Death Valley (or Memorial Stadium) is a monumental symbol of the Clemson brand; a brand strengthened by storytelling.
And in my Organization Communication class last semester, I got to thinking about Clemson football. Which, by the way, isn't so uncommon. But on this particular evening, we were talking about branding, and in what ways organizations relay their key messages to everyone else in order to create an identity.
Of course, Clemson classifies as an organization, and brands itself in many ways. Clemson has a very unique identity--part of why those of us who have any affiliation hold Clemson, and Clemson football, particularly near and dear to our hearts.
Take the tiger paws painted on the roads here, for example, or the Athletic Department issuing an unofficial mandate for everyone to wear orange on Fridays. Which, I am proud to say, I have seen demonstrated at both in the workplace in Greenville (a city 40 minutes north of Clemson for those who are unfamiliar) as well as Clemson itself.
On this night, my professor informed us that when we walk across the stage in Littlejohn Coliseum for graduation, shaking President Barker's hand along the way, that at that time we shall be unaware of what results from that handshake.
The handshake, my professor claimed jokingly yet brilliantly metaphorically in the same instance, transmits an orange chip that forever resides in the back of our necks and at the stem of our brains, that makes our blood run orange from that moment forward and causes us to be completely dedicated to all things Clemson.
This may be true (metaphorically of course), but what about those who are obsessed with Clemson football and never attended the school? There are plenty of fans like that out there, and they are just as important to the fan base and just as involved with the Clemson brand.
People say all the time that their blood runs orange. With 15 Clemson degrees in my family, including five in my immediate family with two more underway (my younger sister's undergraduate and my graduate degrees), my blood truly does run orange. It's a matter of genetics. But what's mostly interesting is why did we all decide to go to Clemson? What Clemson experiences were we involved in, mostly likely with another Clemson family member, that convinced us Clemson was the best place on earth, with Clemson football being the crowning glory? I think it's partly because of the tradition of Clemson and Clemson football.
My older brother loves to brag how he was born the year we won the National Championship. He loves to one-up my younger sister and me, telling us he witnessed it. And even if he doesn't remember it the first go-round, all of us life-long fans have watched that game more than once in our lives. Some people think it's silly--dwelling on a victory over the Cornhuskers in 1981--but that's just the Clemson way. We'll never get over it, and why should we? It's a happy memory for Clemson itself, so therefore it's a happy memory for all of us who convey Clemson's message. My favorite family heirloom is a white t-shirt with orange sleeves that has been worn so thin its almost transparent, a token from the 1981 ACC Championship my mother bestowed to me (not willingly--I took it on my own accord) with the Clemson tiger lounging and smoking a victory cigar; smoke rings circling his head with copy underneath him bearing the words "1981 ACC Champions."
Both my father and my brother have giant posters framed and hanging above their mantles of nothing other than Woody Dantzler, standing on the Hill prior to a game, smiling wide with his helmet off and posing like a superhero with his hands on his hips amongst a sea of orange, helmet-clad team members. Well of course, in my family Woody Dantzler WAS considered a superhero. It's too bad that race to the Heisman didn't turn out as Clemson fans had planned in the earlier half of that season. (I remember that year when we played Virginia Tech and people waved signs with the words, "Who wants a little Vick when you could have a Woody?")
But after this season, Woody Dantzler will be overshadowed in our stories concerning Clemson football; he has rightfully been replaced by C.J. Spiller, who could quite possibly be the most legendary player that will ever grace our small corner of the world. He's the elected metaphorical and literal poster boy for all things Clemson. Unfortunately, this includes Heisman races gone bad.
Speaking of posters, as a girl, I had a poster of the greatest Clemson football players taped to the back of my bedroom door. It included the likes of Banks McFadden, Jeff Davis and Perry Tuttle. I can't recall a Clemson home game I have missed in the entirety of my 24 years on this planet, and not many bowl games, either. Clemson football is not just a passion for most of us. It is a lifestyle. Many of us fans are raised on Clemson football like Mid-Westerners are raised on corn.
In fact, it has been made clear to me many times--and other Clemson fanatics' daughters as well--that when we marry, our weddings must entirely be planned around football season, just as my sister-in-law was instructed to do by my brother. He said it as if in jest, but I know he was dead serious.
Now, not all of my passion for Clemson and Clemson football itself was transmitted to me through DNA, as it isn't for many of you fans. Tons of fans spend four (or more!) blissful years of undergraduate study at Clemson. Well, four years of study and play, and LOTS of football celebrations. I lived in an antique white house with a giant front porch that overlooked the Esso Club and Death Valley. My roommates and I felt like the center of the universe on game days--partly because we were. Our house was the spot on those days. We debuted our 20-foot slip-and-slide the opening game of the 2005 season against Texas A&M, welcoming random Clemson fans from the grassy lot across the street to come slip and slide with us, many of whom were fully clothed and fully enjoying themselves. We paid our rent by charging for parking spots.
Speaking of the Esso Club, here is another perfect symbol of both the tradition of Clemson and the Clemson experience.
Memories of Clemson transcend those from my childhood, when I was decked out in a little cheerleading uniform and literally tossed five feet in the air by my father every time we scored a touchdown. Clemson is woven into every thread of my past. I know I don't just speak for myself when I say the fondest memories of my life are from Clemson, particularly those utterly sweltering game days when I sweated through my orange sundresses but never complained once because I was high off the fact that it was football season once again. Once one football season ends, all we fans can talk about is the next.
The feeling I get prior to every single game inside of the confines of Death Valley--when the band is blasting the Tiger Rag, orange and white balloons are released into the atmosphere and the team is bouncing on the Hill preparing to run down and spill onto the field before us--is nothing short of electric. I get goosebumps every single time. I look around at all of these orange-clad people I have never met and never will, and know that we are connected by one of the strongest bonds that exists between strangers: our love for the game and our love for the Tigers. We overcome disappointments together; we experience triumph and loss; we express hope in the future and brief regret in the past. It's not just a game--it's a connection, and it's a passion.
I honor the connection Clemson fans experience so much that I would do anything to perpetuate it, but I want to perpetuate human connections amongst other fans, too. Media not only facilitate connections between people. They facilitiate entire communities--even societies. But media don't do it alone. It takes a little strategic branding, too. They're partners.
Which came first: the tradition of rubbing Howard's rock and the running down the Hill, or the designation of "The Most Exciting 25 Seconds in College Football?'
Of course, Clemson classifies as an organization, and brands itself in many ways. Clemson has a very unique identity--part of why those of us who have any affiliation hold Clemson, and Clemson football, particularly near and dear to our hearts.
Take the tiger paws painted on the roads here, for example, or the Athletic Department issuing an unofficial mandate for everyone to wear orange on Fridays. Which, I am proud to say, I have seen demonstrated at both in the workplace in Greenville (a city 40 minutes north of Clemson for those who are unfamiliar) as well as Clemson itself.
On this night, my professor informed us that when we walk across the stage in Littlejohn Coliseum for graduation, shaking President Barker's hand along the way, that at that time we shall be unaware of what results from that handshake.
The handshake, my professor claimed jokingly yet brilliantly metaphorically in the same instance, transmits an orange chip that forever resides in the back of our necks and at the stem of our brains, that makes our blood run orange from that moment forward and causes us to be completely dedicated to all things Clemson.
This may be true (metaphorically of course), but what about those who are obsessed with Clemson football and never attended the school? There are plenty of fans like that out there, and they are just as important to the fan base and just as involved with the Clemson brand.
People say all the time that their blood runs orange. With 15 Clemson degrees in my family, including five in my immediate family with two more underway (my younger sister's undergraduate and my graduate degrees), my blood truly does run orange. It's a matter of genetics. But what's mostly interesting is why did we all decide to go to Clemson? What Clemson experiences were we involved in, mostly likely with another Clemson family member, that convinced us Clemson was the best place on earth, with Clemson football being the crowning glory? I think it's partly because of the tradition of Clemson and Clemson football.
My older brother loves to brag how he was born the year we won the National Championship. He loves to one-up my younger sister and me, telling us he witnessed it. And even if he doesn't remember it the first go-round, all of us life-long fans have watched that game more than once in our lives. Some people think it's silly--dwelling on a victory over the Cornhuskers in 1981--but that's just the Clemson way. We'll never get over it, and why should we? It's a happy memory for Clemson itself, so therefore it's a happy memory for all of us who convey Clemson's message. My favorite family heirloom is a white t-shirt with orange sleeves that has been worn so thin its almost transparent, a token from the 1981 ACC Championship my mother bestowed to me (not willingly--I took it on my own accord) with the Clemson tiger lounging and smoking a victory cigar; smoke rings circling his head with copy underneath him bearing the words "1981 ACC Champions."
Both my father and my brother have giant posters framed and hanging above their mantles of nothing other than Woody Dantzler, standing on the Hill prior to a game, smiling wide with his helmet off and posing like a superhero with his hands on his hips amongst a sea of orange, helmet-clad team members. Well of course, in my family Woody Dantzler WAS considered a superhero. It's too bad that race to the Heisman didn't turn out as Clemson fans had planned in the earlier half of that season. (I remember that year when we played Virginia Tech and people waved signs with the words, "Who wants a little Vick when you could have a Woody?")
But after this season, Woody Dantzler will be overshadowed in our stories concerning Clemson football; he has rightfully been replaced by C.J. Spiller, who could quite possibly be the most legendary player that will ever grace our small corner of the world. He's the elected metaphorical and literal poster boy for all things Clemson. Unfortunately, this includes Heisman races gone bad.
Speaking of posters, as a girl, I had a poster of the greatest Clemson football players taped to the back of my bedroom door. It included the likes of Banks McFadden, Jeff Davis and Perry Tuttle. I can't recall a Clemson home game I have missed in the entirety of my 24 years on this planet, and not many bowl games, either. Clemson football is not just a passion for most of us. It is a lifestyle. Many of us fans are raised on Clemson football like Mid-Westerners are raised on corn.
In fact, it has been made clear to me many times--and other Clemson fanatics' daughters as well--that when we marry, our weddings must entirely be planned around football season, just as my sister-in-law was instructed to do by my brother. He said it as if in jest, but I know he was dead serious.
Now, not all of my passion for Clemson and Clemson football itself was transmitted to me through DNA, as it isn't for many of you fans. Tons of fans spend four (or more!) blissful years of undergraduate study at Clemson. Well, four years of study and play, and LOTS of football celebrations. I lived in an antique white house with a giant front porch that overlooked the Esso Club and Death Valley. My roommates and I felt like the center of the universe on game days--partly because we were. Our house was the spot on those days. We debuted our 20-foot slip-and-slide the opening game of the 2005 season against Texas A&M, welcoming random Clemson fans from the grassy lot across the street to come slip and slide with us, many of whom were fully clothed and fully enjoying themselves. We paid our rent by charging for parking spots.
Speaking of the Esso Club, here is another perfect symbol of both the tradition of Clemson and the Clemson experience.
Memories of Clemson transcend those from my childhood, when I was decked out in a little cheerleading uniform and literally tossed five feet in the air by my father every time we scored a touchdown. Clemson is woven into every thread of my past. I know I don't just speak for myself when I say the fondest memories of my life are from Clemson, particularly those utterly sweltering game days when I sweated through my orange sundresses but never complained once because I was high off the fact that it was football season once again. Once one football season ends, all we fans can talk about is the next.
The feeling I get prior to every single game inside of the confines of Death Valley--when the band is blasting the Tiger Rag, orange and white balloons are released into the atmosphere and the team is bouncing on the Hill preparing to run down and spill onto the field before us--is nothing short of electric. I get goosebumps every single time. I look around at all of these orange-clad people I have never met and never will, and know that we are connected by one of the strongest bonds that exists between strangers: our love for the game and our love for the Tigers. We overcome disappointments together; we experience triumph and loss; we express hope in the future and brief regret in the past. It's not just a game--it's a connection, and it's a passion.
I honor the connection Clemson fans experience so much that I would do anything to perpetuate it, but I want to perpetuate human connections amongst other fans, too. Media not only facilitate connections between people. They facilitiate entire communities--even societies. But media don't do it alone. It takes a little strategic branding, too. They're partners.
Which came first: the tradition of rubbing Howard's rock and the running down the Hill, or the designation of "The Most Exciting 25 Seconds in College Football?'
We all celebrate the icons of sport in different ways:
Above: Clemson coaching legend Danny Ford and me, circa 2009. Below: Ford with my brother, circa 1984.
