8 minute read
WE’VE BEEN SLIMED
Slug Matters
Yeah, it’s funny, but there’s a reason generations of UCSC students have fought for the banana slug mascot
BY HUGH MCCORMICK
For Robert Sinsheimer, who served as UCSC Chancellor from 1977 to 1980, the banana slug was Voldemort. It Which Must Not Be Named had served as the unofficial mascot of his school’s co-ed teams for years, but the lowly hermaphroditic gastropod was a despised figure in Sinsheimer’s spacious office.
It was 1970, only five years after UCSC’s founding, that captain of the men’s volleyball team David Van Cleve dubbed his squad the “Banana Slugs,” creating the now-famous mascot in the process. The university’s on-campus sports programs had begun to gain in popularity, but an institutional team name and mascot didn’t exist.
UCSC’s soccer club reinvigorated the banana slug mascot in 1974 when it rocked slug t-shirts at an All-Cal tournament. The team’s comical name and even-more-comical defeat at the hands of the San Jose Spartans was noted in the San Jose Mercury News.
Throughout the ’70s and into the early ’80s, the banana slug began to capture the hearts and minds of the student body. Students in all of the colleges embraced the humble, slimy and slow creature as their own—a collective rejection of the ferocious athletic competition encouraged at many other schools.
Most of the student body came to agree that campus sports and physical education—while always an important part of life at UCSC— should be based on some uncommon slug-like ideas. First and foremost, the joy of participating should always outweigh the importance of winning. And sports and athletics should be for all UCSC students, not just the superstar team members of major programs.
That philosophy has been passed down through generations of classes to today’s student body, who continue to embrace it.
“Sports are important for health and exercise, and for building community, but aren’t really a huge
part of UCSC’s campus life,” says Lit Department grad student Amani Liggett. “Sports players at other schools are always travelling—and are summarily always exhausted. No one here says, ‘Sports are getting in the way of my education.’”
SINSHEIMER’S SEA LIONS
But UCSC’s legendary mascot almost wasn’t. In 1980, Sinsheimer took his best shot at stamping out the increasingly popular banana slug after a handful of campus teams clamored for more organization, and a bit more competition in their extramural play. UCSC joined NCAA’s Division III in five sports, and the application required—you guessed it—an official team name. Using all of his wizarding power to vanquish the Dark Lord for good, Sinsheimer selected a new moniker for his school’s teams: the Sea Lions.
When then-athletic-director Terry Warner dropped the bomb on his men’s basketball team, decreeing that their mascot would be Sinsheimer’s Sea Lions, the team fought back. Declaring they would rock nothing other than a slug on their jerseys, the ballers went mascot-less for a year. Their blue and gold unis simply said “UCSC” on them.
Sinsheimer envisioned the Sea Lion as a more dignified and proper mascot for his growing university, one more suitable for serious athletic competition. At their fastest, sea lions can reach a speed of around 35 mph. The slow lil’ banana slug? Around six inches per minute.
When the chancellor painted a gigantic sea lion in the middle of the basketball floor, many students were incensed. And for five long years, UCSC dealt with a polarizing two-mascot problem.
In 1986, UCSC students from all colleges banded together, and voted via referendum to officially declare the banana slug their mascot. Sinsheimer and select faculty fought them every step of the way. The scion of the university refused to honor the students’ overwhelming choice, arguing that athletes and only athletes should be the ones to choose the school’s mascot. His ingenious plan eventually backfired when a large poll of athletes showed that they too “dug the slug.”
SLIME FAMOUS
And yes, people everywhere do know the banana slug mascot. The quirky little hermaphrodite has received a steady share of national attention, putting UCSC on the pop-culture map. Sports Illustrated and the National Directory of College Athletics named the Banana Slug the nation’s best college nickname. ESPN listed it in its top 10. California’s official state mollusk has received spreads in numerous publications including People Magazine. And who could forget its appearance on Vincent Vega’s t-shirt in the 1994 film Pulp Fiction?
The banana slug mascot has been more successful in unifying the student body and attracting would-be-slimers to UCSC’s campus than Sinsheimer could ever have envisioned.
“The banana slug mascot is a draw, in and of itself. Its weirdness attracts people to Santa Cruz and UCSC. The friendly little slug appeals to those who are outsiders, hippies, punks, and free thinkers. It makes them feel like this is the place for them. A home where they can be themselves—and be happy,” says Liggett.
Today, the fighting Banana Slugs compete in 15 (men’s and women’s) varsity sports in NCAA Division III’s Coast to Coast Athletic Conference. In addition to a number of successful club programs, UCSC teams have been nationally ranked in tennis, soccer, swimming, and men’s volleyball. Unlike many other universities, UCSC’s sporting programs offer zero athletic scholarships or grants in aid.
UCSC isn’t technically a “sporting school,” but over 25% of the student body participates in intramural athletics. Surprisingly, intramural athletics tend to be better funded than the school’s intercollegiate athletic programs.
For many years, UCSC’s athletic programs operated at an unsustainable deficit. With a lowly budget of $1.4 million, costs for organized sports exceeded over $2 million each year. Even so, UCSC had the most meager operating budget in all of Division III. Games and matches on campus were consistently desolate affairs, with little student attendance or enthusiasm.
Sometimes Sammy the Slug, the school’s giant yellow banana slug mascot, would dance, jump and slither all by himself.
Because of a lack of regular student support for on-campus college athletics, it was decided that it would be prudent to channel the entire program’s funds to other areas and services.
In 2016, UCSC’s admin believed the only way to maintain the school’s athletic program would be to vastly increase the student athletic funding tuition fee—from $5 a quarter to a whopping $90 per quarter ($270 per academic year). To put this number in perspective, UC Berkeley’s student athletic
fee is $110 a year; UC Davis’s is $150. It was considered extremely unlikely that such a substantial fee increase would be supported by the student body. Shockingly though, 43% of all undergraduates participated in 8 >
< 7 a referendum backing the fee and 63% of them voted to approve the fee increase in concept. In May 2017, students approved Measure 68, the Intercollegiate Athletics and Activities Access Fee. 79.84% of students voted in favor of the measure and a new fee of $38.50 per student per quarter.
In between dealing with guests at her circulation desk in McHenry Library, 21-year-old Lit major and Porter College resident Mica admits that “Sports at UCSC are different. Most slugs are into health and fitness, just not the competitive part of sports. I’m proud of my school and being a banana slug. Other mascots are so boring—bears, wildcats. We are totally unique and a bit weird here. The art. The music. Our sports. The community. The types of programs we have here sets us apart.”
BTW, SLUGS ARE COOL
In case you were wondering, banana slugs are waaaaay cooler than sea lions. As the second-largest species of terrestrial slug/mollusk in the entire world, Pacific banana slugs (Ariolimax columbianus) are simultaneous hermaphrodites and reproduce by trading sperm with their mate. Their famous slime contains a collection of pheromones that attracts other slugs for boom-boom sexy time.
The mucus secreted by banana slugs can absorb up to 100 times its volume in water and contains chemicals that can numb the tongues of predators. The slime is a liquid crystal substance—neither liquid nor solid. Material engineers are going apeshit over the potential for the slugs’ exciting slime.
Most often bright yellow (hence the banana part), the redwood-loving slugs can also be brown, black, tan, greenish, or even white. Alterations in light exposure, moisture levels, and shifts in food consumption can cause color changes, indicating whether a slug is sick or healthy, and what age it is. Black, polka-dotlike spots are also common, and can cause the slug to look rotten-bananalike, or almost entirely black.
As detritivores, banana slugs meander across forest floors using a single muscular foot. They process animal droppings, moss, dead plant material and leaves and then recycle them into the soil. Banana slugs also get a kick out of mushrooms, distributing spores and seeds when they munch. They play an important role in the ecosystem, consuming detritus and contributing to decomposition and nutrient cycles.
Well, not really. Though dozens of students wear “No Known Predators” swag, banana slugs do face a handful of natural threats. Battling numb tongues and slippery slime,
Geese, salamanders, ducks, garter snakes and raccoons have been known to feast on banana slugs. They roll the gastropods in soil to strip off and bind the mucus and then chew away.
However, when it comes to UCSC students, banana slugs continue to feel the love. “My coming to UCSC was all about first impressions. As soon as I stepped out of my car it was like ‘This is really really nice,’” says Liggett. “The air here is so delicious. The redwoods are awesome… but the banana slug sealed the deal.”
