It’s a day that ends in “Y,” so naturally you and your boys have been out getting lit and terrorizing the campus neighborhood all night. As you make your way back to the house with your crew, presumably to either get the afterparty started or let your slam inside after you made her wait for you at the back door for an hour, you encounter another ravenous group of fraternity gentlemen who are looking to start something. As the groups intersect, shoulders are bumped, glances are exchanged, and insults are tossed around with reckless abandon. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, you’ve got a good ol’ fashioned frat brawl on your hands.
Frat brawls differ from your average street fight in a number of ways, not the least of which being the spontaneity in which they occur. There may be some pre-existing beef between your house and another fraternity, but it’s not a longstanding, pre-established rivalry like the Crips and Bloods or the Jets and Sharks. As a result, the reason for the fight’s instigation is oftentimes murky. Sure, there’s a possibility you might be dishing out some street justice against the people who you think might have slighted your house in some way. Usually though, it’s because two groups happen to run into each other and both sides decide it would be fun to whoop some ass because the other guys look like huge pussies. Either way, you’re fighting for a just cause and it is your duty to enter combat and defend the honor of your letters.
The one constant in a frat brawl is that it always takes place outside. Why confine yourselves to the great indoors when the Earth is your Thunderdome? You’ll need the space, because a good brawl should grow to such a size that it spills out into the street and occupies an entire intersection. The busier and more well-lit the street, the better. Drivers and onlookers will certainly appreciate how badass you guys are more than they would being blocked by protesters urging everyone to take pity on them for whatever faux-social justice cause they’re whining about now.
Now that you’re ready to rumble, you look around at your brothers in arms to see what you have to work with in the fight. Just like pledging and going out to bars, the composition of your group determines the role each person will play in the fight. There’s the one guy who’s always looking for confrontation, just chomping at the bit and ready to throw a punch with only the slightest provocation. You’ve got the jolly fat guy of the group, who finally has an opportunity to show that underneath all his cuddly, flubby layers is a goon ready to play the role of enforcer. There’s also the sloppy, drugged-out drunk dude who is in such a confused mental state that he starts punching a tree. Good job, good effort on his part. Rounding out the group are about ten other assholes who will contribute nothing but still brag to girls at the next pregame about that epic fight they were totally involved in.
With everything in place, the fight begins. After the initial hooting and hollering, the two groups collide to form one large drunken fray that becomes a blur of pastel-colored Lacoste polos and a cacophony of dudes yelling “PUSSY!” and other insults at each other. Some pushing and shoving happens, but only minimal damage is inflicted on both sides. The melee gradually comes to an end after only a few minutes as the groups slowly begin to separate and continue to yell at each other from a distance.
After all that buildup, the brawl is over. Shit was talked, but not backed up. Wild haymakers were thrown, but none landed. Most importantly, everyone involved declared victory for their side (even if most neutral observers would agree that you were all losers in the girly, TSM-esque slap fight that just unfolded). Finally, it’s time for you and your brothers to head back to the house and enjoy the spoils of war. You’re a house hero, and you deserve to smash some brews and pussy after smashing faces in the streets..