University Out to Make a Name for Itself

It took more than 30 years to rouse enough support in Ventura County for a public university. Now that we are finally getting one, we shouldn’t rush through the process of naming its teams. This is no small matter. Lawsuits have been filed, communities enraged, endowments withdrawn, and trustees embarrassed over team names. Perhaps the only campus-planning issue of greater import to the community is, how many sub shops are too many sub shops? Is it possible that the olive oil and vinegar will form a toxic cloud and cause our town to take on the aroma of Tuscany? Should we hire a consultant to gauge the threat? And aren’t we rushing into this university thing in the first place?

In any event, the founding fathers of Cal State Channel Islands have asked students at Cal State Northridge’s Ventura campus to round up team name candidates. At this point, the front-runner is the Dolphins, according to Christina Martinez Baratone, the student body president.

Twenty Chumash Indians nominated the dolphin as a fitting “spiritual protector” for the new campus, she said, adding that “some other ideas that came up were kind of dorky, so we threw them out.”

While I have nothing against a team that is 100% tuna-free, the question deserves serious study.

Even with 23 campuses, Cal State has not distinguished itself in the area of team names.

Predictably, many of its teams are named after enthusiastic carnivores: the Chico State Wildcats, the Cal State Los Angeles Golden Eagles, the Fresno State Bulldogs.

Here in Ventura County, we have the exciting opportunity to steer clear of ravenous beasts. Animals, we should remember, behave like animals. They strut, they snarl, they use the outdoors as a bathroom, they eat without utensils and they mate with whatever is at hand. While this brings to mind fond memories of my brothers at Delta Kappa Epsilon a hundred semesters ago, is it behavior we should hold up as an ideal for our student athletes? I think not.

On the other hand, we don’t want to drape them in the lacy mantle of prissiness. I’m sure Whittier College has spirited teams and ardent fans. But I picture only a ripple of polite applause when a Whittier Poet scores a touchdown, with ambulances waiting on the sidelines for Poets doubled over by the moment’s raw emotion.

Cal State has no Poets but some of its teams veer the opposite direction, into primal bloodthirstiness. San Jose State boasts the Spartans--members of an ancient culture that routinely sent old people off to a slow death by starvation. If you compete for Sonoma State, you are a Cossack--a Russian cavalryman known for his peasant-bashing brutality.

Incredibly, the California Maritime Academy, a division of Cal State, fields teams named after the nautical torture of keelhauling--dragging errant sailors under a barnacle-encrusted hull until they are dead or repentant.

Naming a team doesn’t have to be a torture. Here are a few tips drawn from my extensive research:

1. Pick a name that reflects the area.

Pepperdine has its Waves and Cal State Monterey Bay has its Otters--much to the dismay, I’m sure, of fishermen who would love nothing more than to shoot the abalone-loving scamps.

For Cal State Channel Islands, how about something both local and lyrical--like, say, the Cal State Channel Islands Fog. Keep in mind the needs of headline writers: “Fog Rolls Over . . . Fog Blankets . . . Fog Penetrates . . . Fog Lifts . . . “ You get the idea.

2. Pick a name that has absolutely nothing to do with the area.

Did the Gold Rush start in Long Beach? Yet Cal State Long Beach gamely fields the 49ers. And in that lovely city by the bayou, San Francisco State competes as--what else?--the Gators.

This has been done to great effect in the NBA. The Lakers play in a city that lined its only riverbed with concrete; the Jazz are at home in Salt Lake City, where you need a court order to buy a drink.

In Ventura County, the choice of an exotic name far removed from the daily rhythms of life is as obvious as a big-box shopping center. How about: the Cal State Channel Islands . . . Nordstroms?

3. To the condor, say: Nevermore.

There will no doubt be a contingent seeking to honor our near-extinct Big Bird by naming the Cal State Channel Islands teams the Condors.

This is a bad idea. Oxnard College already has laid claim to the name. Besides, there is something inherently wrong about naming your team after a bird the size of a townhouse that consumes millions of public dollars, tends to clobber itself on power poles, and dies drinking antifreeze.

4. Beware ethnicity.

Everyone is just too touchy these days. Could San Diego State today name its team the Aztecs without inviting demonstrations? Then there are the Matadors of Cal State Northridge: Do they present the chancellor with two ears and a tail after every victory?

Indian names are, of course, strictly off-limits. A ban on them by the Los Angeles Unified School District was upheld in court earlier this year, forcing Birmingham High School in Van Nuys to drop its 45-year-old team name. The Braves are dead; long live the Patriots!

Perhaps Cal State Channel Islands Multiculturalists would be sufficiently safe, but it would be hell on the cheerleaders: “Gimme an M . . . “

5. Think mission.

Cal State Channel Islands’ mission is to open young minds. But it also aims to set up elaborate partnerships with businesses, giving students lots of opportunities for on-the-job training.

Maybe all that should merit a tribute to the economy into which the graduates will soon emerge:

So how about: the Cal State Channel Islands . . . Consultants?

Well, it beats the Cal State Channel Islands Part-Timers, doesn’t it?

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Steve Chawkins is a Times staff writer.