Back at the Ranch

Waterballoons: God's gift to summer. We have been without rain here for around 4 weeks, and as the man in charge of cutting the grass, I have found this weather to be a bit trying. However, the hot weather is good news for my other job -- Recreation. Yessir, twice a week there are trips to the beach, running through the never sleeping sprinklers, or diving into the cold pond after a frisbee. There are plenty of opportunities for us to get wet and stay cool, and you would think that could keep us happy... but I was wrong. Apparently, the staple of summer, waterballoons, are not available at any major store here in Riverhead, NY. So before I vault directly into the weeping and gnashing of my teeth, I will share with you a quick collegiate story of revenge, character and history.

There are few things more precious to a male college student than a nap. It is worth more than it's weight in gold. Were you to give a college male the opportunity to come into a 15 minute, non-scheduled class period in the middle of the afternoon to watch a video clip in lieu of the final exam, he would pass on the opportunity and choose the immediate hour of rest over the 6 hours of sleep he would lose during finals week studying for an exam he should hever had to take in the first place. Naps are important, nay, necessary to the collegiate experience. So when you choose to rob a man of his nap, there will be a price to pay. My sophomore year, the Big Purple paid that price.

It couldn't have been more than three weeks into school. You know what I'm talking about, the weeks when there are no difficult assignments, if there's any homework at all. That is to say, there was nothing that couldn't be put off until later in the semester, which falls directly in line with my scholastic anthem: "Why procrastinate now when you can procrastinate later..." At this point in the semester you are so busy catching up with everyone, seeing how their summers went, hanging out until all hours of the night, playing full-contact fooseball in our dorm room -- you know, the usuals. We didn't have time to sleep at night, there was too much to do. The only available option was after lunch, in the peace and quiet of an empty dorm... kinda.

Our parking lot for the dorm (used by those who actually bought parking passes, I for one find pride in the fact that I survived all 4 and 1/2 years without wasting that exhorbanent amount of money for a crap shoot at an unguaranteed parking space when you could park closer to the dorm on the street for FREE) I digress, anyway, the parking lot for our dorm was painted like a football field without the end zones (makes no sense) with a huge platform on one of the sidelines. I had no clue what it was for, that is until the third week of school. Having been accustomed to three weeks of quality nap time I was naturally looking froward to my routine, but starting that Monday I was rudely awakened 20 minutes in by the noise of tubas "warming up" directly beneath my second story window. NO NO NO, this has got to stop. I gave them two days of my patience, gritting teeth beneath my pillow, praying that the torture would end. Come day three, we had to do something about it.

Now we all remember the necessity of afternoon naps, there's no need for me to reopen that can, mostly because I am getting frustrated thinking about it as I type, and partly because that would be pretty redundant. So to squelch the newly arisen obstacle in the path to sweet serenity we devised a plan. Strategically we picked apart the Big Purple Marching Band, tubas on the left flank, French Horns on the right, one by one they fell out of rank until their commander with his megaphone, once standing so tall atop his conductor's platform, was now frantically running in our direction, screaming for a cease fire.

Our location had been compromised, he had an ID on our room and came running up the stairs banging on our door as he screamed about the consequences that would follow if we did not bring an end to our hostilities. Though it was difficult not to open the gate and allow the enemy breach our fortress, making our demands for the discontinuation of their intrusive "practice", we found it best to just lie there in silence, doing what we would be doing were they not out there -- napping. After several more minutes of useless threats from beyond our door, their commander found satisfaction in his address, and proceeded to walk back down the stairs and out the door, believing that he would never have to deal with this riff-raff again. He couldn't have been more wrong.

From a different window on a different floor the Big Purple faced our wrath every day until our demands were met. The battle of course always began with the Tubas, as they were the easiest target and the party that started it all. For days the battle pressed on, we would sneak from window to window, room to room, trying to be ever conscious of the would-be informers, spies, or sympathetic parties for the other side. Everyday battle would end the same, some delegate of the other side banging on our door demanding the desisting of the carnage while we quietly "napped" in our rooms, minding our own business.

Let history note, that were you to go to ACU this fall and wait outside Edwards dorm anticipating the afternoon practice of the Big Purple, you would be a lonely, lonely man. For all that you would find that afternoon would be a restful, calm atmosphere, the kind ideal for an afternoon nap. No my friend, if it's the band you want to see, try the other end of campus down by the Performing Arts Center, the band moved their practices there sometime during my sophomore year -- we still don't know why.

"Sit tall in the saddle,

Hold your head up high.

Keep your eyes fixed

Where the trail meets the sky,

And live like you ain't afraid to die.

Don't be scared, just enjoy your ride."

Here's to you, William Ray Hale, last of a dying breed; not just a cowboy, but a real man -- a hero.

"My God Woodrow, it's been a hell of a ride."