By: Isabella Urbani, Sports Editor
My pen bristles as I try to write to you. No . . . I promised myself I wasn’t going to make this mistake again. I’m already paying off Joy Johnson to wipe my record clean of the incident with the Thunderbird, the UBC mascot. It doesn’t even have a proper name, but you . . . You’re McFogg.
I know you’ll be different, you have to be. You’re an enigma. You have lore. You’re the sole reason why students pay the extra tuition to come here. It’s not a degree people want to walk away with after four years . . . It’s your heart. People want to get to know you, the real you. But you’re guarded. There’s tons of photos of you online, but no one’s ever seen you walk around campus. Your reputation precedes you, but I know you. I can see the sunkenness you carry behind those unclosing jet-black eyes.
When was the last time you let down your hair? The last time you ran your hand quizzically through your rugged mustache? You have everyone solved but yourself. That’s where I come in. You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll let you see who you truly are.
But I can’t . . . What happens if you don’t want to know who you are? What if this act you’ve been engaging with is who you’ve really become? I can’t let myself believe that. There’s more to you. I can tell. I know. You’re not a McFogg. You’re a McSun. This school has whittled you down over the years.
I can make all of that disappear. I just need you to open yourself up to me and show me the real you. I just need a sign.
I mean, it’s the third time I’ve written a letter to you. I don’t know if you’ve gotten them. I don’t know if you can even read. I know nothing. How terrible is that? But . . . maybe this is the sign you’re trying to show me.
Why, of course! You want ME to take actions into my own hands. This whole time I’ve been gauging your reaction, when in reality, I should have been doing the work for you. You’re throwing me a line, telling me to do what needs to be done, and I won’t let you down. You see, I’m not like the others either.
I paced back and forth. I weeped. I was so lost in trying to understand you that I didn’t even see you standing right in front of me. No, literally, you were standing in the food court of the Maggie Benston Centre staring at me. Staring at me with your mascot head by your side.
I don’t believe it. I’ve been a fool for so long. It all made sense now. The lack of public appearances, your refusal to speak to me. You were never McFogg the Dog after all. I knew that. But you, you are Kelly Chia, the current humour editor of The Peak. The expression on your face? It wasn’t profound blissful knowledge, but . . . annoyance? Impossible. Your distinctly un-McFogg-ian voice breaks our perfect silence.
“What the hell, Isabella? We’ve been over this a million times. You know I’ve been McFogg since the start of the semester for side cash. Now drop this whole ‘Finding McFogg’ act.”
Ah, I love it when you’re so you. It’s so refreshing. Now, is that the UVIC mascot I see?
