Most experts see college as a rite of passage for young people and a necessary step on their path to adulthood. It is also a place where one can experience living away from their parents for the first time, and all of the amazing benefits that go along with the new found freedom. College in its most basic sense is an institution where you can obtain a higher level of education, and if you accumulate enough credit hours of coursework you will earn a degree in your chosen field of study. This degree is basically a receipt saying you paid thousands of dollars to bullshit your way through class so you can go out all night and drink, experiment with drugs, fuck the shit out of each other, and one day get a good job. Being a champion, you can probably imagine how my college career went, and the ironic thing is I wouldn’t have gone back to school if my parents didn’t make me. So I would like to thank my Mom and Dad, because without their influence and support, half of the stories that will make up this blog would not exist. They are true Champions indeed.
With that being said, the latter months of 2007 were pretty wild for me. By day I was a mild mannered short order cook at a golf course restaurant, but when the sun went down I was a raving lunatic, hell bent on winning championships. When it got to the point where I had five or six consecutive weekends that were worthy of a Champions Corner blog post, I knew it was time for a change of scenery. My parents also were getting nervous, because every week there was a new arrest, legal fine, or self-inflicted injury that I had to deal with. So after a serious discussion about my future, we decided that I should enroll at the State University of New York at Oneonta.
After filing the necessary paperwork and applications, I was accepted by the admissions department and was eligible to start classes in the Spring. A few months later, I made the trip out to Oneonta and settled into my new dorm room, anxious to start classes and get a feel for the local entertainment. And for those of you who don’t know, by entertainment I mean beer, blunts, bitches, boobs, bangers, and butt fucking. So my first night there, I went out with my roommates to grab some drinks and hopefully get my dick wet. What actually happened was the complete opposite of my expectations. We sat in some losers apartment all night, drank warm beer with no vaginas in sight, and ended up ordering an alarming amount of disgusting calzones from a shithole restaurant aptly named Zonies. Besides being incredibly disappointed about waking up alone the next day, the combination of cheap beer and gross food made my morning bathroom trip something like this:
After another uneventful night and disgusting morning, I started to feel as if going back to school was a bad decision. However, being a Champion, I feel that you cannot judge a man by how he falls, but how he stands back up. So with nothing to lose, I decided to hit up this guy from my hometown Pete, founder of the U Is Clothing Company, because he also went to Oneonta and I heard he was in a fraternity. Later that day, Pete responded to my message and told me to come down to a party his frat was throwing that night. He said it was the first day of Rush week, and there would be plenty of alcohol and girls. I still had my doubts, but I decided I would give it a shot, because at this point I was going through the worst case of Championship withdrawal I’d ever had. I was shaking so bad that when I held my dick to piss it looked like someone was partially covering a garden hose with their thumb. It was rough.
Now that I had plans, my classes that day seemed like they would never end. When I was finally done, I shaved, showered, and put on a Champions uniform. I was looking extra fresh and my confidence was at an all time high. I called a cab and headed straight to the address Pete gave me with high hopes and an eagerness that I can’t describe in words. When we pulled up, Pete was waiting for me, and as we ascended the steps that led to the party apartment, he turned to me as he kicked the door open and said:
“Welcome to Greek Life.”
Now I’m not exactly sure, but I firmly believe that at that precise moment, Pete was actually St. Peter and he was ushering me through the Pearly Gates of Champion’s Heaven. It was unbelievable. Everyone was dancing in a black-light lit room with barely any room to move. There were a thousand shots lined up on a countertop that overlooked three kegs of beer, and there was a bucket with some type of rape serum in it. I later found out it was actually punch, but at the time I was too overjoyed to care. The events that transpired that night changed my life forever. I was pounding beers, taking shots, and groping sluts while the liquor was flowing freely and the jiff was easily accessible at every turn. I immediately forgot about the kids I chilled with the first two nights, because I was raging like a champ and their idea of a party was probably more like this: