Call me a bro, if you like. You can say I’m holding on to that ole college feeling too long, that I’m an adult now and I need to move on. Say all you like, and it’s all probably true.
But that has nothing to do with the fact that making the last cup in beer pong is a glorious feeling. I’d even argue that as I’ve played the game less and less as I’ve gotten further from college*, the feeling has become greater and greater due to its infrequency.
I could honestly do a full post on beer pong, topics ranging from how absolutely fucking disgusting the game is (the water cup… really?) to how silly people get with the rules to that inevitable bunch of people that act like it’s a real fucking accomplishment to run a beer pong table.
But for now, let’s just settle on that feeling. You know that all you’ve got to do is throw that little ping pong ball into that red cup. It’s no more than 5 or 6 feet away, you feel like you could do it in your sleep. But, in the back of your mind, you remember those last six shots you took that barely hit the table (let alone anything resembling that final cup).
Off the ball goes, hurtling towards what your drunken brain guessed was where the cup was… and all you hear is that soft plopping sound of plastic on liquid.
Game over.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Having someone bounce one into your team’s cups while you’re not looking because you’re too busy having fun instead of dedicating every second of your life to this game.
*A friend pointed out to me a little while ago that we’ve been out of college longer than we were in it. That was a real, “Oh, shit” moment.
scott spinelli 