Cliopolitan: June 2012

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Because It's the Cup

We’re in the middle of the Stanley Cup finals right now, and the Devils* are playing so the NYC subway is plastered with posters advertising the series. I see this one in particular a lot:

The engravings caught my eye so I looked at some other pictures of the Cup and saw date and names etched into the top of the Cup. Shamrocks of Montreal 1899…Wanderers defeated Kinora 12 to 8…Boston Bruins…Pittsburgh Penguins…

And it dawned on me—the Stanley Cup isn’t just a metaphor for a title [that is, the Super Bowl is the name for the NFL championship game, not a literal bowl], it’s an actual physical trophy that is passed along from winner to winner, with the names of all the previous champions etched into it—all the way back to 1893. In other words, it’s a genuine artifact! Like...the Stone of Scone, Henry VIII’s billets doux to Anne Boleyn**, the pillow on which Lincoln’s head rested after Ford’s Theater*** or even...

...the Hockey Grail?

A championship title is an honor no matter what, but there is something especially powerful about laying your hands on the actual thing, the relic that has been touched and cradled and kissed by so many others through the years. Touch is a powerful experience [wherefore this clever marketing campaign for the NHLNetwork, inviting fans to "hold" the Cup]—this is why so many relics are believed to have miraculous powers. Imagine having just won the NHL title, and finally laying hands on this shining beautiful thing which so many champions before you have touched. Your name listed there next to your teammates’, a testament to this incredible accomplishment you all share, handed down from winner to winner, through the ages.

As trophies go, a Super Bowl ring is undoubtedly [albeit blingily] impressive,

but you really can't beat the Cup’s elegant simplicity and being included on the roster of champions. Even if you don't get to keep it forever.

*As far as I know, New Jersey is the only state with its very own fantastic beast! The Devil has been lurking in the Pine Barrens since 1735, presumably quite pleased with itself for having its own NHL team.

**If you can believe it, these letters are actually in the Vatican Archives and hello, they really should give them back! Why would you guys want a constant reminder of The One Who Got Away? On the other hand, I imagine the Vatican is giving the Crown a stern look and saying "We'll give Henry's letters back when you guys return Defender of the Faith!"

***Which I’ve seen—it’s on display at the Peterson House and has never been washed since that night. Very visceral stuff, although the blood has faded quite a bit.

Three cities in Italy...

Each had their unique charms—the decadent, serpentine beauty of Venice, infernal Naples with its buried poisons—but Rome, old, old Rome affected me the most. Walking along the banks of the Tiber up which sailed pirates and apostles and queens, standing atop Capitoline Hill and observing the Temple of Saturn where the ancients prayed, and the Coliseum where they died. Keats’s room overlooking the Spanish Steps, where he breathed his last. The ecstasy of Bernini’s fountains and plazas, culminating in the literal embrace of St. Peter’s Square. Every street was a poem dense with meaning, an opportunity to close my eyes and realize—those people were here. These are the stones upon which they walked, this is the air they breathed, the water they drank. We were here. We lived, loved, died here. We are just like you.

This is why I study history—to hear those voices from generations ago, millennia ago. People change so little; history teaches the same lessons again and again. The past illuminates the present. And the lessons are manifest in other disciplines; art, drama, literature, music, philosophy, all contribute to this continuum. A few years ago I performed the role of Helen in Trojan Women and in preparation I reread The Iliad. Afterward I thought—this work appeared 2800 years ago, and the story takes place some 500 years before that. And yet it could be told today. A wife runs off with another man. Young men are dazzled by the glamour of conquest. A father mourns his son. We were here.

As the title indicates, I write about history. But I can't ignore Clio's fellow Muses--Calliope, Melpomene, Thalia, their sister musicians. So--also poetry. And theater, and music. My favorite periods are the Middle Ages, the English Renaissance, and the American post-WWII era, but I also have a fondness for ancient civilizations.

I have a B.A. in English/music and am currently studying history at Columbia to prepare for grad school. Comments are welcome but I reserve the right to delete/ban trolls.