Most Princetonians arrive on campus with personal sports baggage: hometown pride, high school spirit and perhaps even memories of that school's mascot. But now that you're here at Old Nassau, it's time to lock away those recollections of being a Gator, a Cardinala or even a Armadillo. Freshmen, this advice is for you: now and forevermore, you have been elevated to the ranks of Tigers — and not just any Tigers, but Princeton Tigers.
Princeton students' adoption of the Tiger as the school's mascot was an evolutionary process, not one legitimized by a popular vote or administrative fiat. During the 18th and much of the 19th centuries, students at the College of New Jersey lacked most team sports and thus the necessity to embrace the concept of a school mascot.
Still, the sartorially astute student of that era had his own version of the popped-collar shirt. Probably in tribute to William III — the Prince of Orange (of the House of Nassau) — students sported orange ribbons on which they wrote their class numerals. Since Sharpies only came in black in those days, the student body was festooned in orange and black. This color proclivity expanded to the jerseys, stockings and caps worn by students, particularly the more athletic ones.
Given the rampant animality present on campus and the fact that orange and black were designated as Princeton's official colors in 1896, students increasingly identified with the Tiger.
The Class of 1879 appeared to be the last to get the word and donated an imposing pair of lions to guard the main entrance of Nassau Hall. The orange and black Tiger movement continued to gain momentum, though, and in 1911 the class of 1879 raised a few more dollars in annual giving and installed the fantastic bronze Tigers where the lions once reposed. After many years of exile in storage, the lions now guard the residential college named in honor of a misguided member of the Class of 1879, Woodrow Wilson.
Even though numerous other schools have jumped on the Tiger bandwagon, making the tiger, along with the eagle, the most popular intercollegiate mascot, Princeton can still claim to be one of the first and by far the best.
Thankfully, our mascot is here to stay: unless PETA gains muscle, we won't have to undertake any of the politically correct, revisionist mascot alterations that the NCAA and other groups have pushed so frequently on offending universities in the past few years.
So, despite what you may think of Siegfried and Roy, you should feel relieved that you are not Banana Slugs (UC Santa Cruz), Spiders (Richmond), Zips (University of Akron) or Cardinal, the color, not the bird (Stanford). You are Tigers.
Still not ready to garb yourself in Orange and Black and cheer your heart out for the Tigers? Just remember, it sure the beats the mascots of the Ivy League's other seven schools:
Brown Bears (or Bruins): Does anyone look good in brown and white? We all know what brown does for you — gets your package delivered on time, most of the time, by UPS.
Columbia Lions: Once again, Columbia takes our leftovers. Still, in a city most often associated with bulls and bears, you don't see many lions, particularly not lions painted Carolina blue and white.
Cornell Big Red: Ironically, or perhaps fittingly, bright red is the color of Cornell students' faces as they trudge to class up and down the frozen hills of Ithaca (even in April).

Dartmouth Big Green: Another appropriately chosen, if less than intimidating, color: it's all you can see in any direction for 500 miles in this coniferous wilderness.
Harvard Crimson: Through a student vote, Crimson became the official school color in 1875. Magenta came in a close second. (I did not make that up.) Paris Hilton pink came in third. (Okay, I did make that up.) I guess the always-creative John Harvards could not think of any animals.
Penn Quakers: Question: What is quake? Answer: It's what happens to Penn athletes' knees — with the exception of the football and basketball teams — when Princeton comes to town.
Yale Bulldogs: The Eli faithful made a valiant attempt to find a more aesthetically pleasing collegiate symbol after they saw a picture of their namesake benefactor, Elihu Yale. Unfortunately, they picked a small, ugly dog. Then again, it could have been worse: the school in New Haven was nearly named after a Mr. John Dummer.
Like I said, the Tiger is clearly the class of the Ivy League, and not just in the Director's Cup standings and U.S. News & World Report rankings. So support your Tiger teams and embrace your Orange and Black spirit, or you might end up at Dummer University.