Roar, Matzo Ball, Roar: the true tale of a real stuffed animal living on the Columbia University campus.
There once was a stuffed animal lion named Matzo Ball, beloved to a fifth-grade class.
Every Thursday, she would be gently placed into the backpack of the teacher and hauled downtown to teach the children. This stuffed animal lived on the beautiful Columbia University campus, and she was very happy. Every night, she was tucked in with a view of the marvelous city around her, or at least the marvelous apartment building across the street. It was a good life.
Then, one day, something strange happened. Matzo Ball the lion was placed into the backpack, taught the children, and was placed again, in the backpack, but instead of returning home, she was taken to a large, loud, unfamiliar building full of produce and protein drinks. A Whole Foods birthday party. The view from the shopping cart was dizzying, and Matzo Ball the lion was thrilled when she happily returned to the Columbia campus. However, instead of being placed, as she normally was, in her snug bed overlooking the city, she was placed on a cold, hard metal surface. Looking up, she realized in awe where she was sitting. Here sat Matzo Ball, the little lion, on Alma’s lap, overlooking the entirety of the campus. This, she realized, was the peak of her life.
It all went downhill from there. The full moon rose, and singing began as Matzo Ball was carried to Moon Club, where bubbles and amateur astrologists danced all night long. Matzo Ball tried to engage and wandered around dazed by the dancing, freezing people. It seemed that they were about to begin a ritual sacrifice. Terrified of appearing on the chopping block, Matzo Ball did the only thing she knew how to do—she ran. She didn’t even realize where she was until the crowd started dissipating. Matzo Ball looked around for the teacher, but in the hordes of unfamiliar and sparkly people, the teacher was nowhere to be found. The night grew dark, and Matzo Ball the lion sat on the sundial, alone, freezing. Occasionally, a student would walk by, maybe point and laugh, or take a picture, but never the teacher.
At 2 am, someone picked up Matzo Ball, and carried her to their home.
In the meantime, the teacher was frantically looking for Matzo Ball, retracing her steps, terrified she lost her lion. What would the students say? The teacher put up flyers, told all her friends, and sent frantic emails to Columbia Security. There was a lion on the loose. The students were getting curious. Where had Matzo Ball gone? The teacher didn’t know what to say. Everywhere she went—Alma, the sundial, the library where the teacher had gone following Moon Club—Matzo Ball was nowhere to be found. It seemed like a lost cause. Finally, she went to the one place where the lost are uncovered and the unfamiliar is revealed: Bwog.
The teacher, who was a Bwogger by night, told the entire team that she needed to post about the missing lion on Columbia’s campus. It was fitting, urgent, and dire. The post was pushed. She returned, determined to pitch for her beloved Matzo Ball. Then, a miracle occurred: “Wait. I think I have your lion.”
It was a new staff writer, who had missed the previous week, and she revealed that her roommate had graciously carried Matzo Ball back to safety in her EC dorm where Matzo Ball had been a valiant mascot for the past two weeks, awaiting her return to teaching the children. Another Bwogger had seen Matzo Ball, alone on the sundial and had taken a picture.
And so, following much celebration in the Bwog meeting, the teacher and the lion were gloriously reunited, brought together again by the gracious, glorious Bwoggers who saved the lion from her inevitable frostbite. The children of the fifth-grade class were elated to see Matzo Ball’s safe return, and so was the teacher. Clutching Matzo Ball and carrying her home, the teacher promised never to take her stuffed animal lion to a mildly satanic ritual at midnight with a bunch of strangers again. The End.
The moral of the story? Close your fucking backpack.
All Hail Matzo Ball Via Bwog Staff