|They will not rest until Eastern Michigan is on top.|
The scene is the first year of Yager Stadium's existence (1983). The weekend is either Homecoming or Alumni weekend.
I, and my other fraternity brothers are out on the porch firing up before the game. (Yes, I was in a fraternity but we were a scrappy fraternity and not the collar poppers to which you referred yesterday.) One of the people in our group has a pilot's license and is talking about taking a plane out for a spin. Others jump on the idea and then ask me if I want to go. I pony up $15 and we jump in a car and head down to the airport in Hamilton. We find the plane, a small Cessna, and the pilot drives it on the tarmac and then a little bit behind a hangar. He tells the person riding shotgun to get out and tape over the call letters on the plane. Hmm, wonder what that is all about?
Then we take off and are in the air. We fly to Oxford where we fly around the campus and then we decide to do something fun. So we fly out to Western campus (ed.- where all the hippies live) and then come in down to just about treetop level. We fly over the scoreboard and through the stadium. We are low enough that I can actually see peoples' faces and their reactions. The pilot does a little wing wave and then lifts the plane up and we fly out to Hueston Woods and fly around the lake, going low enough to scare somebody out of their Sunfish and into the water. Then we fly out to Indiana for awhile and come back around to the Oxford airport (ed.- that exists?). The pilot lands, and again the dude riding shotgun gets out and removes the tape from the call letters. He has to hurry, because at this point, Security cars are coming to the airport. The pilot gets us on the runway and we take off without further delay. He flies back to Hamilton, we land, pile in the car and head back to Oxford thinking we got away with it completely. Later it turns out somebody got the call letters and the pilot ends up losing his license I believe and having to perform an ungodly amount of community service. The riders got no punishment. I believe we caused an interception on the field and rumor had it that the President's wife thought it was a fun prank and that it was good to shake up the crowd.
Obviously this cannot be done now as we probably would've have been shot down and the pilot arrested for Homeland Security violations.
Tremendous. This explains a lot actually. It's a great excuse for why no one goes to the games AND the #1 reason why I bought season tickets...to fight terrorism. MAC Football: Spawning 9/11 since 1983!
For my last portion of COLLEGE WEEK, I am going to end on a high note. This story is going to make you gag...I promise. And this time it won't be because you're deep-throating a black man while reading this site. ZING!
Junior year...early Spring of 2002. It's the last week of the MAC basketball season before the tournament begins. I think that both Miami and Bowling Green were good that year so when they were scheduled to end their conference seasons at the barren, feces-splattered wasteland of Anderson Arena on a Saturday afternoon, it was time for a road trip. Obviously, growing up 30 minutes from that horrible campus, I knew a lot of people that went there for "college". So I packed up two of my roommates, Hoser and Cap, and we made the three hour drive north on Friday night.
We're staying with Black (notorious for his strip club fake seizures and Hell-worthy work as a Sheriff), Chops, and Dut's Cousin, Fruity. Now of the three of us from the Ox, I was the only one of age at that time so we had to go to a bar that had terrible security (not hard to find in BG back then and probably now as well). We ended up sneaking them in to Ziggy's which I always thought was a cool bar but that also could have been because they had the hottest bartender ever (Heidi F...a fucking goddess). We crushed booze for a few hours until they closed. Then we went back to their apartment when they kicked us out.
However, the entire drive back to their apartment, Cap was looking a bit shaky. Apparently, he had been 8-fisting Long Islands all night. He didn't look good. Not good at all. Thankfully, the drive was short. He was only sitting on the couch for about a minute or two when he made a beeline to the shitter. He was unleashing holy hell on that toilet. The sounds of his violent vomiting still wake me at night. But nobody got up to ask if he was OK. He was 20 years old and throwing up after binge drinking 12 bottles of well liquor is what 20 year olds are supposed to do. But Black got up to help him. He went into the bathroom after the puking had ceased to give him a hand. It was unnecessary though because Cap was already cleaning himself up. He had a grabbed a towel off the floor and wiped his mouth off. But therein lies the problem.
Yep, he picked up Black's nut-rag. He cleaned the barf off of his face with another man's spunk. Black gave him another towel citing that the one he was using was dirty (no fucking shit) and then he came out and told me that Cap literally had Black's creamy man-butter on his chin. Like a big glob of it swimming around on his face. I have a pretty strong stomach, but the thought of having another man's ball-sauce on ANY part of me makes me dry heave. Yet my roommate indirectly got a facial from Black.
|I swear that that is milk and that this is not a pedo-blog.|
Needless to say, Hoser and I never said a word about this to him. Can you blame us? How does that conversation start? He didn't know and he didn't NEED to know either. No one needs to know that that happened to them. And yes, that concludes G$'s portion of COLLEGE WEEK. We'll be back tomorrow with Ide's Song of the South. It's good. It's not my-spunk-on-your-face good, but it's still good. At least you won't throw up all over your computer/phone.