Black and Blue and Gold

I am off this weekend to the Homeland, location of the greatest University in all the land, to watch the Blue and Gold do battle yet again. The forecast is clear to partly cloudy, high's in the mid-to-low 60's, with a moderate amount of wind from the Northwest. As a bonus, I get to enjoy extensive family time. And yet, I am a bit sad.

Whither all my friends from college? Whither my wife? Alas, they are gone. The friends, the loyal Donkey? Cruely (yet fairly so), they are mired in their own toils and troubles of lives worth leading, and their given paths do not intersect the Crossroads of America. The wife, she is off to Saint Louis to attend the nuptuals of a childhood acquaintance. So it goes (KV--R.I.P.).

Whither, then, Cherith Cutestory? Shall I tailgate in the JACC parking lots with fellow strangers? Shall I crash Pigtostal, being held in its annual staging area on St. Pete's Street? Shall I reclaim the Donkey, summon my loyal friends, resurrect Grego out of clay, and refuse to vacate until the University allows us one more month of frivolity in the friendly confines of the DD?

No. None of this shall come to pass. I shall fade into the West, and remain Cherith Cutestory. And at some point, I will finish Saturday: Part III.

Happy Dyngus Day!

Happy Dyngus Day! Or, as it is known in some parts of the Polish-American world, "Wet Easter Monday." Um....let's just stick with Dyngus (or Dingus) Day.

I was always told growing up that this holiday was created so the Polish kids could find all their Easter eggs left over from the day before. Turns out, this was probably just another Polack joke. In actuality, this is a day which finds its origins first in Pagan traditions then later Christianity. Get yourself learned on Dyngus Day here.

Oh--and in South Bend, this day is for politicking and getting hammered. And yet my work refuses to recognize this as a holiday day for me. I think it may be time for me to shed the bonds of my oppressors and get absolutely sh*tfaced at lunch, while talking about the upcoming mayoral elections.

You can take the Polack out of South Bend.....

Saturday: Part II

10:30 a.m.: Imagine if you will, a clown car packed to the brim with those circus funny mean, all piling in and out of an inexplicably small vehicle. That is the best way to describe a ride to the tailgate in Bo’s van. Stuffed to the gills with students and parents and children alike, all singing the Backstreet Boys at the top of their lungs as they scoot down the road. “IIIIIIIIII WANT IT THAT WAAAAAAYYYYY….” We swear when the van rounds corners, two wheels leave the ground. But this is how it is in Bo’s van, which frequently finds itself home to 15 or 20 people at least a few times during the school week. The singing and joking and laughing continues all the way to the Soccer Field, where the usher guarding the entrance to the parking gives the party van a long hard look but simply shakes his head while laughing, takes our ten dollars, and allows us to pass through to the grassy lawn beyond. We finally park, dislodge ourselves from the van, and hike over to tailgate central. Along the way, we meet up with Spider and the rest of the crew which hiked from the Donkey. Spider regales us with a very amusing story of being called a “Muppet” by a little girl standing up outside the passenger window of a passing car.

10:35 a.m.: Ahhhh….the old tailgate grounds of the soccer fields. The sun shining, the footballs flying, the grills smoking, and as much cheap beer as you can possibly keep on ice at one time. As we pass the groups of Irish faithful, flying their orange-green-and white flags on their makeshift flag poles, eating brats and burgers and seven-layer dip off of white folding tables, all while passing a quarter-full bottle of Jamison’s around the family circle to dear old Grandma for her swig, we yell “GO IRISH!” We are greeted with cheers and high-fives. As we pass the tailgates of the pockets of opposing fans, who are still trying to get their grills lit, listening to their school’s fight songs on low volume from their car windows, and sitting back relaxing in their lawn chairs, jean shorts, and cut-off t-shirts, we yell “YOU SUCK!” They respond by giving us the single-finger salute and chucking empties (or fulls) at us from point-blank range. No problem—the sun is shining, the Fight Song is humming all around us, and we’re buzzing by fueled by a mixture of maple syrup, Advil, and Michelob Light. And we won’t rest today until we can’t feel our fingers or toes. On to the tailgate!

10:45 a.m.: Arrive at our spot nearest “the moon tower,” the radio antenna in the center of tailgate central. Immediately the gear is pulled out, in order of importance: First, the cooler of beer is yanked and cans are tossed to every member of the entourage. Second, the Cups table is set-up, the red Solo cups (which just finished running through the dishwasher that morning) are arranged, and immediately teams are picked for a Cups match. Finally, the grill is pulled, the charcoal lit (ahh…the good ol’ days), and the burgers and brats start to cook. With ice cold beer in hand and the smell of searing ground beef filling the air, all is well and relatively calm. This would all change drastically within the hour.

11:15 a.m.: After walking dejectedly from a Cups defeat at the hands of some uppity O’Neill freshman (who the f*ck do they think they are anyways? Time for the full cup challenge next game), check the watch: damn, game time is over two hours away—there’s plenty of time! Realize that I haven’t urinated in over an hour, and run over to the lines of Port-O-Potties, and lines of humanity. By some universal joke, the girl in the front of the line has been inside the potty for at least five minutes, and I’ve never hated seeing that red “Occupied” button more. Screw this—off to the woods with the rest of perps. Along the way to the woods, see just at least four people from past classes and share a drunk story or two. Some stories are told mid-stream. Successfully avoid the SBPD on horseback, zip up and sprint back to the tailgater, but not before being intercepted by the 609 St. Pete’s guys and forced to shotgun a beer.

11:45 a.m.: Scarf down a burger and a brat, chug another beer, and take care of a little business in Cups. The car speakers are running full blast with the sounds of Bon Jovi and AC/DC. The tailgate has tripled in size. The sun overhead is really beating down, and the heat is causing the beer buzz to make the slow turn into drunk. There is no shade, so off come the shirts (from the guys). Grab another cold one from the barrel o’ ice and beer, which gives rise to fantastic idea. Soon, some of the dorm faithful are taking turns dunking their heads full in the barrel and bobbing for the few beers floating in the icy water. Cheers go up all around when a “beerfish” is snagged in the jaws of an upperclassman.

12:30 p.m.: Bobbing for beers has taken its toll on the beer count, and a quick glance at a now water-logged watch says we need to replenish the supply to tide the tailgate crowd until gametime. Time for a hike to Belmont liquors. After dodging beanbags and errantly thrown footballs, arrive at the refill station in a brisk ten minutes. A band is playing outside in the parking lot and some Linebacker bar regulars are stumbling to and fro. Grab a couple of cases of Busch Light and a pint of Captain Morgan for the back pocket, and head back out into the sunshine for the long haul back to the tailgate.

1:00 p.m.: The replenished beer stock is a huge hit. Everybody has a couple more beers, but the previous night’s activities are finally starting to catch up with everyone, creating a uniform chill just before the opening kickoff. That all stops when a group of O’Neill guys arrive with an appetite for self-destruction. The case of Mad Dog 20/20 comes out, and teams form for a race. Two or three guys per team and one bottle of that putrid, sweet reinforced wine. Kevin’s team wins hands down. He drinks most of the bottle himself, prompting several of the hammered freshmen to stumble up to him and slur, “Dude, you’re awesome!” A few beer chasers and stories about last night’s mass stupidity later, everyone agrees it is time to head to the Stadium. The grill, Cups table, and various tailgate paraphernalia are stowed away, and we leave the scene en mass, trudging away through pockets of mud, crushed beer cans, dead cardboard boxes, and the occasional passed-out freshmen abandoned long before by her “friends.”

To be continued in Part III....

Saturday: Part I

[Author's Note: The following entry is the first part of the final post in a series of a semi-autobiographical diary entries which seeks to capture the spirit of a typical Thursday thru Sunday weekend during senior year at the University of Notre Dame. For entertainment purposes, we purposefully omit any mention that this gameday occured during the Davie Era. -JPL]

7:30 a.m: The sun has been shining down from a beautiful, cloudless South Bend sky for a couple hours. Nearly everyone made it back to their beds at some point in the dead of night. Somewhere upstairs, an alarm clock sounds, and it’s like a hammer pounding the brains of every roommate in listening distance. No matter how much you mentally prepared for it the night before, the actuality of the hour and amount of sleep are scary. But courage is needed now, at this early hour; dozens of Fighting Irish denizens are depending on our actions this early morning. Roll over and stand up out of bed, whereupon a hangover drops like an anvil which threatens to split the forehead wide open. In a fog, locate some mesh shorts, a cut off T shirt and running shoes. No time for pain--it’s go time. Only have a few more home games left, and each one must count. But just for good measure, grab a handful of Aleve and a full cup of water and wash both down.

7:45 a.m.: Bo is also awake and has made his way upstairs, whereupon he and Tony discuss how best to integrate the sleepover “houseguests” into the morning’s game plan. There is much to be done, which will require a team effort: load the truck, buy ice, clean up the Solo cups and broken furniture in the front yard, start breakfast, get sober, then get drunk, and bring the living room into some kind of working order. And freakin’ Spider is still asleep!! Bo fixes that by loading in the CD player the Band of the Fighting Irish, and the opening trumpet blast of the Notre Dame Fight Song shakes the Donkey to its rickety foundation. Joey and Kate trudge upstairs looking the worse for wear, whereupon Joey publicly declares for the third time this school year that he “is never drinking again” Kate is quite the trooper, and she is amazed at the housemates’ attempts at organization despite last night’s revelry. From the basement, Spider bellows a “whooooo!” from inside his bedroom. Finally, the morning can begin.

8:00 a.m.: The crowd needing a ride to main circle, College Park or St Mary’s walks into the front yard and surveys the site of last night’s triumphant destruction. There are dead, dented kegs and shards of broken Solo cups floating in giant beer puddles. There are three (formerly four) legged tables, various articles of stained clothing, and muddy footprints in memory of the hundreds that stormed these yards just eight hours earlier. And behold! The Cups table is still intact, standing fast like the Star-Spangled Banner through the chaos of Margaritaville. Alas, it must be taken down and transported to the tailgate, but not until Kegs and Eggs is over.

8:15 a.m.: As the houseguests load into Bo’s luxury cruiser, Tony readies the truck, as it must be pre-staged in order to secure a prime spot near the radio tower, and the earlier the better. Joey and Tony hoist the last of the essentials into the truck bed: cases of Busch Light, the back-up grill, keg tub, table, a few chairs, the cooler and a cardboard box full of Mad Dog 20/20s. Before departing for the soccer fields with Bo driving chase in the van, Tony hollers downstairs at Spider, still lingering in the basement dungeon, to remember to add milk to the eggs to achieve maximum fluffiness. Only the best for the regulars at our Kegs and Eggs. As the vehicles rumble through the alley, a brief discussion is held wondering whether Spider’s “guest” is not included in the transportation plan, but it is decided that the group is already a few minutes behind schedule, so she’ll have to fend for herself. The soccer fields await.

8:30 a.m.: Joey beings the unenviable task of cleaning up the Donkey, but notices quickly that Spider has not emerged from his den of filth. He ventures downstairs to see if he cannot speed up the process of waking the dead. Spider’s room still closed. Joey tries a subtle approach initially, calling in his best falsetto, “Spidey, big boy, come on out.” After no evidence of stirring, and after apologizing in advance to Spider’s guest, his patience is spent and he pounds on the door as hard as possible and screams “ALRIGHT F*CKER, GET UP NOW! You have to make the pancakes!” Logic overcomes lust and lethargy, and Spider finally crawls from his lair. His companion, disheveled hair and all, makes an appearance in the kitchen a few minutes later. Spider gets the ingredients together and kisses her on the forehead after telling her he doesn’t have time to drive her home. The second she leaves in a cab, the house fills with a horrible smell. It’s been pent up all night; Spider is dispatched to the shower post haste.

9:15 a.m.: Bo and Tony arrive back at the Donkey after establishing the forward command post at the radio tower and taxiing folks all over St. Joseph county. Time for the final preparations, the guests will be arriving soon, clean but hungover and in search of sustenance. Joey has the house “almost spotless” (i.e., there is no more rotting food or stale beer in the middle of the floor, and the barf and blood stains have either been wiped up or cleverly concealed from public view). Everyone still laments the fact that they are hungover, but Joey decides that it is time to kill the ache with some thumping of our own, and the Notre Dame band is cranked to maximum decibels. Spider lets out another “WOOOOOO!!!!” Who’s got time for a hangover—this is game day!

9:30 a.m.: Music is blaring; the sausage and bacon are frying and the biscuits in the oven. Today is a special Kegs and Eggs, as parents are in town. We make sure to hide the red CD after last night’s chicanery--we had a close call with Kevin’s parents at a tailgater the week prior. Most of the parents are cool, but we need to not look like idiots today. With most of the physical work behind us, we get dressed in our Saturday’s finest. Crappy jeans, a ND t shirt, but not “The Shirt” (because this year’s sucks), and a complement of hat and sunglasses.

9:45 a.m.: The regulars arrive fresh from Campus, some of which only left the Donkey an hour earlier. It must be nice to wake up a half an hour prior. We say hello even though we said goodnight just hours earlier. Kevin is his usual surly self, and he has a bottle tucked in his pocket. He’s wearing a t-shirt sporting the opposing team’s mascot name, which he has artfully adorned with the word “SUX” spray painted across the midsection. Parents follow a few minutes later, with Mr. Plummer remarking that we nearly did him in last night and asking for water. The moms are very impressed with our spread, and even more impressed at Spider’s ability to flip manhole-sized pancakes in the skillet. Tony’s little brother Jon and another youngster show up and start looking for ways to squirrel away some beer, and Kevin obliges them by stuffing two warm Natty Light roadies in their coat pockets. Pancakes and beer for everybody, the breakfast of champions!

10:15 a.m.: Kegs and Eggs has been going full tilt for the last half-hour, and several rounds of cups are played with full parental participation, but the party is now starting to wind down. The “breakfast only” crew has already started walking to campus and the parents are off to see the Band at the steps of the Golden Dome. The paper plates and left over eggs are in the trash can, and the last of Spider’s skillet-sized pancakes are tossed away. The biscuit gravy is almost solid. Bo declares the need for a porch beer, and we head out front for a bit of calm. Suddenly, screams of terror permeate the air. Kevin has either 1 of 3 or 2 of 3 backed into a corner with a cup of beer over her head. She looks for help, but Kevin explains the offense. We all side with Kev on this one, and he pours some over her head. She smacks him, but with a big grin. Time to load up the van and get to campus to begin the tailgate festivities.

Bon Anniversaire, Spider

Danny--High on life, and other natural chemicals

Friday

[Author's Note: The following entry is the second in a series of a semi-autobiographical diary entries which seeks to capture the spirit of a typical Thursday thru Sunday weekend during senior year at the University of Notre Dame. Always remember--it's Friday, you have jobs, but you don't have sh*t to do! -JPL]

9:00 AM: The first signs of life are heard in the Drunken Donkey after clubbing at Heartland, South Bend's finest dance club establishment. As daylight streams in through tiny windows in the dark and dank basement, Kate announces that she has to go--her on-campus job wouldn't buy her weekly "sickness" excuse again this Friday. After escorting her to the door, Joey rumbles back downstairs and crashes for a few more hours.

10:30 AM: Wake up to the sound of at least two girls leaving the house and closing the door behind them with a steel "thud." Joey decides that he should probably go to Film Theory at 11:00, peels off the nasty, smoky bar clothing from last night, rinses off in the shower while sucking down Listerine to rid that nasty, tinny dead rum taste from the mouth, and trudges upstairs. Wade through various food receptacles on the living room floor (when did we order that?), and bingo! Find a piece of Papa John’s pizza and a breadstick in a beat-up white box. Grab a bottle of water, a handful of Aleve and start to head over to campus for class. Stop before leaving the door, remembering that Bo has his keys, go downstairs and pound on Bo's door. Bo answers the door wearing absolutely nothing but a very confused look on his face, and with glassy-eyed wonder starts pounding the alarm clock with his fist. I guess he got drunk last night after all (when did that happen?). Joey shields his eyes and snatches the keys from the desktop. On the way out, Joey grabs another stack of Solo cups pre-marked with star stickers and stick them in the backpack--gotta finish selling those cups for tonight’s Margaritaville party. Resist the urge to boot on the way out to the car.

Bo made it back to bed naked. Tony is still asleep upstairs with the cover over his eyes, and Spider is still sleeping in the stinky dungeon that is his bedroom.

12:00 AM: Tony takes off the t-shirt blindfold and wakes up, thinking about his one and only one class on Friday morning, Commercial Bank Management, and it’s been blown off for weeks. He eats something, drinks tons of water, and check the keg on the way out the door to the afternoon class. Gotta get a refill at somepoint today. Drops off “someone” at Main Circle.

12:15 PM: Joey has sold all his party cups while waiting around outside of O'Shag before class. Mission accomplished. After sitting through an hour of lecture while nursing a disgustingly painful hangover headache, he decides that its not worth it and heads on back home to snack on whatever he can find, grab another bottle of water, some Advil, and lay in bed.

1:00 PM: Tony shows up at his 1:00 class, either happy or pissed off for being so stupid again on yet another Thursday debaucle. On the way into COBA, meet up with Rob Roy (the St. Pete's neighbor from across the street) who’s coordinating a massive 40’s at 4 next door on this glorious Friday autumn afternoon. Ask him to pick up a couple of growlers from Mishawaka Brewing Co. for the Donkey. Send Bo an email with Eudora reminding him to pick up a 40 of Bud Light for himself. After class, head home to crash on the couch for a much needed “hangover-killing” nap.

1:45 PM: Woken from the dead of sleep by the sounds of The Matrix playing on the TV—and voila! Hangovers are nearly gone, reduced to just a dull head pain. Tony is waking groggily from the couch, Spider is downstairs playing Zelda on the old school Super Nintendo, and Bo is doing inventory in the kitchen. At Bo's insistence, everyone enjoys a porch beer consisting of lukewarm cans of Busch Light found rolling around in the back of the kegerator. Hey--it's still beer.

2:15 PM: The porch beer is nice, but somebody reminds the crew that there is muchos work to do before this party tonight. The crew splits up. One roommate heads to Martin’s Supermarket for the food run. Gotta pick up lots of ground beef, hamburger buns, and cheese. Tony makes sure that we include lettuce and tomato for nutrition. Two roommates head out on the beer run: Belmont to pick up the kegs for tonight’s party. They love us at Belmont—we are instantly recognized and greeted as family. That's what happens when you inform a place that you intend to collect 100 keg caps over the course of the school year. The five kegs for the party are loaded into the back of Tony's truck, ready to render all the Miller and Bud Light you can drink. Plus one for the kegerator for good measure. The margarita machine is finally delivered to the Donkey. This party is a reality.

3:15 PM: Get home and stash our wares. The new keg is hooked up and pressurized in the Homer J. Simpson kegerator. The first of the “new keg” beers are poured—just to make sure that everything is working properly, of course. Just for fun, some of Spider's inflatables are placed on the roof and porch, despite somebody's cowardly act of vandalism last weekend in puncturing one of the whale blow-ups and scrawling across it in magic marker "Shamoo is Gay."

3:25 PM: Whilst enjoying some keg beer and looking desparately for the 40s at 4 CD, random girl (one of Joey's friends from high school) shows up with chocolate cupcakes and marinated steaks. Joey continues to unwrap a Nintendo 64 controller and ignore said girl. After having her advances rebuked, said girl leaves leaves the premises, whereupon the roomates savagely berate Joey with humiliating statements, but nonetheless proceed to promptly savage the cupcakes. During said savaging, the entire plate of cupcakes falls on the floor behind the bar. While Tony and Bo ponder how exactly to extract nine cupcakes from the Kramer-special carpet, Spider solves the problem by simply shifting the bar backwards about six inches, just enough to completely cover up the large chocolatey mess. Everyone is happy with this solution....besides, we'll clean it up later, right?

3:45 PM: Classmates start to arrive en masse across the street for 40's at 4. Bo finally locates the 40s at 4 CD stuffed between cushions of the Grace Hall couch on the front porch, and proceeds to loads it into the CD Player. The sounds of a wind-chime and the lyrical musings of Jay-Z greet us with a thump-thump: “Can ya Can ya Can ya bounce wit me, bounce with me? Uh!” Windows are opened on the Donkey (or removed all-together from the porch). Tony's two massive stereo speakers are pushed up against the windows. The temperature is warm and the sun is shining. Time to get rolling: "Who's party? Bad time!"

4:00 PM: Tony grabs the growler of pale ale and heads outside, and the rest of the roomates follow close behind. Chaos--Ape Shit. There is a throng of people spilling out from the green porch across the street at 609 which spews into the street and threatens to spill over into our townie neighbor's lawn next door. Must be a crowd at least 100 to 125 strong, a solid number. Noriega and Big Pun are now blasting from the Drunken Donkey.

4:20 PM: Finish off the last of the first 40oz of malt liquor, wondering outloud why they couldn't have laid their hands on some Colt 45 Double Malts with the extra wide brim. Notice that everyone else is starting to finish their 40's as well. Uh oh--lawn bowling with 40s has started on St. Pete's. Cheers go up as a 40oz bottle is rolled across the lawn and into the street, where it smashes into tiny shards of glass against the curb on the opposite side. Roars erupt from the crowd. The "Bad Touch" is now blasting from Tony's speakers...."You and me, baby, ain't nothin' but mammals..."

4:30 PM: Lay hands on another 40oz...sweet! Notice that a crowd has gathered on the side of 609--the two story bong has commenced! A crowd forms around the plastic pipe dangling from a second story window. 40oz bottles are emptied into a plastic tube from the uppermost window and filtered down into the waiting gullet of one of the 609 housemates. This is complemented by keg-stands being performed on the front porch. Somebody thinks it would be a good idea if the guys across the street start recording their keg-stand times in latex paint across the front of their house. Occasionally, sketchy townies show up on the premises and ask if they can get their “40 on.” The answer is always no (after all, these things costs us $1.75 a piece!), but somebody does hand them a couple of warm Natty Lights, and they go away. Suddenly, a police cruiser stops. We start to think we’re in trouble and some of the underage in the crowd disburse, but the cops just want to watch some idiot do this two story beer bong. The guy obliges their request, and the crowd roars. The cops just smile, tell everyone to be careful, and go on their merry way. Some random chick brings up the possibility of going to the pep rally—everyone laughs and keeps drinking.

5:30 PM: Most of the guys are already well into 40oz number two, the more hardcore have plowed straight through to number three, and most of girls have finally finished number one. Lots of hammered people stumbling around the six-hundred block of St. Pete's. Lots of glass is now sprinkled all over the street due to many, many rounds of 40's bowling. Kevin Cope has just finished bonging two 40's at a time, and promptly runs to the corner of the yard for a record-setting yak. A serious disagreement erupts as to who came in first in the keg-stand contest. Amongst all the commotion, one of the guys at 609 issues a challenge for Thunder Dome. The party comes to a seeming halt, as a throng of people gather in a circle and start yelling, “Two men enter, one man leaves!” A referee enters the circle and lays down the ground rules, which are very simple: guys consume one beer every other minute until one pukes. The two roomates commence to drinking. After seven minutes, one of the roomates finally boots all over the side of a girl's car parked in the street. The crowd cheers, and the “winner” raises his arms in triumph, only to quickly lie down on a mattress on the hilly front yard. He’s not heard from for the rest of the evening.

Kevin Cope distracts the Thunder Dome crowd by busting out the "The Gobbler" or “mangina” numerous times. At this, people start to evacuate and try to regroup for the evening. Meanwhile, over at the Drunken Donkey, preparations for the night's activities have just begun.

6:00 PM: The sun is starting to go down. The 40's crowd has mostly dissapated. The members of the Drunken Donkey retreat back to the friendly confines for a brief respite before the impending party. Tony and his t-shirt sleep in his bed, while Bo, Spider and Joey assume crash positions on the couches and chair while watching the shining jewel in "Bo's Bad Movie Collection": Godzilla.

6:45 PM: Bo (the House Mom) stirs to consciousness, and soon the entire house is up, showered, and preparing for Margaritaville. The attire? Yellow t-shirts adorned with the logo of a passed-out saltshaker and the party theme "Where's the f*cking salt?" The crew scrounges what is left of the "fireburgers" and chicken from the previous night. The kegarator starts dispensing foamy goodness of Miller Lite....or is it Bud Light? Does it matter at this point? During the first of many beers to come, the 64 is fired up and the crew starts to count through the pile of money that was collected by selling cups to the party. $100...then $200....then $800? How many cups did we sell? Even Bo, our resident MBA student, couldn't construct a spreadsheet to track this madness. Despite our ruthlessly calculated sales projections, which were ambitious at worst and crazy at best, we still sold more cups than we possibly could have imagined. This party might be bigger than anybody dreamed. Whoops. Time for more beer!

7:15 PM: Tables and chairs are drug from inside the house and placed in various places throughout the lawn. The margarita machines are situated on the front porch, plugged in and start to whir. Large bags of ice and economy-sized vats of mix are added to the dual cylinders, and in fifteen minutes the first of many margaritas to come dispense from the spout. Bo sets out the yellow sawhorses and the lacquered blue and gold surface of the Cups Table which he built and painted over the summer. Two pitchers of beer and a wet "zamboni" rag add the finishing touches.

7:30 PM: Now the sun has completely set, and almost on-cue the first of the guests start to arrive for the party--about an hour early, as usual. The Trio, Steph and Katie, Kevin and some O'Neill guys all start to dribble through the front door in search of rot-gut tequilla and cheap rum from Osco. The first batch of margaritas didn't stand a chance. A rousing game of Cups starts in the front yard. Meanwhile, while we are already rocking to a party thirty people strong, the neighbors next door start hoisting the first of five kegs onto their front porch and wonder what the hell all the noise is coming from 610.8:30 PM: Margaritaville--the ultimate block party evolved from its humble beginnings as an idea born over packs of Busch Light in the six-man units of Grace Hall--is in full swing. Hundreds of people start arriving, by the carload, cabload, and in packs walking from campus. Underclassmen, grad students, even their parents show up for the good times. There are people literally swarming every porch and curbside on the 600 block of North Saint Pete's. All the doors to the house are opened and people start streaming in. The Margarita machine is trying to keep up, but ice and Tony's patience for running the machine are becoming a problem. A half-dozen Cups games break out on the block. Meanwhile, the original DD cups game is getting out of control. The full cup challenge is issued more than once, and more than is healthy. At some point, Kevin Shannon and Kevin Cope get into a wrestling match, and Shannon administers the world's biggest Atomic Wedgie to Cope in the front yard. Pieces of blue underwear are everywhere, but the party rages on.

9:15 PM: More and more people keep showing up. The plastic is removed from stacks and stacks of red and blue Solo cups—3 dollars a piece, please! The throng becomes so uncontrollable that Kevin starts acting as bouncer, checking IDs while personally introducing himself to every hot underclass that strolls through the gate and denying entry to guys who take exception to his chest-bumps. There are now teams of parents playing Cups with their kids in the middle of the street. Meanwhile, packs of townies roam amongst the Notre Dame students, but they don't seem to be causing any trouble. The first keg is kicked and rolled off the back porch into the alleyway.

10:00 PM: The margarita machine cannot keep up with demand. Tony and Bo resort to filling glasses with nothing but warm gooey mix and tequilla. The kids are eating it up by the cup full. The parents are now destroying the kids in the Cups match. Across the street, the fellas from 609 have finally rallied in full and are now reinstating the two-story bong races. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the roomates, a large contingency has gathered on the back porch of the Donkey. They have dragged a spare keg out on the grantite driveway lawn and have started an ad-hoc stripping contest. Ironically, Spider shows up and breaks up the scandalous action just seconds before a dumb underclass guy goes the "full monty."

10:45 PM: The party is officially out of control. Nobody is manning or distributing the margarita mix--instead, the partygoers are pillaging the reserves of Osco tequilla and stumbling off into the crowd to share their discovery. The parents have called it a night and are heading back to their hotels, while their children stumble to and from different parties on the block and start to wonder how the hell they are going to get home safely. Kegs two and three didn't stand a chance, and number four is nearly cashed. People are encouraged to seek out the other houses for beer, but reports come back that they are nearly out as well. Somebody reports that random townies showed up and stole toiletries, including Joey's bottle of "Drakkar." A vicious game of El Diablo breaks out at the side of the house between Kevin, some O'Neill Angry Mobsters, and a bottle of Old Kentucky Home. Somebody has booted in the window well outside Spider's room. Tony and Bo discover that somebody has locked themselves in the front room, and only after shining flashlights into the front windows do they cause a particularly amorous and embarrased couple to vacate. A young lady passd out in a lawn chair in the front yard is crowned "Miss Margaritaville." In the living room, the Red CD is now blaring the "unofficial" party anthem which "brings a tear to your eye," and a few dozen people are bumping and grinding themselves loose of their clothing. After the Solo cups ran out, a few savvy partygoers raided the kitchen cabinets for cups to fill with keg beer. The roomates are far too drunk to care, but have some foggy realization that this party is now out of hand. What happens when the booze and beer finally run out?

11:20 AM: Something is happening. Several police cruisers show up at the end of the block with their blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. Tony is running around saying, "Dude. Dude. Dude." None of the roomates know what is going on for sure, but it looks like everybody is busted. Nobody can find Spider, but his bedroom door is locked. People start scattering in every direction. Nervous underclassmen ask if they can hide in the downstairs laundry room. Joey and Bo are herding people into the basement. Several girls hide in the bushes behind the Drunken Donkey. Kevin, resigned to his fate, says "fuck it,"grabs a full pitcher of beer and sits down on a broken lawn chair. Tony, who is only slightly less shitcanned than the rest of the roomies, puts on his best Army cadet face and walks over to ask the officers what is going on. A few minutes later, he returns to report that we are in luck--it was just a few underclassmen who were creamed by a renegade driver on their way over to the fiesta. In exchange for not busting our party, the SBPD requested that we simply shut it down. The roomates all agree that this is a sign from above, and immediately we invite our closest friends...plus their friends, their friends' friends, and their friends' hot girlfriends...inside the safe confines of the Drunken Donkey to keep the party rolling.

1:45 AM: The last keg is almost kicked. After particularly rousing group-sung renditions of "Free Bird" and "You Never Even Call Me By My Name," Bo issues a challenge to the house to help "kill the keg." The beer really starts flowing. When the keg is finally kicked, Bo takes it out of the house hoisted over his head and throws it over his head into the front yard. In the process he almost knocks himself out, and passes out on his back in the yard. Roughly fifteen or twenty people remain in the party, but the roomates have had it. Tony retreats to the passenger cab of his truck and falls asleep. Joey and Spider curl up on the floor in the living room and promptly passs out. Kevin locks himself in Tony's room. Every door in the place remains wide open.

At some point, the last of the guests leave, officially ending the Margaritaville party. In just a few hours, daylight will filter through the windows and announce the arrival of gameday on Notre Dame's campus, and a whole new round of revelry for the Donkey.

Next time: Game Day Saturday, and the last party of the Quintessential Weekend