Unsung Heroes

Where to begin?

As I'm sure you could tell from my Shakespearian blog posts about Ireland and the letter 'F' on Sunday about 6 p.m, things got quite out of hand at the BOX house this weekend. So much tomfoolery occured that I was still recalling certain events this morning as I walked to class.

Well, I could tell you about the glory of Ross returning, and the amount we drank with him. I could describe to you about the normal obnoxious antics that Paul and I seem to pull out of our asses every weekend. And I could tell you about how rowdy events got when some old BOX members returned late night Saturday (well, come to think of it, I couldn't tell you that much about that).

But I would like to dedicate this particular blog entry to two heroes who don't get many stories in this blog: Matt and Craig. You two won over my heart this weekend.

Craig: As many of us know, Craig had been on a temporary hiatus from drinking since the Notre Dame game this year. At this point, I had just met Craig, and considering he took my job from an unnamed sorority, I didn't regard him as one of my great friends. Over the course of the rest of the year, though, I grew to love having Craig around. I greatly anticipated the event of his 21st birthday and his return to Grandpa's Old Cough Medicine.

Since his epic return to alcohol, he has been on mean streak of boozing. He has been a suspect in nearly all of the mysterious stains created at BOX recently, and it couldn't make me happier. This Friday, though, he took a beating. I assume he blacked out and passed out on our sofa very early. Shortly after, the sharpie was brought out. Not long after, chocolate syrup began to cover him. And I will admit, that I was guilty of pouring some Italian dressing on him. It was an event reminiscent of Paul's hazing. We all felt sort of bad the following morning. But wouldn't you know it? Craig took it all in stride, and he was back at our house by 3:00 day drinking on the lawn with us. Cheers to you, Craig.

Matt: For the second consecutive weekend, Matt has returned to our house to get sloppy with us. In fact, as Matt so aptly puts it, he comes "to play beer pong until we can't breathe air anymore". Matt and I certainly did this on Saturday. The great thing about these weekends, is that Matt is usually just a casual once-or-twice a week drinker.

On Saturday night, though, he proved to us all that he is a true BOX hero. Long after we had begun day drinking on the front lawn, after we had continued drinking well through the Michigan basketball game, after playing more beer pong on the lawn at night, and after old BOX members came over with more beer and left the house like a house in the path of a tornadoe, Matt, Paul, and I were somehow still holding on to dear life. I don't know exactly what order events go in, but I do know that Paul ended up with a hand bleeding profusely, and Matt and I had brilliantly decided to spray paint our chests. Though the artwork wasn't great, we attempted to spray paint the Greek letters of BOX onto ourselves while chest pumping eachother and slamming some beers. Cheers to you, Matt (I hope your spray paint is still there, cause mine sure as hell didn't come off in the shower).