Friday, December 19, 2008

Ah college...

Recently, I was asked to write about strange college traditions and the inevitable drunken madness that surrounds these traditions. I posed the topic to my college friends and we came up with a list of stories that brought back many fond memories. Yes, fond. So while these stories may have nothing to do with real "tradition," they became lore in my book.


I went to college before the internet, digital cameras and YouTube. (And considering how much time I spent in a sports-related/drunken/debaucherous haze, I'm thankful…) I went to a college where the teams only enabled my addiction to sports. Going to a football game was worshipping at the altar with 100,000 of your closest friends. Going to a hockey game meant knowing your chants. You'd think that with that kind of tradition, I'd be able to come up with a good story for this topic. Instead, I reminisced… Here are the few stories that don't require name changes.

One of them is called "batting average." Everyday, you start batting 1.000. For every person you see that you've ever kissed, hooked up with or slept with, your batting average drops 0.250. The record was set by a friend who ended at NEGATIVE 0.750 (seven guys). Of course, we tried to get her to make out with one more to make it an even negative 1.000. Side question for debate: If you hook up with an athlete and then see him on TV, does that count?

Another story came from an intramural hockey game. Since we'd just come from happy hour, we found other entertainment, such as dancing on scaffolds. Then we found a garbage bin (which was clean, I swear). My friends somehow convinced me to get in and pushed me around in circles. It was all fun until they let go. It's amazing I didn't end up with a concussion.

Then there's Stupor Bowl. Biggest game of the year, add multiple pitchers of beer, countless shots of tequila. By the end of the night, my friend and I were sliding home in an ice storm, not knowing who played or who won, asking Rapunzel to bring us breadsticks from Pizza House.

Moral of the stories: If you have a whoristorian in your group of friends, make sure she's taken out by a ride in a garbage bin or Stupor Bowl. Cause otherwise, she's going to remember everything that'll knock down your batting average.

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