A lot of absurd things have happened to me during my collegiate experience. Like, a lot of crazy things. But out of all the fucked up things that have happened, nothing is more ridiculous or hysterical than the story I’m about to tell.
During my four years at school, I was #blessed enough to experience my school winning a national championship in a major sport (football or basketball, duh). Little can prepare you for the absolute insanity that takes place when your school wins a title. It’s anarchy. Total. Fucking. Anarchy. I vividly remember the township police and campus police working in tandem the day of the game to grease telephone poles with Crisco to keep students from climbing them in the aftermath. It didn’t work by the way, but I digress.
To say game day was a clusterfuck wouldn’t do it justice. The best bar on campus (read: Greek bar) opened per usual at 11:30 a.m., but lines started forming at 10 a.m. with students bring six packs and bottles of champagne with them to pregame with while they waited. It was the type of blatant and rampant alcoholism only acceptable for college students and it was glorious. I was on my way to fucked up before I even got into the bar and blacked out well before the game even started. In hindsight, blacking out for such an absolutely epic game probably wasn’t ideal, but fuck it, it’s not every day your beloved college team is in a title game.
My first memory post game was rioting in the streets and making out with everyone. Girl, boy, friend, stranger, it didn’t matter. If we made eye contact in the streets that night, 10/10 chance I assaulted your face. Again, not a shining moment for me but tbh, it could’ve been worse. I don’t know who lead the charge or what happened, but there was a mass exodus to campus. Hundreds, if not thousands, of students taking off and running roughly two miles (still the most I’ve run at once over the course of four years at school) through the middle of the streets to main campus.
The scene was glorious – fires everywhere, burning whatever people could get their hands on, kids swinging from street lights, students popping champagne off the rooftop of dorms. It was singlehandedly the best moment of my entire life and I feel fortunate enough to even have just been a part of it.
As I was standing there taking it all in, tragedy struck. For some many years, my best friend, my constant companion from everything from tailgates to formals, betrayed me. The drunken idiot next time went to fist pump into the air (in celebration, I’m assuming?) while holding a bottle of Andre and undercut me right on my chin. I would say that the blow to the face caused me to see stars, but I’m pretty sure those were already in the sky.
As stumbled around the mayhem, my best friend’s boyfriend came up to me. His expression was all I needed to realize that something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Blood was pouring out of my chin and down my chest, ruining my shirt and frightening everyone sober enough to realize what they were seeing, which was admittedly not many people. Not one to let a little blood get in the way of a once in a lifetime experience, I wiped my chin on the back of my sleeve and raged on.
By the time I made it to the ER in the wee hours of the morning, my appearance more closely resembled an extra from a low-budget slasher film as opposed to a student. The look on the nurse’s face when I told her what happened was a mix between shock, disbelief, annoyance, and maybe just the teeniest bit of admiration. The PA had to put eleven stitches in my chin to close up my battle wound.
The reality of the situation didn’t hit me until I woke up the next morning and realized my face was FUCKED. Stitches aren’t easy to hide and worse, they scar really fucking bad. It has taken time, but I’ve come to appreciate the new permanent addition to my face. Time will pass and there will be other champions, but I’ll always have a lifetime reminder of the epic night when my team won a national championship..