======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
Every other year we relish in the opportunity to support the Red, White and Blue as they establish their athletic dominance over the rest of the world. However, only once every four years we get to support America as they not only show the world who still runs shit, but also who the swingingest of swinging dicks is. The summer Olympics are this year, and yeah, the US of A always represents well in the snow, but the track, gym, basketball court, pool, etc. is where we really strike fear into the rest of the world. We swallow them whole and shit them out the other end. We all love the Olympics. Few things in this world give us a stronger sense of American pride than hearing our National Anthem while a home-grown athlete stands proudly on that middle podium while the whole world watches with envy.
“Oh what’s that? You’ve been training seven hours every day for the last 15 years of your life so you could balance the best on that little fucking beam thing? Well America is better than you at that shit, too.”
To get all of our not-so-athletic, alcohol-ridden, poorly-tuned athletic brothers and sisters in the Olympic spirit, I’m proposing Frat Games 2012. Pick a sunny weekend this spring, fill the keg, wear America’s colors, put on the shortest shorts you can find and head outside. We’re participating in the following events:
Wiffle ball. It’s baseball for the beer drinker. Your typical, everyday out of shape asshole can, and will, enjoy this game. I mean you use a plastic ball and bat. Who wouldn’t have fun?
There are ringers, however.
“Ringers? It’s fucking wiffle ball, Dorn. You asshole.”
The ringer goes 7 for 8 at the plate and pitches a shutout. He drops bombs, too. He takes your weak shit over the house, gets the ball stuck in trees, and welts up your 3rd baseman with screaming liners. From the mound, he has perfected his craft. We’re talking 85 mph heat and 9-foot breakers coming at you from all angles.
If you’re not one of these guys who can just admire his abilities in awe and accept that he is better than you, he will ruin your wiffle game. He’s un-hittable.
Frat house front yards and old folks homes. These are really the only two places you’ll find a bocce game. The two groups of people that frequent these establishments often enjoy some of the same activities, because they’re leisurely, mindless and literally anyone can play. You just need an arm and a hand. It’s also one of the many great games you can play holding a bronson.
Be prepared for increased intensity, however. Bocce games in my day trended toward over-the-house crow hop heaves and off-the-house ricochets that were directly correlated with alcohol consumption.
“Oh come on, R.D. Pong is for dorms, guys with tube socks, and Asians.”
Hey screw you, guy. Pong is a great game. It also requires minimal energy and is an optimum beer drinking activity with breaks in action occurring every 30 seconds. And you already have a pong table in your house. Clear the Solo cups off, tighten down the net and let it rip. As long as beer hasn’t warped the surface and spontaneous table-top dance parties haven’t collapsed the damn thing, you’re good to go.
“Hey bro, is that a leaner?”
Backyard, shirtless, beer in hand, backwards cap, the smell of the grill burning, heater hanging from mouth, and some solid tunes are the ingredients for a successful game of shoes. Similar to other events of Frat Games 2012, there’s a good chance you already have a shoe pit at your house. If not, head to your local general store now. Your house is incomplete.
This game combines livestock footwear, accuracy, good company and the most essential piece: beer. It is truly a timeless classic, and every generation in your family has partaken.
The goal is only eight feet high, or “Caucasian handicapped.” It’s basketball for short fucks, has-beens, fat assholes, belligerent alcoholics and your general out of shape college student. We get to be MJ from the ‘92 Dream Team skying over some unfortunate commie asshole for the flush. We can’t help but hang on the rim for a few seconds trying to shove your man parts in your opponents’ faces. Galleries usually form and the shit-talking is guaranteed to get out of control. Skirmishes or even all-out brawls are the norm, but this is all kinds of fun.
This is the game where the Johnny High School of your group really tries to shine. “Back to the glory days” he’s thinking while hogging the rock, strutting his shit, trying to dunk every time down the court and just generally taking it way too seriously. “Chill out, High School. The goal is only fucking eight feet high.”
Good luck out there, and get ready to support the Red, White and Blue this summer.
Follow me on Twitter @RogerDornTFM