Superbowl Sunday, or lack thereof

Sarah Petnuch, Contributing Writer

It’s Super Bowl Sunday, or in the frat boy mind: a national holiday.

Drinking, football, the boys — it’s every young man’s heaven. But this year? Not the case. The bars were closed, the group events were restricted, and not even the halftime show was being performed by a hot female artist to obsess over. It was truly devastating.

Chapter social committees made attempts to come up with a plan for the big day, but with no success. The group chat was silent. The brothers were at a loss for words. Were they expected to just sit around twiddling their thumbs during the most hyped football game of the entire year?

The whole thing was a disappointment to frat boys across the nation, leaving them with no choice but to be creative and make do with the resources at hand. Improvise; adapt; overcome. Yes, some people may have developed food poisoning from the buffalo chicken dip made in the rickety old dorm-room microwave, and yes, there was a little lag since the game was being watched on a tiny TV hooked up to the engineer friend’s laptop, but these were the sacrifices they needed to make for the sake of the game, people.

Of course, nothing will top the year that the brothers tried to see who could take the most shots during the halftime performance (resulting in a few people spending the night in the hospital), or when Brad gave Chad a concussion, or when Timmy broke a window at Jimmy’s house, but at the end of the day, as long as quality time was spent with the boys, that’s all that really matters.

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