Welcome to the Mascot Wars, where we look at upcoming prep football match-ups by determining how their mascots would fare in a no-holds-barred duel.
Today, we’re looking at the and the Bolingbrook Raiders, due to face off tonight at 7 p.m. at Bolingbrook.
Rules of Engagement:
This is awesome.
The griffin is the mythical king of all creatures, with the body of the king of the beasts (the lion) and the head and wings of the king of the birds (the eagle). Some researchers believe the griffin was based on ancient people discovering unearthed protoceratops bones.
This is more awesome.
Consider if you will for a moment, the spectacle we are about to witness. The captain walks the deck, the rap of a wooden leg marking the cadence of his pace. Raggedy swabs run to and fro, avoiding the steely one-eyed gaze of the hook-handed master of the ship.
"SQUAWK! WALK THE PLANK!" the captain's shoulder-parrot cries before rubbing its own eyepatch with its own much smaller wooden leg.
"Captain!" a voice from the crows nest comes. "Off the starboard bow! Griffins! A thousand of them, flying in on their mighty eagle's wings!"
As the powder monkeys streak to the magazine and the crew prepare the carronades and long nines (thank you, Wikipedia, for making that sentence possible), the captain pensively strokes his beard with one of his hooks.
"Yarr," he mutters to no one but the shoulder-parrot. "Yarr."
Griffin loss is heavy with the first cannonade. As the first charges ring out, many a griffin falls with not so much a chance as to shriek "I figured prominantly in Persian poetry!" before making a majestic tailspin into the unforgiving sea.
But soon, the remaining griffins reach the ship. Here, the raiders' troubles begin.
It was a mighty battle, with the raiders taking flintlock and steel to the mythical beasts. Losses are heavy for both sides, but just like an editor cranking out a bizarre fantasy fight column so he can leave for his trip to San Diego a day early, the griffins make short work of the crew.
Soon it comes down to the captain, bravely facing the remaining flying lions with a cutlass in his right hook and a musket in his left hook. The beasts begin to circle him, closing in tighter and tighter like a pack of vicious wolves or a story deadline.
The captain smiles.
"Yarr," he says.
With cutlass and musket, hook and parrot, the captain fights his way below deck. The griffins pursue, squeezing lion bodies and eagle wings down the narrow corridors.
They find their prey in the ship's magazine, a word which not only means a publication that would be lucky to print a story this awesome, but the room where a ship would store its gunpowder. The captain, his shoulder-parrot and the shoulder-parrot's shoulder-hummingbird are there, waiting and smiling.
"Yarr," the shoulder-parrot says.
With a gentle flick of the captain's hook on a Zippo (yes, there are modern brand-name lighters in this fantasy fight between griffins and pirates), an explosion tears through the ship, lighting the sky with the fiery swan song of the Good Ship Prep Sports.
Winner: The Griffins
Griffins can fly. While dramatic, blowing up the ship didn't really do much.
Coming next week:
Reader's choice. Griffins vs. Knights, Chargers vs. Warriors or bolts of lightning vs. people who make boilers for a living.