Circa 1978-80 my parents were TA’s there and I remember vividly being dragged around the glorious campus, auburn-yellow snot running out of my nose after being told I couldn’t eat the innumerable rotten oranges lying on the ground. That crème brulé tone of snot was not, I recall, entirely indistinct from the ceilings and walls of her edifices — nicotine-stained desert dinge.

The accompanying olfactory cocktail of mildew, asbestos, arm pit and fragrant locust had an almost pheromone-like impression on my little mind, and when I enrolled there 15 years later, the only joy I found was in the same putrid orange and yellow foam couch things in the library, the same old analog clocks that didn‘t work and the same fallen oranges lying along the sidewalks. 

This time, there was no one to tell me I couldn’t eat them.

The earlier times were the better times at ASU and in Phoenix in general, before the massive influx of people from colder clmes better suited for industry came-a-carpetbagging. In the 60’s, 70’s and 80s, it was this wholly electric outback outpost. They say it’s euphoric to freeze to death, but I’ll argue that in Phoenix in these days, there was a certain appeal in scorching to death that was every bit as insanely rapturous.

Phoenix used to be buttressed by cities that looked and smelled like freedom and character — wellsprings of panache like Cave Creek, Fountain Hills, Scottsdale; not the latter-day manufactured box boroughs of Anthem, Surprise, Goodyear.

Arizona State University used to be a paragon of the old, magical Phoenix whose trademark color was the yellow-filtered dinge you can only find where cigarrette smoke meets ceiling tile.

This color was also the keystone color of the Arizona State Sun Devils, the most perfectly pagan mascot in all of Division I, a fact proven when Sparky’s image on the scoreboard had to be blacked out when Pope John Paul II spoke at Sun Devil Stadium. 

Then, things began to change. Once a regular finalist for America’s top party school, the district sold out to corporate interests, interests which can’t help but to consume their environment, and remake that environment around its franchise blueprint.

Out went Tower Records, in came Tempe Town Lake.

Not surprisingly, ASU ceased to be a contender for top party school, even as enrollment grew by leaps and bounds until it became the largest school in the country and the Walmart of higher learning.

But despite its intrinsic evils, at least Walmart provides lower prices for people with limited means. ASU is now more like a Super Walmart, replete with organic foods and high-def TV departments.

This year may have been the nail in the coffin for the charming, old ASU. 

First, it questioned whether President Obama was worthy of an honorary doctorate when he came to speak at graduation. 

This reminded me of the day my dad got his doctorate at the ASU Activity Center (naming rights since sold to Wells Fargo). They first made sure former Dallas Cowboys quarterback and future Arizona Rattlers head coach Danny White got his honorary one.

At least then they had the decency to acknowledge what they were — a feeding trough for fun and frolic in the sun. To all of a sudden get pretentious and discriminating made ASU a nationwide punchline back in May and deservedly so.

Secondly, and more importantly, they’ve changed their colors. 

Out went the maroon, in came the purple, almost mauve color that you can now see the ASU football team stumbling about in any given Saturday.

The old maroon blended so perfectly with the gold as to, in one tincture, demonstrate the unique glory of the Valley of the Sun that once was and will never be again.

This made me sad thinking back to that snot on my fingertip, snot more ASU gold than mucous yellow thanks probably to the perpetual infection that comes from playing in the dirt with other 3-year-olds and the slightest tinge of blood that comes from over-picking. 

I don’t know what else to say, Nick …. Go Wildcats!