The sun pierced through the overcast skies down onto Palmer Street on Saturday. Every time it seemed like it was getting ready to release yet another spring rain on Athens, the clouds separated and the sun beamed through and placed a bit of warmth down on students amid countless barrages of wind gusts earlier last Saturday.
Everything was perfect. It wasn't too hot or too cold. No umbrellas needed. The beer flowed through the kegs, and as I sat and pondered the total volume of liquid that would be consumed that day, another thought crept into my head and bummed me out.
It's just a matter of time
I said to my friend Lauren, a resident on Palmer who was already in party control mode, directing people to the bathroom and keeping an eye out for damage to her house. I hated to be so negative, but all the conditions were right. The pent-up drama of girlfriend/boyfriends. The super juice we lovingly refer to as beer would become the fuel to fool even the smallest men by making them delude themselves as Superman. And the continued look of frustration on countless people who watch party go-ers with the special bracelets skip to the front of the keg line, extending their wait for that next cup of room temperature brew for a few more minutes.
Add it all up and somewhere it lands on fire ... and screaming, and crying, and running, and pepper spray, and thrown beer bottles at police and animals, really?
How did we get here? What is our infatuation with perfectly good college furniture going up in flames? How do we go from playful beer pong, flip cup, corn hole - the occasional trip with friends around the back of the house for a little group therapy - to this thought: Ya know what would look great out in the middle of a street? All this furniture on fire. Grab that chair and toss me a lighter Brah!
For me, this whole incident was a symbol or calling. To us seniors, this is our Altamont. The end of our fun and games. The ambers that shot up into the sky and fizzled out from the blaze symbolized each of our lives for the past four years. A spark of light rising up until it disappears into the night and becomes nothing but air and dust.
When I arrived in Athens four years ago, I didn't know if I would leave it in better shape than it was when I arrived. I didn't think that I would revamp the partying personality Ohio has grown over its years and I didn't try, I enjoyed it. I passed my classes, enjoyed a few cold ones, and I (not perfectly) balanced that fine line of fun/responsibility.
After Saturday night, I believe I'll leave OU in worse shape from when I first inked my name on the application back in high school. The quaint little drinking town, a town that has taught me fun and responsibility, a town that my grandfather, parents and sisters (OU alums) left me I worry is going to be stripped down to a boring, rule-strapped asylum of zombies that fear punishment from just a little fun and joyfulness.
None of this looks good for Athens, Ohio University or the students. Not that a street party and sporadic over-indulgence is terrible and not that fires are OK, but the repercussions of Saturday night will soon begin to infiltrate the campus and the city. That means more restrictions, more rules, less fun, and more stress on students who invite the entire campus to come drink your face off at their front porch.
We were screwed from day one. No one actually believed the #2 party school ranking a couple years ago was going to benefit us, did they? For the students, it meant bragging rights, which was fun for about five minutes. For the school, it meant severe scrutiny from alums and national media, imminent changes to be addressed and a time to try to seize control of a university they thought was slipping through their fingers, discipline-wise.
I cringe when I think about SixFest this weekend. It's not easy for fire trucks to get out there, there's plenty of wood to go up in flames, and there's plenty of that super juice running through the crowd.
Nathan Keys is a senior studying sport management.
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Opinion
