Pledging is a strange time. The idea behind it is to create bonds within the pledge class and fraternity by having them endure shared hardships. However, I believe that some people really enjoy the sadism that can be involved. Of course, part of this was to show that one could "take it like a man."
In my undergrad years, it seemed that each class had to endure just a little worse treatment. Brothers would say "well, I had to take it, so..." then add their own brand to whatever stunt was happening.
That said, sometimes the idea is a shared fun experience. If kept under control, this can be a good thing. We had "games" at Skull. Of them all, this was the goofiest and arguably the most fun. I say this having never been on the losing side of it.
Chapter 63: BSB
Saturday, April 11, 1987 U.S. to raise spy issue in Soviet talks
“You
maggots fucking suck!” Ernie shouted
down from his perch on the landing. The
pledges were bunched up beneath him.
“We’ve never had such shitty pledges!
Something needs to be done!”
“Games!” “Games!”
The shouts rose from the brothers on the carpet behind the pledges.
“Games!”
“GAMES!”
Then,
the inevitable suggestions from the Hood:
“CIRCLE
JERK!”
“ELEPHANT
WALK!”
“PARCHEESI”
SPIT
SWALLOW!”
“RUMPLESTILSKIN!”
“SHEEP!”
“BAA-AA—AAAAA!”
“B-S-B!”
“B-S-B!”
It
gained a rhythm as the hood chanted.
“B-S-B!” “B-S-B!” “B-S-B!”
“B-S-B! HEY!
B-S-B! HEY! B-S-B!”
Ernie
held up his hands to stop the shouting.
“B-S-B!”
he shouted. “And like all games at Skull House, there are a few rules!”
“A
FEW RULES!” the Hood shouts into the pledges ears.
“First
rule: No talking!” Ernie shouted.
“NO
TALKING!”
“Second
rule! Line up and each of you choose the
brother you want to party with the most!”
Collegian April 13, 1987
They lined back up
in order. One by one, the pledges
shouted the name of a brother. The Hood
would shout stuff like “Bad choice! He’s
the best at this! “You’re fucked!”. Then the pledges were sent running back up to
the pledge closet as the brothers set up.
LPC took the lead
in this as always. The dining room
lights were turned on. We were using the
4 tables visible from the foyer. All
chairs were removed from the “inside” side of the tables except one at each. Opposite that seat were two chairs for
brothers.
The full name of
the game was “Bourbon, Scotch, Beer” after the George Thorogood cover
song. It was a relay race- the pledges vs.
the brothers they picked.
The first table in
was the shot table- first a shot a bourbon.
Then the player would move to the second table, where they’d chug a can
of beer. They’d go back to the first
table where they’d down a shot of scotch. Then they’d run back and tag the
first person in line and it would be that person’s turn. First team done wins.
Collegian April 13, 1987
Now, as always, we
knew what was coming, so during the pre-meeting all of us cracked open beers
and drank about half. These beers were
on the hood’s table. Each of the shot
tables had two bottles of bourbon and scotch.
On the Hood table, one each was filled with iced tea. In addition, as the pledges were upstairs, we
shook the shit out of the cans on the pledge table. While we set up, the selected brothers were
upstairs getting “dressed.” For some
reason, this was a “costume” event
After
the brothers were ready, they told Ernie how they wanted to be introduced, and
then waited at the top of the Brotherhood steps. The lights in the Foyer, Club Room, and
dining room were turned off. The siren
sounded, and the pledges scrambled down the back steps to their position lined
up in front of the Hood, and counted off.
The Hood shouted for them to turn around and face the Iota, who
instructed them to line up behind Brother Good, who stood at the entry to the
club room. They did so, and then all the
lights came back on. The pledges looked
at the set up and their faces seemed to say “what in hell do we have to do this
time?”
Me? I sat at the brothers’ beer table with
Wags. Best place to sneak a few drinks
myself. “Watch me the first few times so
you get the hang of it” Wags said, smiling as we toasted beers we’d just opened.
Ernie
came down the stairs and stood in the middle of the foyer.
“OK
maggots!” he shouted. “The name of the
game is BSB!”
“BSB!
BSB! BSB!” The Hood chanted until Ernie
motioned for quiet. The Hood stood to
the sides of the foyer and dining room, leaving the playing field clear.
Ernie
explained the rules: shot, beer, shot, tag the next guy in line, first team
finished wins.
“As
always, anyone who does not wish to participate may step away now. No one will feel any less of you.”
The
pledges looked insulted, and stayed in line.
“Are
you ready to meet your opponents?”
“Sir
yes sir!”
“First!”
yelled Ernie, pointing to the stairs, “From the jungles of the New Guinea:
CHIEF BEEF!”
Beef
hopped down the hood steps dressed like an island headhunter complete with
headdress and spear, shouting some kind of made up gibberish, while the
brothers cheered and chanted “Hood! Hood!
Hood!” Beef took his place at the
head of a line next to the pledges, who were laughing their asses off.
Collegian April 13, 1987
“Next:
master of the martial arts and ninja extraordinaire: Kung Fu Ninja!”
Ninja
trotted down the stairs, wearing his gi and black belt, bowed to Ernie, then to
the pledges, and struck a kung fu pose.
He then got in line behind Beef, who high fived him.
“From
Ancient Rome:
Doggus Maximus!”
Dogger
strolled regally down the stairs wearing a bedsheet as a toga.
“Hood! Hood!
Hood!”
After
a few minutes, all of the brothers playing were introduced and lined up next to
the pledge that chose him. The rules
were explained to the pledges. Ask
permission to sit down, ask politely for the drink, permission to drink,
permission to leave. Of course, the
brothers didn’t have to do any of that shit.
First team through their line wins.
Simple enough.
I had put together a tape of the Thorogood song played over and over for forty five
minutes (my contribution to the game). One brother (LPC) stood at the
top of the stairs, and another at the stereo closet across from the Alpha
suite. When Ernie shouted “music!”, the
guy at the top of the steps would relay the order to the other guy to start the
tape. Same for “stop!” at the end of the
race.
For
the pledges, it sounded like this:
“Are
you ready pledges?!?!”
“Sir
yes sir!”
“I
said are you ready pledges?!?!?”
“SIR
YES SIR!!!”
“Music!”
The
guitar riff started and faded in.
“GO!”
As
George started singing “Wanna tell ya a
story… about the house-man blues” I watched Beef do an exaggerated bunny
hop/ tribal dance to the first table. As
he sat down, his pledge opponent was still asking permission. Beef leisurely sipped his iced tea as the
pledge asked the brothers behind the pledge shot table “May I please have a
shot? Pretty please with sugar on top?”
Beef
did some kind of tribal spinning dance from the first table to the next, where
he sat in front of me. Wags handed Beef
a half filled beer, and he put his feet up on the table while drinking it. The pledge was just seeking permission to
leave the shot table.
The
pledge ran to the next table, eventually was seated, and asked for a beer.
“Do
you really want it?” Rich asked.
“Sir
yes sir!”
Rich
opened the well shaken beer so that it sprayed all over the pledge, to the
delight of everyone watching.
By
this time, Beef finished his shot of “scotch” and hopped back to the line,
tagging Ninja as he passed.
The
pledge finished his sudsy beer, secured permission to leave and ran to the shot
table.
And
so it went until all the pledges completed the course. The brothers won by quite some time, of
course. The assembled spectators chanted
“Hood! Hood! Hood!” and Ernie called for the music to
stop. The whole first floor smelled
badly of beer- worse than at a party.
“Do
you think you won that game?” Ernie
asked the pledges.
“Sir
yes sir!”
“Did
you enjoy that game?”
“Sir
yes sir!”
“OK! Let’s do it!
Music!”
George
picked up where he left off “Well I ain’t seen my baby since I don’t know
when. I’ve been drinkin’ bourbon whiskey, scotch, and gin…”
“GO!”
Beef
tangoed to the first table with Ernie.
This
time, the pledges were actually allowed to be competitive. And they pledges all puked after drinking the
warm foamy beer.
The
Hood won again. LPC cleaned up. I turned to Wags as we both finished a beer.
“What
was the point of this game?”
“Point? Does any of it have a point? It’s just fun. That’s all.”
He smiled and offered me another half empty beer.
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