Bunny Hops

Easter in San Diego featured an egg hunt, candy, and the same bunny as last year. Andrew loved the Easter Bunny, and got up close and personal.

Stanford Football Boots Season Ticket Holders from Cherished Tailgate Lot

Stanford University is not known for treating its community well. Relations with surrounding Palo Alto once deteriorated to the the point that the university had to assign a community relations officer and institute a Community Day to improve relations. They have done it again with their long-time football fans, many of them alumni and many of whom are simply people who enjoy college football.

In tearing down the venerable Stanford Stadium, which really had nothing wrong with it according to many observers, Stanford knew they had a public relations problem with their season ticket holders. The Athletic Department held focus groups with season ticket holders to find out what would attract them to a revamped Game Day experience. Many of the attendees of these focus groups were senior citizens, on fixed incomes, with over twenty years of attending Stanford football games, in the same seats and with the same neighbors for decades. Some of them were second and third generation fans. They were told up front that the best seats in the new stadium, between the 45 yard lines, would go to those who would pay an annual premium of $1000 or $2000, above and beyond the ticket price. And the ticket price would go up also. This didn't go over well.

The focus group attendees swallowed the bad news but tried to advise the Stanford Athletics staff in a rational way. They said, keep the tailgate experience the same, don't pave the parking lot or assign tailgate spots. Keep the Game Day experience a family experience, affordable for the community, an activity for young people. The staff assured them that nothing would change about the tailgate area and that provision would be made for a family plan ticket.

On April 3 Stanford announced that the prime tailgate field, next to the stadium would be barred to all but the 5 percent of the fams who paid the Buck Club premium. http://www.stanfordstadium.com/press/040306.html
Season ticket holders would be sent to park across a major street, a longer walk from the stadium and less accessible.

Most season ticket holders, having already agonized over losing their cherished 50 yard line seats, view this as just another Stanford attempt to please its heavy hitters. For many it's a "well, what are you going to do" situation. And yes, many of them will adapt to a more crowded, less atmospheric place in which to gather before the game. The candelabras and flower arrangements and banners might seem a little silly over there. They'll have to stop partying much sooner to allow time to get into the stadium. And they will have to walk past their old haunts, past the heavy hitters in their Winnebagos, who have paid to be insulated from them. It will be less tempting on those torrid September afternoons to go out at the half and have a cold one. Much easier just to go across the street and get in the car and finish the game on the radio.

Who are these season ticket holders? There is a group of thirty or so of them, all from the class of 1970, who have been attending games ever since they were in the band. There is another set of band alumni from 1982. There are PhD's from the electric engineering department. There are adult children of alumni and staff, who grew up on Stanford football, and who now bring their own children to the games. There are Stanford Business School Graduates from the 70's who give to Stanford but chose not to buy the premium seats. And there are the younger alumni who fit Stanford football in between their children's weekend activities.



And what about the Chosen Few, who have paid their money and inhabit the seats formerly owned by those lesser beings, the season ticket holders? They are all members of the Buck Club, which last year presented a check to the Atletic Department for sever million dollars. They have bought in to the concept used by pro football teams, of an elite "club level" experience. They will have separate entrances, separate concessions, and of course all of the best seats. This concept has worked well in college situations where the college dominates the town, and the game is the only game in town. Say small town Oregon.

And what is Stanford giving these Buck Club donors, in giving them Lot 2 next to the Stadium? They are giving them a dusty, sometimes muddy, field nestled between El Camino and the Stadium, dominated by live oaks, with a few dumpsters strategically placed for their refuse. Venerable rest rooms. On Game Day Field #2 became a village, with season ticket holders politely vying for their favorite tree, under which they set up tables and tents and barbecues and folding chairs. Sometimes a zydeco musician would entertain. Stanford Indian banners flew to commenorate the now=banned mascot. Many folks arrived for breakfast to hold the spot of the members of their tailgate. Oh the tailgates. The menus ranged from beef tenderloin to cracked crab. Burgers and dogs for the children, who seemed to enjoy the outdoor meal even more than the adults. More than once young alumni flew in lobsters and boiled them up on site. Silver candelabra and red and while ribbons decorated linen covered tables. Flower arrangements were popular, in red and white of course. It was all very Stanford. In a bad football year, and there have been many of late, the season ticket holders could rejoice on the success of their tailgates at Field #2. No more. That uniquely Stanfor experience has been booted.

You may argue that the party will continue across the street and a few blocks away. But the people who made up the event are now segregated and scattered. Not every tailgate opted to pay the price for the "club level" seats. Even families are split, with older fans on fixed income not able to pay the price, and young people unwilling to spend their discretionary money to sit with heavy hitters. The tailgate would have kept the party going, kept the Stanford tradition alive, despite seat locations.

And what of the Heavy Hitters, those Buck Club folks who now have Lot #2 all to themselves. They may notice that they have lots of space to spread out, that it is quieter in the parking lot. Their adult children and grandchildren won't be hanging out and throwing the football==they will be across the street. Oh they might stop by on their way in to the stadium, but they won't be hauling in the barbecue and charcoal, the coolers of soda and beer. If these Heavy Hitters want to host a tailgate in Lot #2 they will have lots of hefting and hauling to do. Not to mention cooking. But then maybe they don't care. Maybe they will be like the Cal gentleman last year, who was invited to step out of his trailer (in Lot#2) and join a Stanford tailgate. He declined, politely, as his caterers were about to arrive.

A Stanford football game has always been a contrarian event. It was once said that the sound of crackers with brie being crunched at the tailgates would drown out the sound of the game. In this elite setting dress down was the thing, and a dusty field was a cherished site for elegant meals and fine wine. But no one ever argued that winning was not important. The Stanford football team has not had a winning season in almost half a decade. The university has angered its fan base by fixing a stadium that was not broken, by changing the rules about who could sit where, and by breaking its promise about the tailgating experience. The season ticket holders, who this year were asked to pay an extra $80 per ticket with no promises of a Big Game ticket, might just decide to pass on the experience. Wonder what the tickets will bring on EBay?