Oh, Beer Pong. That undergraduate mainstay to which we devote our nights and our livers, that glorious contest of Solo cups and broken hearts, that germ-ridden exposition of marvel where boys become men, and girls become irrelevant. Why, we so often have asked, is this sport and this pastime so egregiously neglected by the writers of our nation’s literary magazines?
That dark age has recently ended. In its recently published “Games People Play” issue, Tin House features a warm reminiscence by staff writer Cheston Knapp of his golden years at William & Mary, when he and his friends fratted very hard. Its inclusion is a landmark in fratological discourse. Tin House may not be the stuffiest of lit mags, but not often are the phrases “elephant walks” and “ritual coitus with goats” included in a publication that mentions Georges Perec and the Oulipo movement in its introduction.
Oh. And the story happens to be pretty fucking well-written. If the blunt frattiness of his name didn’t give it away (like seriously how frat-tastic is the name CHESTON KNAPP) it’s pretty clear that this bro has the right pedigree for the subject matter. Amidst a vivid landscape of croakies and projectile vomiting, Knapp manages to relay with Beast- and Natty-soaked vivacity the joy of man-to-man combat on the Pong table.
But the highlight of the article, the moment where the fratmospheric pressure index hits its peak, is when Knapp introduces a substance knows as “frat sludge,” the “ameobic mess” created by the mounting beer and dirt and whothefuckknowswhatelse, that oozed from one end of the floor to the other as the faceoffs went on. (The Beirut table at the ## office also has its own biochemical activity it can attest to: a fungus that has, over the past 8 months, grown to cover a large spot beside the giant hashtags we painted on it.)
However we have some complaints. As wonderful as it is to read about keg stands in the space that would usually run some shit story about Pakistan, our friend Cheston neglected to include several points we consider essential in all discussion of this sport of champions. First, there is no mention of the ire that comes out of the heated “Beirut or Beer Pong” debate. The “correct” name has never been adequately decided upon.
Next, he neglects to inform the dear readers of his quaint little zine about the, um, variations on the game. There’s 21, which requires two 3-person teams and 21 cups a side, and forces each player to team up with someone on another team and shoot a communal ball. If your opponent makes it, you drink the cup and shoot. If he makes it, you shoot.
These same rules apply to Honeycomb, but with one alteration: the ENTIRE TABLE is covered in beer-filled cups, resulting in about 88 cups per side. It requires four people per team, and you get extremely wasted.
And there’s all the Beer Pong terminolgy that Cheston left out. There’s The Jamal, The Chi O, The Orphan, The Jump Shot, The Battleship Galatica, The Side Car, The One Cup, The Swat, The Naked Run, and so many more. The people need to know, Chester! The people need to know!
You can read the story here. (Pshhhhhhh yeah RIGHT. Like Tin House would actually put its good stuff online. You can read some shitty stuff on the site, but “Beirut: A Frat-tastic Brewhaha” is nowhere to be found.) I would tell you to buy it in a bookstore or something, but you wouldn’t want to do that. This issue costs $16, and you would be much better off spending that money on two cases of Natty Light.
(
