PRINTLiving happily never-after
Animal House doesn’t even compare to the ridiculous shenanigans of the Antlers especially when one finds out that real love is nothing like Hollywood’s version.
August 11, 2005 | 12:00 a.m. CST
Coming to college, my high schoolfriends and I were looking for raging college parties like the ones we saw in movies. Old School has a great example of such a party; there’s sex, naked women, booze, music and the guy gets the girl of his dreams at the end.
We came home downtrodden from our freshman year after we realized these parties didn’t exist. The common college party consists of a keg (not a stocked bar), music that’s too loud (not a soundtrack), forced conversation and maybe some making out (not love at first sight).
So coming into my sophomore year, my expectations of parties were low. Then, I stumbled upon the promised land of parties — it was like accidentally discovering plutonium, kryptonite and free Buffalo wings all wrapped into one.
It started simply enough; I was an Antler. If you don’t know who the Antlers are, just imagine a group of the loudest, most ruthless fans at a college basketball game. Few of us, myself included, would not fall into the Abercrombie and frat-party category. Look for us at bars such as Black and Gold or Buffalo Wild Wings. If you do know who we are, we don’t like you either.
Well, our band of idiots somehow got invited to the cheerleader initiation party. We showed up with a keg. We had drank the contents of the keg before we arrived, but we thought we’d look good walking in with a keg all the same.
Apparently we were early, and the cheerleaders were wrapping up the initiation. We waited in the garage and were blown away when the door opened. For some reason the cheerleaders dressed in costume for this event — skanky costumes. The first thing we saw when the door was flung open was a naked cheerleader getting back into her outfit.
Another cheerleader was dressed in just a see-through nightie and a thong. This party had lots of leather, bare navels and cleavage. That combined with free booze, music and drunk Antlers made me pretty sure this party was going to end with us being beaten with pompoms.
After an hour or so of wandering around the party, I rounded a corner and locked eyes with a stunning brunette in a modified (read risqué) toga. One of my Antler companions was talking to her and pointing at me. Then I recognized her.
It was Mary.
She was my only college crush so far. Our first meeting occurred when a few other Antlers and I saw her play in an MU volleyball scrimmage. I expressed my affection by screaming cheers at her. After that, when I headed an Antler outing to a volleyball game, I told them — jokingly at the time -— to stay away from her. She was mine.
Keep in mind who I was when I first saw her: blue hair, black rimmed glasses and red Converse sneakers. She was a Greek goddess and I was Screech Powers; a fat Screech Powers. Now, here I was in the same room as her with my freshly dyed black hair and plenty of liquid courage.
Stunned, I walked to a group of friends to collect my wits. One of them started into a dumb story and, in my best movie voice, I looked him in the eye and said “Sorry, destiny awaits.”
With that I crossed the room, extended my hand and introduced myself. She started to say her name, and I interrupted.
“You need no introduction,” I said.
Then, in an attempt to blow any chance I had with this girl, the Antler she had been talking to her blurted out, “This guy’s in love with you!”
Horrified, I tried to find some way to hide my affections, but Mary just covered her heart and hugged me.
From there, I knew God was on my side. This was a movie. I couldn’t fail. I wouldn’t fail. This would be one of the greatest stories ever told — the underdog who got the girl of his dreams at an amazing party. I talked to Mary for a while. I found out her year in school, major, where she was originally from, et cetera.
Then she declared how much it would mean to her if the Antlers would come to her team’s next home volleyball game. It was time to take my shot: I promised her every Antler would be at the game if she went on a date with me.
The words hung in the air, and then a smile crossed her face as she said yes. As if her response wasn’t enough of an indication of her inebriation, she then made me pinky swear to come to the game. So, in my first pinky swear since the second grade, I swore the Antler crew would come to the game, and she swore she’d go out with me.
Eventually she wrote her number on my hand, one of the Antlers got in a fistfight with one of the male cheerleaders, and we took a lot of pictures the cheerleading team wouldn’t want the public to see.
I went home in a state of shock. It was one of those rides where you replay the events in your head over and over. I got home at 4 a.m., and I called two of my friends, leaving them long rambling voicemails trying to explain what had happened. I kept saying it was like a movie.
Of course, the thing about movies is that you don’t get to see what happens after the credits roll. My epilogue was a sad tale.
I lived up to the pinky swear and called Mary the next day. Without booze or music to drown out the conversation, there were lots of awkward silences, but somehow I convinced her to get coffee with me. I called her that Sunday ... multiple times. Each time her roommate gave me a different excuse as to why she wasn’t home, but each time she made sure that I was still bringing the Antlers to their game on Wednesday. Four phone calls later, I put it together that she was using my feelings to get the Antlers to come to games.
I was livid. I led a movement making sure we’d never go to another volleyball game that season. The next year I became Grand Poobah of the Antlers and forbade them from attending volleyball games until Mary graduated. Luckily, karma caught up to her and she left the team and school amid various rumors.
The Antlers still haven’t been back to a volleyball game.
