated with some of the worlds greatest minds.  No one thought, “Hmmm, maybe this is just asking for ridicule.”  Not one?  Really?  I could see if this had been a gift when the school was founded in 1870…I mean they were wearing top hats.  Like that’s not someone needing to flout their man-i-tude?  It just stands to reason the two would go together like…well…don’t make me say it.

But no, this statue was erected (clearing throat) in 1964.  Dude.  In the age of hippies, free love, and the Rolling Stones, these people should know manjigglys when they see them.  I mean you could argue that the Stevens crowd isn’t big on the social skills and they don’t really get out much seeing as how they’re all bookish and brilliant and what not.  I beg to differ.  Those are EXACTLY the fellas that should recognize a scrotum.  Odds are they spend a fair amount of time with their own.  Hell, maybe they knew exactly what those tea bags resembled…then promptly decided to dip ’em in aluminum and plop ’em on a pedestal.  Hubba hubba.

Then again, maybe it’s just me (and all my fellow bar-hoppers).  Today was graduation and the grounds were filled with bright eyed Indian and Russian graduates with their enthusiastic families.  There was a line of these clans waiting to have their photos taken with the statue.  I watched for a solid ten minutes.  No one – not a single person – did anything obscene with the ginormous giggle berries.  I don’t presume to speak for the population of college students nationwide, but I can’t believe frat boys could seriously pass up the opportunity to traumatize those trouser berries.  Hell, I can’t imagine any of the full grown adult men (yeah, I know…oxymoron but go with me here) that could pass up the opportunity to augment the statue with a giant phallus of their own crafting.  Hell I”m even tempted to do it on occasion.

Was it the presence of their parents?  I know our upbringing might have been slightly more liberal than the rest of the world’s (mom+bible camp=full moon), but  that’s some serious repression.  Then again, maybe they just have more subtle senses of humor.  I can see how having a framed picture of your mom sitting on giant yam bags could brighten any dorm room…or living room.  I think I’ve just found the perfect spot for the next Lonon family photo!