Most cross-country teams have weird traditions. At Haverford, the weird traditions have a cross-country team. Now some uneducated people might believe that the men’s cross-country team is just a quirky little group of guys who run around sometimes. But actually, they’re a full-blown cult. Think about it. Why else would they shun the pious, God-fearing Black Squirrel that every other Haverford team uses? (besides women’s cross country, who use the equally pious bee) Is it because they worship Baphomet, the demon lord/Sabbatic Goat?? Or perhaps they sacrifice goats in their secretive rituals? Rituals!? I hear you cry. Oh yes, dear reader, the men’s cross-country team engages in vile and daemonic rituals. Like the druids of old, these cultists practice naked runs through the nature trail. Should one ever find oneself on the Nature Trail at midnight, under a full moon, one may just come across this wild horde. Every time the team goes on a run, they carefully select a specific tree, in line with their bizarre superstitions, and pee on it together as one. If you ever see a tree with its bark peeled off or strange shading, you now know the awful truth.

This cult has more than just freakish rituals, however. They have a secret signal they make to other disciples, certainly some mystical sign or daemonic blessing. This foul society dines together, practicing their dark communion in the very heart of our holy DC. This villainous cabal has secretive names for each other, that only they use. Should we believe that a man is called “Milky Spilly” only because he spilled some milk one time? Or is this some insidious cult lingo, signaling some dastardly deed or evil nature?

Is it to be seriously believed that they are really “planning routes” when they make their strange marks in Strava all day? Or is it possible that these are not routes or maps at all, but occult symbols, meant to summon unearthly forces? Truly, I have even heard foul mutterings of the cult’s leader; some eldritch being only named Tom, whom they say has been here since the dawn of the College. Surely, this is but a name the human acolytes can pronounce and the real name of this Cthuluesque entity is unspeakable by human tongues, lest the speaker be driven mad. 

Yes, it’s true the men’s cross-country team is a cult. They practice strange rituals, keep secretive names and symbols, and in all likelihood, sacrifice goats and small children to demons. But they’re our cult. And no matter how many laws of god and man they defy, no matter how many crimes against nature they commit, no matter how deep this cult runs, they’re still somehow holier in the eyes of God than the men’s lacrosse team.