Over that last year, I have developed a strong and overwhelming dependence on beer pong: the sport of champions. I do not consider a party a success unless at least one game has been played, preferably won. My champ of a partner, Caitlin, and I have grown considerably as players since our very first time. We've actually made quite a name for ourselves in our party circuit as killers, slayers, and formidable opponents.
I owe this addiction to my best bro, Reilly. He took us under his wing and showed us the way.
Consistently unbeatable, he has been both master, partner, and foe. In the beginning, we practised with his 9 year old brother, using water, on his deck way back in September. Our friendship was just blooming in those days. Beer pong brings people together. We've learned a lot from our dear friend. One of the few times we beat our sensei was, of course, with beginners luck. When that ball was sunk perfectly in that last red cup, magic occurred. A new passion was ignited.
Our disbelief that we could beat the great and powerful Reilly was overwhelming. Our shrieking echoed through the quiet back yards of the neighbourhood.
Sadly, beginners luck only works for the very first game. Everything after that relies on skill. At Reilly's next party, we faced our first non-Reilly opponent. I knew we could not beat them with skill, I had to employ a distraction.
That night was the first and hopefully the last we saw of dead Caitlin, and pretty much dead Cari. At this point in the night, we were feeling pretty good, just made some sloppy decisions. One of which, was my brilliant distraction plan. We were playing one of my best buddies, Kevin, and a mutual friend; what harm could come from preying on mens' one track minds? It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time.
Put your smelling salts away for another scandal, I was covered, enough. You see, one never knows who they might meet at a party, so wearing sexy lingerie is never a bad move. Did I mention that was the night I met Tim?
Over time, and with lots, and I mean lots, of practice, our skills improved. We actually had skills to bank on instead of relying on cheap tricks and flashy distractions. The battle between team Panda and team Revin waged on at every party. One of the seldom times we beat Reilly/team Revin, was the first night Kevin came out with his eye patch and played a round of beer pong like the champ he is. It was a win, but we eagerly await the day we can valiantly kick their butts without any unfair advantages.
I may take my clothes off DURING a round of beer pong less often now, but I am still horrendously competitive and loud. I almost feel remorse for the other team the morning after, but then I remember how great it is to heckle boys into inferiority in our great sport.
Like it or not, a monster has been created. Win or lose, I'd rather be playing beer pong and drawing in a jovial crowd than standing around awkwardly making small talk with people I won't even remember the names of in the morning.
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