The other day I came across a copy of "Chicken Soup for the Sports Fan's Soul," which my mom bought because it contained a story written by my former pediatrician. As a side note, for most people the pediatrician is the doctor you go to while you are a kid, but for an Ast, it's the doctor you go to until you have a kid. My brother's account of one visit -- "I was the only patient with a beard" -- pretty much says it all. There really is nothing quite like sitting in a waiting room with Bambi playing on the TV while some woman wonders wher e your kid is, then realizes you are there to see the doctor and shields her child.
Back to the point, this book inspired me to write "Chicken Soup for the Wahoo Soul," a piece comprised of inspiring stories in the lives of the kind Virginia students who made submissions. (Disclaimer: stories are in no way meant to be inspiring. They're just supposed to make you appreciate a place where you can get away with this kind of stuff.)
Damn, we ... rule?
The 7-on-7 flag football team we scraped together first year was a sad bunch. We had heart, but as a team we were short, slow and couldn't jump. We barely managed to beat another pathetic group of first years in our first game, and then proceeded to get massacred our next couple games. We qualified for the playoffs not on achievement, but because we managed to get through three games without punching a member of the opposing team in the face, barely. Because we had such a bad record, we were scheduled for two playoff games on a Tuesday night. We cruised against our first opponent, perhaps because they didn't show up, and were matched up against a group of grad students in the second round.
We played a tough game and found ourselves down by seven points with seconds on the clock. We were able to score a touchdown on a miracle play, but we failed to convert on our two-point conversion and we lost.
As we left the field, I heard a player from the other team sadly mutter, "Great, now I get to go back home to my wife." At that moment it occurred to me who the real winners were. That team had wives to deal with, bills to pay, maybe even mouths to feed and they were all wearing knee braces. All we had to do was go back to dorms and gorge ourselves on Treehouse grub and Easy Mac. We were still in college, and we were never going to have a better time than we were having right then. One day we'll all have that kind of stuff to deal with, but for now, we are just crazy Wahoos having a good time at The University. Thank God.
Travis Scheft, SEAS '07
Streaking is good
We sat around that O'Hill table like generals planning a surprise assault on an unsuspecting target.
"They all get out at 7 o'clock," Pat said. "So we should be there around 6:45."
I nodded.
The next thing I knew, I was on Rugby Road stripping naked in somebody's backyard.
"Give it a couple minutes," I said. "It'll be perfect."
As would be expected, an inhabitant of the house, seeing two naked kids in his backyard, came out and asked us what the hell we were doing.
"Uh, we're streaking sorority rush," I replied.
We were met with a solid "Awesome." We had made a powerful ally with that statement.
When the time was right and the targets in place, we took off down Rugby Road wearing nothing but our birthday suits. About 10 yards into our run, we realized that our new friend had gotten into his car and decided to follow us around, horn blowing, in order to draw as much attention to us as possible.
The timing could not have been more perfect. Right at the crescendo of a mighty horn honk, about 60 rushees waiting at the Beta Bridge bus stop turned and shrieked in amazement at our freezing, naked bodies. Unfortunately, as we rounded our escape turn, we encountered two angry frat boys who did not find the sight of our winter-white backsides quite as amusing. They too got in their cars, but instead of trying to draw attention to us for laughs, they decided running us over would be a more suitable option.
We eventually escaped our pursuers and took joy in the fact that we had taken part in a great University of Virginia tradition. It was our privilege, no, our duty as Wahoos to streak whenever the opportunity arose. It was that time when I knew, from the Lawn to Rugby Road, there was no other school I would rather run around naked.
Jamison Caloras, SEAS '07
Thanks again to everybody who made a submission. This may or may not be recurring, so feel free to send in some stories. I'm sure your lives are more interesting than my own.
Eric's column runs bi-weekly on Tuesdays. He may be reached at ast@cavalierdaily.com.
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