We Spite Reason

We were Trogdor and the Burninators. It was only the first round of Oozfest. But we were on fire!

Our big men in front leapt from the mud, hung in the air Matrix-style for seconds at a time, and spiked the ball with ferocious grace. Our girls dove into the quagmire, sacrificing their bodies for victory.

And we had a rotation! We launched serve after serve like a volley of Patriot missiles, carried by the winds that whipped across Lake LaSalle. We scored an ace. And another. Fifteen to one! The day was ours!

But after shaking hands and running off the court - and finding out our next game was an hour and a half away - everything went downhill fast.

Pigs roll in the mud because it's cool and refreshing on a summer day. But Saturday morning was far from summer-like. And we're not animals but skinny white guys who thought we'd be men, take our shirts off, and dive right in.

So it was bone-chillingly cold. Spine-shatteringly cold.

"The mud is cold because all of its heat is expended, turning it from a liquid into a solid," said my friend Joel, as we stood, sore from shivering, behind the tents over an electrical generator, which was emitting warm air and a strong odor of diesel fuel.

Needless to say, the mud and cold got the best of us. We went from heroes to wrecks. In the second round, we were humiliated by a team called the Mud Dawgs. It was just past noon, and we were history.

The loss was bad enough. But when we left, I was faced with a very, very sticky logistical problem.

First, I desperately needed to shower. I was in no condition, however, to get in my car and drive back to the Heights. And two of my friends (who lived in Lehman Hall, in Governors) wanted to take a shower but didn't want to mess up their own bathroom.

So we made a foolproof plan. We'd head over to Governors - but instead of going to Lehman, we'd find some empty bathrooms in Roosevelt (the freshman Honors dorm) and mess up some other sucker's shower.

The plan worked like a charm. At least until my shower was over and I realized I had neither of these things:

1. A towel.

2. A change of clothes.

Ahhhh, figs.

But it wasn't over! I took my free Oozfest T-shirt and tied it around my waist. Then I took one of my muddy T-shirts and tucked it in, covering everything else. Genius! Now I just had to get over to Lehman, about 100 yards across Governors.

I began to navigate the serpentine hallways when I heard the voices of girls ahead. I peeked around a corner and saw a group of four outside a lounge. Better not go down that hall.

No sweat. I'd just head down to the second floor.

But I went too fast, and everything started to get a little loose. By the time I walked down the hallway, my brilliant T-shirt plan had become a fickle, fragile arrangement, and I was bent halfway over trying to keep it all together.

It ended up that I should have stayed upstairs.

As I staggered down the hall I saw some kids ahead. One by one, they came around the corner toward me. A herd of them. They looked young. And they kept coming.

With their parents! It was a tour group!

"That's one of the muddy kids from Oozfest," said an effervescent UB Star as parents gaped in horror.

So I staggered past, ducked into a bathroom, adjusted myself, and finished my star-crossed walk to Lehman.

I left North Campus the afternoon of Oozfest dirtier, poorer, sunburned and sick from swallowing mud. And about a dozen future students nearly saw my "boys" on their first tour of UB.

"Why did we do Oozfest?" I asked, as a reasonable guy. I thought of my cumulative final on Monday, and I thought of Lockwood Library staring at us disapprovingly from across the lake as we rolled in the mud.

Why did we do it? And why, later that night, was I not getting ready for my final, but having a jello wrestling party? Why, in fact, had I not studied all week?

When I came to college I thought it would be like a great transcendent one-night stand before I had to go out into the working world. That's what freshman year was like. But after that, the working world - with its resumes, interviews, lame jokes and phony smiles - started to spit in my face every day.

At the end of junior year, it hits all of us that we're about to do everything for the last time. We've seen the forecast: the real world's coming in like a tidal wave.

So we do things for no reason. We do things to spite reason.

We reject reason! The U.S. reasoned its way into Vietnam and reasoned its way into Iraq. Adults reason their way into the most boring of lives. I've got to reason my way through applications, resumes, interviews and finances.

So next year let's be free for the last time in our lives. Give us honesty, passion, romance and hope!

Let's play volleyball in the mud. Why? For no reason at all.