Signs and Wonders
Are they loathsome, or do
they attest to the indomitability of the human spirit? They infiltrate every
corner of our consciousness, but do we understand them? Let us begin with the
act of exuberance that defines the genre:
Raising the Roof: A
two-armed, palms-skyward pump. A handstand standing up. The implication: That
play was so unbelievable I must raise the roof of this arena to contain the
collective excitement I've generated. Paternity remains contested: Some credit
Dallas Cowboy Emmitt Smith with the first Roof-Raising, in the 1996 Super Bowl.
Others ascribe it to a high-school basketball player in a McDonald's
All-America game. Various collegiate teams playing various sports claim
ownership. Raising the Roof is the celebratory sports gesture of the
moment. Like all inspired sports gestures, it's moved beyond sports. Everybody
does it--pro athletes and college athletes, talk-show hosts and talk-show
audiences.
But to
trace the lineage of Raising the Roof, one must understand the history of the
sports gesture itself. One must go back to a time few of us can remember. A
time before ...
The High-Five: A gesture so ubiquitous
that it's hard to imagine what else people could have done, it wasn't invented
until 1980. Its architect was Derek Smith, a forward on the University of
Louisville's championship basketball team. When asked why he and teammates had
invented this elevated palm slap, Smith replied, "We decided to be a little
odd." But how odd can the High-Five seem now? Like the ripped dungaree, the
High-Five has swept the nation and been duly coopted. True rebels have been
forced to forge new, more exotic gestures.
Thus the
'80s saw "the Fun Bunch" (four Washington Redskins receivers) choreographing a
leaping High-Five quartet. New York Jets defender Mark Gastineau performed a
Twyla Tharpish "Sack Dance" after tackles. Yet, all these lacked the elegant
economy of the High-Five. All, that is, until ...
The Monster Bash: A collision of hard-muscled,
pop-veined forearms, which briefly form an "X" upon impact. A barbaric
crunching of radius and ulna bones. The Bash began in baseball, and it went
everywhere. Its progenitors: Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco, brutish sluggers
for the 1988 Oakland A's. After each home run (and there were many), the A's
would meet at the plate for Monster Bashing. Within a month of the Bash's
invention, the A's marketing department had cooked up a song. The lyrics
featured a challenge to the Bash's ancestor: "If you're a big fan of the
Oakland A's/ You, too, can do the latest ballpark craze/ When the A's big bats
really come alive/ Don't waste time with the boring High-Five."
The Ickey Shuffle: A hulking touchdown jig. Ickey
Woods, fullback for the Cincinnati Bengals, debuted this masterpiece in the
fall of 1988. The NFL banned celebratory displays, in part as a reaction to the
Shuffle, but Ickey would not be repressed--and the fans loved him. So actually
ordered Ickey to keep dancing (albeit on the sidelines). Soon, Ickey added a
post-Shuffle, hip-rolling "Woo-Woo-Woo" dance, for which Bengals defensive
backs joined him. By January 1989, when the Bengals reached the playoffs, what
had begun as a struggle for individual expression ended in an avalanche of
conformity.
In the '90s, gesture
artists sold out. They now seek the public's embrace and are aided by the
wildfire spread new gestures enjoy when shown on ESPN's SportsCenter .
One need only see ...
The City-Boy Bounce: An arch-backed, fists-clenched
shoulder jiggle, sometimes paired with a zombielike trance-walk. Tradition
holds it started on playgrounds in New York. Popular mostly with football and
basketball players. The Bounce is perhaps the best-looking gesture of all, but
it is also the hardest to perform. It requires a level of fluidity not commonly
seen in nonathletes. In this sense, the Bounce is a gesture for elitists, and
thus a glaring counterpoint to ...
The Lambeau Leap: A jubilant vault into
the stands of Green Bay's Lambeau Field. Invented in 1993: After a big
interception, Packers safety Leroy Butler . The populist Leap is particularly
suited to the NFL's only publicly owned team, the zealously beloved Pack.
Players express their appreciation to the Lambeau fans by hurtling into their
midst, for just one moment becoming one of them.
The Leap
reached its zenith with the Packers' Super Bowl win last season. This season's
hot new gesture?
The Mile-High Salute: Military tradition
turned football celebration. A basic salute to teammates after touchdowns.
Creators: the Denver Broncos' running backs, who unveiled the salute at
preseason games this summer. A gesture clearly suited to football's warlike
nature, the Salute is named for Denver's Mile High Stadium. The Broncos have
invited their fans to join in, creating a stadium saluting in unison and
marking the pinnacle of the football culture's fascistic tendencies.
The
Salute developed into a stadiumwide event, but several other gestures have been
designed specifically for a herd of 60,000 sports fans. These include:
The Wave: Generally traced to 1984 and the Seattle
Kingdome, though some insist it dates to a 1983 University of Michigan football
game. Fans standing at appropriate moments fashion a group undulation.
Particularly frustrating for abstainers: A cry of "down in front" will not
dampen a rollicking Wave, so sight lines are blocked at regular time intervals.
The Wave remains popular, though not as controversial as ...
The Tomahawk Chop: A robotic
hacking--only the forearm moves. Often accompanied by an outsized foam tomahawk
and a "Native American chant." The Chop gained mass attention when the Atlanta
Braves went to the 1991 World Series, but it actually originated with fans of
the Florida State Seminoles. Native American groups hate the Chop, but former
President Jimmy Carter defended it in 1991: "With the Braves on top, we have a
brave, courageous and successful team, and I think we can look on the American
Indians as brave, successful and attractive. So I don't look on it as an
insult."
Though
less controversial, the most bizarre gesture of all remains ...
The Octopus Toss: In celebratory
moments, fans of the Detroit Red Wings throw real octopuses onto the ice. The
tradition began in 1952, when teams needed eight playoff victories to win the
Stanley Cup. An octopus has eight arms (and smells awful). At times, more than
50 octopuses rain down at once. Another time-honored crowd activity occurs if
rink workers refuse to pick up the cephalopods with their bare hands--the crowd
boos them.
